Of Cats and Humans

Unlike other cats, who often squeeze into the first hiding spot they can find in unfamiliar surroundings, Fluffie behaved like a hostess right from the start. After making a round of the room and sniffing every corner, she settled in the middle of the room as if to ask, “What’s next?”

He patted the couch next to him, and Fluffie obediently ran over and jumped up.

He put on his glasses and bent over the newspapers.

“Well then, Fluffie, time to study”— he took a sip of tea— “just don’t purr too loudly.”

Fluffie obediently curled up on his lap.

Clearly, something extraordinary had happened. He combed through all the newspaper files, down to the very last note, carefully reading even minor pieces about improvements to the Triumphators Alley. No, the general gist was understandable: some Дед had failed in leadership, let revolutionary terrorists through, people had died, and Triangle Square lay in ruins — after which La Liga stepped in and imposed full control over the city.

He remembered something like that happening before, but at the time, by mutual agreement, the Дед authority over Chernostok had been preserved. Apparently now —he concluded — the man had not only been inconvenient from the start but had ultimately proven unable to maintain order. But where he was now — there was no mention. Maybe he should ask Frau Schicklbraun when she returned? Then again, that might be awkward — he’d already made a fool of himself with that question about her lips, no need to blunder further…

His head was starting to ache. And a fly wouldn't leave him alone. Out of nowhere, a fly had flown into the room and had been buzzing relentlessly for half an hour.

Catching it himself was hopeless — his reflexes weren't what they used to be. But he had an idea.

“Fluffie,” he called.

Fluffie yawned sweetly and rolled onto her back.

“I propose a deal,” he looked seriously at the cat. “I’ll rub your belly, and you catch that fly over there.” He pointed to the far wall.

Fluffie yawned again.

“Come on,” he picked her up by her front paws, and she instantly went limp like a ragdoll. “Don’t be lazy now.”

Slowly, cautiously, he approached the wall. The fly, either asleep or oblivious, didn’t move. Either way, Fluffie needed just a second to snatch it off the wall with a precise paw. No human — young, fit, or otherwise —could have reacted so fast.

Fluffie promptly dragged the fly into her mouth.

“Eugh, now that was unnecessary,” he chided her half-jokingly.

Still, between the two of them, they’d taken care of the fly. Fluffie returned to the center of the room and licked her lips.

“Sorry,” he raised his hands, “no reward. Your mom said "no food until evening".

Fluffie fluffed her tail indignantly and retreated to the far corner of the room.

For a while, he sat in silence over the papers, sipping tea. The fly was no longer a problem.

“You know,” he said after a time, whether to himself or the cat, “I have an idea. A real idea!”

He grabbed his cane and left the apartment at a sprightliness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He didn’t go far — hadn’t planned to. His hunch proved true right by the mailboxes. He’d never paid them much attention before — no one wrote to him anyway.

“Like I’m some colonel,” he chuckled to himself.

More importantly, Frau Schicklbraun did get regular mail. Of course, he wouldn’t dream of reading her letters, but she had given him permission to look through the newspapers. A whole stack stuck out of her mailbox —probably a week’s worth or more. The top one was fresh— he inhaled the smell of ink with pleasure. Yes, today’s.

“Well then, let’s see,” he hobbled back to the apartment with satisfaction.

The papers were all from November, though the newest ones had already begun covering early December.

Fluffie had already stopped pouting and curled up next to him on the couch.

“Good,” he thought, feeling the warmth of the cat.

Now, the newspapers.

…archive revelations, torture, abuse of power, violence, criminal charges confirmed against the governor’s regime by the military police, multiple citizen complaints, ongoing investigations, universal jurisdiction upheld regarding the crimes of the “Дед” regime, La Liga cooperating with all parties, the International Commission for the Protection of Justice launching formal proceedings for crimes against humanity in Chernostok, based on evidence collected by La Liga…

This was radically different from the last stack, which Frau Schicklbraun had personally handed him. Not that it was falsified — the dates were newer — but the news tone had completely shifted.

Chernostok had been turned upside down, but on the other hand, it all clicked in his mind. Just yesterday, when they’d driven through, everything had seemed calm…

Hell, of course it had seemed calm… Was this all La Liga’s doing? Apparently so… The more pages he turned, the more convinced he became that something terrible had happened, and the calm he’d seen yesterday — was either the lull before a storm that would bring these headlines to life, or the result of a stunned silence that, once lifted, would unleash another wave.

As soon as the word “storm” crossed his thoughts, his hands began to tremble. The newspapers suddenly became repulsive. He stood abruptly — too abruptly —winced at the pain in his back, and started pacing. Why wouldn’t the trembling stop? Where was this fear coming from, this primal fear that he tried to drown in hot tea? He brewed cup after cup, shoved the papers away, poured boiling water into himself, but all he saw were endless headlines of the tortured and executed — their suffering touched him more than anything.

He didn’t know anymore. None of it made sense.
He suddenly longed to talk to Frau Schicklbraun — but she wouldn’t be back before ten, and it was only four…

Fluffie, alarmed, was hissing at him from the center of the room, but he paid her no mind.

Finally, exhausted, he downed another mug of hot tea, collapsed onto the couch, and wrapped himself in a blanket.

It was too early to sleep — sunlight still poured in — but he tried to drift off. A strange noise distracted him. Scratching. Curious, he cast aside his anxious thoughts, then realized — oh God — the cat!

He twisted out of the blanket. Fluffie was scratching the floor near the litter box with determination.

He sat up, unsure what she wanted, then smacked his forehead — of course! Frau Schicklbraun had brought the box but forgotten the litter…

“Well, Fluffie,” he said, “I like cats, but never had one myself. So I can’t offer you luxury facilities, but…”

He stood up, tore up some newspapers from the table (the headlines made him nauseous anyway), and filled the tray with the scraps. Then he popped three violet sedative pills into his mouth, lay down, wrapped himself in the blanket, and turned to the wall.

“I’m not looking, Fluffie. I am a gentleman, after all.”

He was almost asleep when he heard a voice:

“In my day-y-y, when I was a kitten, we always had newspaper in our litterboxes. Nowadays it’s all clumping litter. That’s why moderrrrn cats don’t understand politics. But you’re doing well. Keeping up trrraditions.”

He assumed it was another strange dream.

The doorbell rang. The peacefully napping Fluffie jumped up and ran toward the sound.

He shuffled to the door.

“Frau Schicklbraun?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry — did I wake you? I’m sorry I’m late! Was Fluffie well-behaved?”

“Perfectly fine,” he confirmed. “Oh right…”— he returned with the litter box.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry — I completely forgot the litter! But— you read the papers?”

“Yes, and I’d like to…”

“I’m so sorry, could we talk tomorrow? Please come for lunch, really! I have the day off tomorrow, and at least let me thank you properly for watching the cat…”

"Certainly."

The door closed, and Fluffie was gone. What was even the point of leaving a cat with a neighbor for a day? She had a point — she´s not a dog, after all…

No matter. His head was still heavy. A swirl of newspaper clippings, the smell of cat urine, the aftertaste of strong tea, and a deep sense of something left unsaid spun around in his mind.

Well, at least the digital demon was dealt with. The TV had stopped trying to glow. As for the violet pills — he really should take one — for peace of mind. And a glass of water.

Then he fell asleep. And once again, the gymnast appeared — never in daytime dreams, only at night. After finishing her routine, she approached him again, but instead of a kiss, she suddenly pushed him away. He tumbled into some jelly-like viscosity, as often happens in dreams, until something dark loomed over him and the gymnast sat on his face. Everything turned completely black, and he couldn’t breathe. Gasping for air, he woke up. A wild screech rang out, and now fully awake, he bolted upright in bed, greedily gulping air.
Once he caught his breath, he saw two gleaming eyes.

The digital demon? No, no — he slapped his cheeks. His tongue was coated with fur. Fluffie?

He turned on the light — yes, it was her. The cat looked just as startled as he was, but by now they had both calmed down. He stared in confusion, while she glared with indignation, clearly offended that some leathery nuisance had dared disturb her sleep.

"Right. I’m not even going to ask how you got in here. Tomorrow, I’ll have a word with your owner," he muttered sleepily, waved a hand, and turned off the light. His lips went frozen again, but he had no strength left to steam them with hot water…

Fluffie catloafed herself on the floor.