Fries and a cat

This side of town is husher than the others, especially at 2 in the morning. Patrick sits in his car alone, staring blankly through the rolled down window at the drive through speaker. There’s a slight rustle and a voice comes through: 

“Hi, welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order please?”

“Yes, can I have medium fries with ketchup?” 

“Anything else?”

“That’s all, thank you,” Patrick rolls forward, reaching for his wallet. The drive through window slides open and the harsh white light pierces the young man’s eyes. He pays and, having pulled up to the next stop, he is handed a small, but satisfying package. The hotness seeps through the paper, pressing up against the palms of his hands, as the smell fills the air. Patrick settles the package in the seat, letting it ride shotgun. It’s the only company he’s tolerating tonight. 

Hoping the grease doesn’t stain the seat, he drives away. The car crawls along the side of the street, lazily bouncing at every bump and pothole. Only a few slothful mopeds pass by. Not after long Partick finds himself on a dingy one-way road, which he knows is a dead end. Bored, he gives it some gas and the engine awakens, when a small figure darts right through the beams of the headlights. He hits the brakes as the seat belt grabs his chest, waking him up from his haze. For a moment it’s still. 

Patrick perks up, looking over the hood — quiet. Checking that there’s no one behind, he peeks through the window: perched on the curb is a cat, studying him with its glittery eyes. It’s femenine curve shining in the half lit street lamp above. 

The young man chuckles and continues on his way, until he stops under an isle of maples. A gust of wind rustles the leaves, sending a rush of cool park air through the rolled-down windows. 

Only now does he notice that the pack of fries has tipped over. Cringing, he reaches for the bag. Looks like the seat is stain-free. The hot aroma fills his nostrils again as the dipped-in-sauce slices crunch and melt in his mouth. He lets out a sigh of comfort. 

He closes his eyes. Another blow of wind combs through his hair as he takes the next bite. He turns for a napkin when a figure appears in the window. He jerks, but quickly discerns the silhouette of a cat. 

“Ch! Ch!” he waves his hand, but the cat stays still. 

“Hey,” he barks, “I didn’t ask for company, ch-ch-ch!” he pats the seat.

The supple tail lingers in the window frame for a second before dissolving into the dark.  Some time passes in the quiet and only the fissle of the bag and crunch of the fries fills the cooling air. Partick reaches for the glovebox when two dots glint in the passenger seat.

“‘Scuse me,” he scoffs. The cat gives him her calming crisp stare. “I told you, no company needed,” Patrick rests the food in his lap, clapping his hands, but the cat does not seem to be bothered. As her back rises slightly, she lets out a gentle purr.

“Ah, geez,” the young man rolls his eyes, carefully leaning over to open the door. “On you go,” he looks her in the eye, “come on”. 

The cat squints as if smiling. 

“Okay,” the door clicks shut and he sucks his hand into his sleeve, lowering it onto the seat until it rests against the soft side of the cat. He pushes, but she refuses to move, resuming her purr.  

“Get,” he’s firmer, “down”. 

Finally she complies, stepping onto the floor. 

“M-m-r-r-r-h-h,” her voice rolls through the air. 

“What?”

“M-m-m-m-r-r-r-r-h-h-h”.

“Yeah, I know. But these…” he picks up the bag, “these here are mine. Besides, they’re not good for you, felines”.

“Mrow.” 

“What, you’re lonely? Yeah, that happens,” Patrick continues his meal. “But sometimes you need some time alone, you know?” he glances at her, following his every move. 

“It’s good for you, really good for you,” he takes a big bite.

“Meow.” 

“Nah, not giving you any. This is my home,” he turns to her, “my home you’ve entered here, well, for the night at least. So don’t get too comfortable."

He eats in silence for a while. As he shifts positions chills run along his spine, so he leans back into the warmed up seat. He adjusts it. His neck and back are tight from driving with this posture. His shoulders roll back in relief. 

“My mother-in-law lives in the countryside. She has a cat,” Patrick rubs his neck as he stares into the dimness of the windshield. “She loves her to death. A little too much sometimes… Like all of her animals… and her goat just had babies. God, every year. Every year there’s more and more, and she keeps them all,” he swallows down the cooling fries. “Never butchers them, never eats them. But for what? She says she can’t kill them, she can’t hurt them, she loves them, and my wife says the same thing. Well, if she wants the best for them, should she then ask? Do they like being milked every day? I don’t know. And if I’d think the same, where would I draw the line? Don’t kill a goat, well then don’t kill a bug either,” he grins, shaking his head. “There was this one little goat, sick as hell and when I mentioned putting it out of its misery, the two of them came at me like bulls at red cloth. We got home and again it started, Laurine trying to persuade me. “It’s a person,” she said. I said, “it’s not human”. She said, “that’s different”. I mean, well what is a person then, huh? You’re not one, or otherwise you’d be answering me, right?”

“Mrow,” her sides shrink as she lets out the soft sound.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you meow at me. You don’t know what I’m saying”.

“Purrr.” 

“Mhm… Laurine tells me some animals are more people than humans are people. Well, how do you define it? Is it them having certain skills, their level of development, their ability to feel?...  And I ask her about abnormal fetuses, for the first part they’re not developed enough to feel. So what do you do then?

Patrick sights and turn to the window. Through the dark leaves you the park trail is barely  seen. It’s empty. Somewhere in the distance there is a chanting “who” of an owl. 

“I mean, listen to that,” he shrugs, “you call that speech? It’s a sound, yes, but it’s a bird. That’s why we call it a bird, not a person.”

The hooting echoes through the alleys for a while, until it dissolves in the breeze. As Partick dumps the last crumbs of the fries in his mouth, the cat slithers up onto the seat, curling up, like a croissant. She gets a givin-’up glance from the young man, so she stays nested in her place.

“You know, it’s nice you don’t talk back. You’re a good listener, you know that? That’s how you avoid fights. You listen. Hm,” he chuckles, “and now you’re going to tell me to listen, huh? Take your own advice… Maybe I will, maybe I will…”

The cat props up it’s head and perks her ears. Her paws stretch out, as she leans towards the door, rubbing her silky sides against it.

“What, you think the conversation’s over? It’s time to go? Well, obviously not”

“Obviously yes.”

Patrick jumps as turns to the window. The voice is faint in the wind, but amongst the trees there’s a figure, her thin silk pants swaying in the distance. 

“Who are you talking to?” the woman approaches. 

“Nah just -” he hesitates. 

“Just what?”

“Nothing. Go back, go to bed.” 

The young woman lingers by the window, her arms tucked in her light jacket.

“Patrick… please don’t sit here,” her dainty brows wrinkle on her forehead. “Come home and we’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay?”

“Ch-ch,” he turns to the cat, still sitting on the floor obediently, shooing it away. “Go-go-go.” 

“Oh, is that your companion?”

Patrick shrugs. The woman lets out a meek smirk.

“But you were talking to her. And she listened, right? Otherwise she wouldn't be here, you wouldn’t have let her stay…”

“Let’s just go home, okay?” Patrick rubs his eyes. “Jump in”. 

As if understanding, the cat slithers out the open door.

The young woman scurries around the car and gets in, shutting the door behind her. The engine hums as they wander off into the quiet.