The Master, His Cat, and His Conquest

The first leaf had fallen and Spencer found himself pouncing on it like prey. If he lifted his head to the right, he could hear his master from the window, rising and falling from the waterbed. It sounded like his stomach after eating one too many fish treats. Maybe it was time for him to go inside and join the celebrating; the motions were teasing him. He crawled in through the window screen. His master looked down and smoothed the folds of his outfit: another empty evening, he never allowed himself to become that familiar. Why had he decided to wear stiff shirts with their hard buttons, and just remove his boxers, resembling nothing so much as that cliché nightmare, you forgot to wear your pants. Maybe no one had noticed.

As he turned to brush her loose hairs from his pillow, she caught his reflection in the window Spencer had come in from; he was removing the trace of her. Why had she even come to this bedroom? “That’s the last time I’ll sleep with you,” she said. But her words were lost in the eruption of his ego behind him. “Who’s there?” she called.

Spencer moved out from the windowsill. “Cat,” she said, quietly enough only Spencer could hear her. “What is your name?” Then, all of a sudden Spencer batted at her gesture and ran back out the window. He only cared for his master, he thought, not for his conquests. But she was earnest, which made him realize how similar he was to her; they both wanted to make the master feel better. He wanted to apologize.