Page 7 of Kitten

“Okay,” I said, because he’d already taken my mug. “Lots.”

On my next sip, the coffee was so milky and sweet that I spat my mouthful back into the mug. Silver sniffed the rim,then gave me an expectant look. James had returned to packing. I knew she liked milk, and I didn’t want James’s effort to go to waste, so I slid the mug over for her to taste. She lapped at it feverishly.

When she was done, I peered inside the mug and was shocked to see that she had finished it all. “I won’t tell,” I promised her. Silver nodded. Then she jumped off the table, the thump of her feet turning James’s head.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

I gave him a confident thumbs-up.

—

We took the train afew stops to a car-rental station. Silver sat hunched in an enormous backpack with a clear plastic screen and holes on the top for breathing. I begged James to let me wear it. I strapped the bag against my belly, wrapping my arms around the bulging window that showed Silver the world. Beneath her feet sat a stack of cotton pee pads so thick her head squished against the roof of the bag. James said she struggled to hold her pee on long journeys. It was a more dignified solution than a diaper, but I still felt a little sorry that she was essentially being carried in a DIY toilet.

Throughout our journey, a lot of people turned to look at us. Their expressions were beatific and stupid. I pointed this out to James as proof that many people hadn’t seen a cat before, but he said that was how everybody responded to a cat in a bag, even those who were familiar with the concept. “Cat people are easy to please,” he said.

“I thought most people were dog people.”

“You can be both.”

While James chatted with the car person, I bounced my body up and down, holding Silver’s backpack steady, and peered out the window at the bay. James’s apartment was in the Financial District, next to Battery Park. I liked this area of Manhattan because the height of the buildings destroyed your cell signal. If you got lost, you couldn’t call someone. They would simply have to come and find you.

The car James chose was dark blue and shiny.

“Do you have to pay more for a nicer car?” I asked.

“Not that much more.”

I felt sorry for the cars that weren’t chosen just because they were uglier, even though they cost less. If I ever rented cars, I would pick the one nobody wanted. I imagined walking up to the counter and demanding the ugliest car, then laughed aloud at the thought. The car person caught my eye. I realized I’d been looking at him. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” I said hastily. “I was just thinking about something funny in my head.”

“You’re good,” he said, though he didn’t seem to mean it.

—

The drive was long. Igrew bored and overly warm. The rain made loud popping noises as it hit the car windows. In the backseat, released from her bag, Silver hopped around. “She’s acting kind of weird,” said James.

“I guess,” I said, remembering the coffee.

Two hours into the drive, I fell asleep and dreamed that I was watching Silver take part in a tap-dancing competition. When I woke, I had Silver’s performance score in myhead, a distinct and jittery tune that I recognized as Mozart’s “Rondo Alla Turca.” “Rondo Alla Turca” was the first piece of music I’d heard live, performed by a classmate at my middle school talent show. Afterward, I spent weeks scouring the internet for a rendition like hers, but each was too polished or slow. My classmate played like she was running away from something, the notes crowding against each other like extra teeth. The sound of the music clips aggravated my mother. She was in one of those quiet spells that increasingly possessed her as I grew older. When I asked for piano lessons, she said I was too old. Also, everybody knew the local tutor was a pervert. Still, I loved the piece; I continued my search on the desktop situated in the hallway next to my mother’s room, my cursor poised over the mute button in case her door creaked open.

“Can I put on a song?” I asked.

James handed me his phone. “Finally, you’re awake. Can you check on Silver? She’s acting crazy.”

I turned to see Silver jumping militantly up and down the backseat. She could definitely win a tap-dancing competition. “Maybe she’s feeling claustrophobic.”

“You think so? I don’t know if cats get claustrophobic. It’s kind of their whole thing to love small spaces.”

“Oh.” It was time to confess. “Okay, I might’ve accidentally given her some of my coffee earlier, back at your apartment.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“No,” I said seriously. “I’m serious.”

“How much?”

“Maybe the whole cup. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus.” James craned his neck back to look at Silver. “It’s okay, it was an accident. Just, can you keep an eye on her?”