On a cat's paw

Mr. Cat was a handsome, middle-aged man—not yet old, but not young either. He looked to be between thirty-four and thirty-five. He walked with a dignified, leisurely gait and dressed very elegantly. He wore a navy blue frock coat, a navy blue waistcoat underneath, a white shirt—always clean and pressed—and a black bow tie. On his head was a navy blue bowler hat. In his hand was a cane with a gilded knob. Mr. Cat was elegant, yet extravagant. He wore a monocle without a lens—just because he looked good and didn't need vision correction.

He didn't wear gloves, however, which might have been surprising for such a distinguished man. He didn't have them for practical reasons, however, because whenever he got even the slightest bit angry or frightened, he would inadvertently tear them to shreds. For the same reason, he didn't wear shoes. He had ruined too many expensive patent leather shoes.

Mr. Cat didn't wear trousers either. Not out of any pressing need for extravagance, nor because they were fraying. His tail simply didn't fit.

Mr. Cat was... well... that's pretty obvious—a cat. He had beautiful, fluffy, gray fur—always clean and well-groomed. He had a thick, striped tuft. Green eyes with vertical pupils, thin as pins by day, wide as plates by night, and pointed ears. Long whiskers and sharp canines. Four white paws with retractable fingernails. A sensitive, pink nose and an admirable sense of balance. He bristled and hissed when frightened or angry.

Being a cat, while it made him stand out on the street, didn't make city life any more difficult. Mr. Cat lived somewhat off the beaten track, in his own small house, but he lived and earned money like anyone else. He worked in a bank, in a high-ranking position, stamping documents and signing with an elegant fountain pen. He twirled his mustache at the clumsiness and unscrupulousness of his subordinates, and sometimes barely restrained himself from scratching an intrusive petitioner. After work, he walked home with a proud, stately gait—on two legs, not four—with a proudly puffed-out chest, a drawn-in belly, a slight swing of his hips and a swing of his cane. He glanced sideways at the world through a lensless monocle. He swung his bushy tail.

Mr. Cat lived alone. He had no children, and there was no Mrs. Cat.

"Good morning, Mr. Cat!"

Mr. Cat stopped and bristled slightly. Despite his self-control and characteristic feline ease, there were situations that embarrassed him. He was excellent at dealing with insubordination and pushiness at work. He knew how to scold or ask for an excuse. He could be tough and decisive. When necessary, he showed his claws. He thrived among men, none of whom had tails or fur, and—though he was somewhat aware of his differences—he never felt inferior. Women, on the other hand, constantly embarrassed him—their company, their very presence. He felt strange and awkward. A thousand emotions overwhelmed him, ones he neither grasped nor understood. He became lost in them, and as a result, he became angry. His claws came out of their own accord.

Mr. Cat took off his bowler hat and ran a white paw through the bristling hair on his head.

"Good morning," he replied in his booming voice.

Kasia was a simple townswoman from a modest family. Mr. Cat saw her occasionally, here and there, as happens in small towns where everyone knows everyone else—some more than others. Mr. Cat knew about Kasia only what he saw before him. A young girl, perhaps already of age, perhaps not yet. Quiet, modest, in a gray dress, her hair braided in a bun—as befits a young, respectable girl. He heard her name. Sometimes their eyes met for a moment when they passed each other by chance on the street. Sometimes they bowed. Nothing more.

Mr. Cat was surprised when Kasia simply walked up to him and greeted him, and even more surprised that she didn't immediately run away. No. She stopped beside him, and when he went further, she followed him, matching his pace and walking beside him. She was visibly blushing. It was possible that Mr. Cat blushed as well, though it was impossible to tell. He certainly bristled, and claws peeked out from under the white fur on his paws.

Mr. Cat walked calmly toward the house. That was where he was headed, and he didn't intend to deviate. He didn't run away, though the girl kept walking right beside him. She was silent. She didn't say a word. She walked uncertainly, taking small steps, blushing bright red.

Suddenly, she took the cat's white paw in both hands and gazed intently into the green eyes with their vertical pupils, thin as pins.

"I love you, Mr. Cat!" she said quietly and seriously.

Mr. Cat bristled even more, and absently bared his teeth and hissed.

The girl flinched. She let go of the cat's paw. She looked at Mr. Cat with eyes as wide as plates.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, embarrassed. "Instinct, you see... Independent of me."

"It doesn't matter," Kasia replied. "Are you angry with me?" she asked, concerned.

"Pfft..." Mr. Cat sighed, searching for words. "No, no, I guess you're welcome. You surprised me, that's all.

" "But what do you say to that?

" "What?"

"Well... I love you, Mr. Cat...

" "That's... hmm... nice...

" "And you?

" "What about me?

" "Well... Do you love me?"

Mr. Cat pondered for a long moment.

"Should I?

" "It would be appropriate," Kasia replied uncertainly. "Or at least I would very much like to...

" "Okay, let's say I agree."

Kasia held her breath. She blocked Mr. Cat's path and took his white paw in her hands again.

"Will you marry me?" she asked, fixing him with a piercing gaze, her brown eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Dear child, what do you expect from me?" Mr. Cat asked in surprise. He tilted his head slightly and looked at the girl sideways.

"I want to marry you, Mrs. Cat.

" "Marry me, and what?" he asked. He ruffled his eyebrows. His mustache quivered uncertainly. This whole conversation was making him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Get married... Well, get married, all nice and grand, and then live together, be together, have children, raise them...

" "Dear Kasia, how old are you?

" "Seventeen and a half.

" "You see, I could be your father," said Mr. Cat, and there was some truth to that, though not entirely, because a cat couldn't be a human father, unless it was in the minds of some mad scientist.

"But you're not. I already have a father, and my father is definitely my father, because we have the same eyes. And my mother, whose hair and smile I get from, tells me it's time to get married, because any minute now I'll be too old and no one will want me.

" "But... But..." stammered Mr. Cat, gesticulating desperately with his hands, searching for an argument. "Well, that's not possible... It's not like that..."

Kasia stepped out of his way, and as he slowly set off, she walked in step with him. They were both silent, each of them lost in thought.

"Why?" the girl finally asked.

"We're not meant to be."

"Why? Am I bad? Ugly? Stupid? Not good enough for you? A poor, gray mouse, am I?"

Mr. Cat licked his lips absently at that last sentence.

"Beautiful. Smart. A bit naive and young, but only temporarily.

" "Then why can't we be together and wait together until I'm older and wiser?

" "Dear Kasia, I'm afraid I'm not a good match for you.

" "And why is that?

" "I'm a loner.

" "I don't like people either.

" "It's not the same. Besides, I'm... messy." "I'll

tidy up." "A sleepyhead.

" "I'll wake you up.

" " A

glutton." "I'll

feed you. "

"A boor.

" "I'll teach you manners.

" "A brute.

" "I can manage. I raised three brothers. I'm skilled.

" "I have no sense of humor." I don't like jokes, quips, or witticisms. I can't smile.

"You always look like you're smiling.

" "I read terribly boring books. That'll make me terribly boring to you.

" "And I read romance novels. Is that so bad?

" "Kasia..." Mr. Cat sighed heavily. He stopped at the threshold of his house. "The most important thing in all this, the irreconcilable thing, is that I'm a cat.

" "What does that matter?" Kasia shrugged. "I love it, I love it. I love you, Mr. Cat, also because you're a cat."

Mr. Cat hung his head and shook it disapprovingly. He opened the door and, looking at the girl, made a gesture of invitation.

"Come in, please," he said.

Kasia obediently stepped into the small house. Mr. Cat followed her and closed the door. He took off his bowler hat and hung it on a hook by the door. He took off his coat and hung it in the wardrobe.

The girl looked around shyly at the small interior. There wasn't much here. Just a coat stand by the door, a doormat, a chest of drawers where Mr. Cat kept his coat and shirts, a table, a sideboard, and a few chairs. A bookshelf. In one corner of the room stood an unmade bed. A blanket strewn across the floor.

In the opposite corner stood a litter box—a huge box of sand. Kasia turned up her nose.

Mr. Cat had bought beautiful, crimson curtains. And torn them. The wardrobe also bore numerous claw marks. Parallel scars, sometimes half a meter long, ran across the beautiful wood. The chairs and table were scuffed.

"Would you like some milk?" Mr. Cat asked.

"Do you have any water?

" "Water? Brrr! Never in my life!"

Only now did Kasia notice that there was no sink, no faucet, no place to pour water.

"Well, milk would be fine," she agreed.

Mr. Cat took two cups from the scuffed sideboard. He poured milk from the bottle into both of them and, pressing his thick, furry fingers into their little ears, carried them to the table.

"Here," he said, offering Kasia one of the cups.

The girl took it with outrageous hesitation—a dainty, white vessel—and sipped the milk in small sips, stealing glances at Mr. Cat. He, his eyes closed, lapped at his milk. He simply stuck out his tongue and drank, drop by drop.

"Maybe I should open the window?" Kasia suggested after draining her cup. The stuffiness in Mr. Cat's apartment was taking its toll. It needed airing.

"Oh, please."

The girl breathed a sigh of relief as fresh, crisp air flowed in through the open window.

"Would you like more?" Mr. Cat asked, pouring himself some milk.

"No, thank you."

She returned to her seat at the table, opposite Mr. Cat.

- Kasia, do you understand now that this makes no sense? - he asked, pointing with a sweeping movement at himself and his apartment.

"No." The girl shook her head. "It's all nothing. A trifle. I really love you.

" "But what do you imagine, child?

" "I'll live here.

" "Do you like it here?" Mr. Cat grimaced.

"No, but what does that matter?

" "So you'll live here, and what?"

"And we'll share a marital bed, the kind with a canopy. You can scratch the canopy.

" "I'm a wriggling mess. I kick in my sleep. I might scratch!" he warned. "I snore!

" "If I'm asleep, I won't hear a thing. And sleeping next to a man like you..." Kasia said dreamily. "No one, no prince, no king, will give me as much warmth as you!"

"So what? We'll just lie there, and what?"

"Of course not. We'll have children.

" "Children?

" "Yes." We'll have a daughter, Amelka, with black hair like mine, and a son, Adam, with pointy ears. A little girl and a little kitten.

"Kasia, dear, do you have the slightest understanding of inheritance?

" "I don't know much about dowries and inheritances; parents don't explain such things to young girls, but I do have some understanding.

" "That's not the kind of inheritance I'm talking about. I'm talking about inheriting something from your mother, who gave birth to you, and your father, who conceived you. You have your father's eyes, and your mother's smile, as you say.

" "Well, yes, that's obvious... But what are you getting at?

" "So imagine that your dream Amelka has pointy ears and vertical pupils, and she sticks out ten-centimeter-long claws when she gets angry or frightened." And your dream Adam, the one with the pointy ears, green eyes, whiskers, and tail, is completely bald and has a hooked nose.

"It'll work out somehow," Kasia said in a hushed voice.

"Kasia, we can't risk it. This could be a real disaster. To avoid it, you have to marry a human, and I'd have to marry a cat like me. Then you'll have a beautiful girl and a beautiful boy, and I'll have fluffy kittens. It can't be otherwise.

" "Do you know any cat like you?

" "I don't.

" "So, you prefer to be alone.

" "Maybe not, but there's no other option. I have to bear offspring, but I won't give them to you. I'm not allowed.

" "We could take in orphans.

" "Indeed, that would be a solution... It's even very noble, but...

" "But what?

" "Excuse me... Would you mind if I wash my face and hands?

" "Oh, please."

Mr. Cat, without leaving the table, began meticulously licking his white paws. He flicked his tongue over the fluffy fur and the gray pads beneath. He ran his tongue across his face, combing and licking the fur.

He scratched behind his ear with his foot.

"You see, I'm a hygiene freak," he explained when he finished his toilette. "So where did we end up?"

"You discouraged me from marrying you.

" "Oh, yes, true. Well..."

Suddenly, Kasia glanced toward the window. Mr. Cat, seeing this, stopped mid-sentence and looked in that direction too.

A beautiful, colorful bird sat on the windowsill. Yellow, black, white, and blue.

"What a lovely little tit!

" "Yeah..." said Mr. Cat, narrowing his eyes.

He jumped up and leaped to the window in one bound, letting out a wild roar.

"Oh my, what are you doing?" shouted Kasia.

Mr. Cat froze, leaning over the windowsill. He turned slowly, staring at the girl with large, terrified eyes.

Colorful feathers clung to his paws.

A trickle of blood dripped from his mouth.

Mr. Cat smiled helplessly, baring his red, razor-sharp fangs.

"You know what...?" "Kasia said in a weak, cracking voice. "Perhaps... perhaps we should postpone this discussion until another time?"

She began to slowly back away, and when she reached the door, she shot out like a slingshot.

Mr. Cat watched the door close for a moment. Finally, he shrugged. He loosened and removed his black bow tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and hung it in the closet. Wearing nothing but his fur coat, he curled up on the unmade bed.