MOEBIUS

MOEBIUS

Ben considered that he was 'on the lam' from his relationship. It all became too much when Gillian, claiming to adore him, insisted her business trips every other week to push ‘the product’ as she called it, were essential. Off to Britain (her country of origin) and the Continent (her aspirational home). She liked New York, but it was so….. so navel-gazing, so culture-hungry, so damn competitive she needed to get away, and the workaholic in her, her ‘personal driver’ spirited her away too often from their West 86^th Street pied-à-terre. They rarely got away to the cottage in Connecticut they professed to love.  And there was always the question of Moebius.

Moebius was bulky, with haphazard orange black tan and white markings: an almost-tabby. He carried himself as if he were a pedigreed tortoiseshell, dignified and whiskers aloft. He made them laugh. Gillian was lenient about Moebius’s diet (chopped chicken liver and prime ground beef when she was in a good mood). About his place in the apartment she was strict. Moebius was never allowed into the bedroom (okay, okay Ben thought) and not allowed on any furniture but his own Pet World beds (hmm) or onto anyone’s lap for sanitary reasons (what the hell?). What was the point of a cat if you couldn’t cuddle him? Ben was numbed by her directives but didn’t fight back. She out-argued him in her Estuary English about untreatable worms, cat leukemia, distemper (people caught distemper?).and latent rabies (what??)  It was no use. “Meebee Meebee I LOVE YOU” she would croon. Ben had had enough. She was nuts. And he didn’t believe she loved him. Or Moebius…

Ben decided to move into the cottage and become a Connecticut hermit (a tiny subgroup of fed-up New Yorkers). Lockdown had been pretty easy there, and it had been pre-Gillian. Now Gillian was making up for her lost mobility during her Paris lockdown.  

He would bring Moebius. Gillian was in Rome until Wednesday. 

Unlike his mistress Moebius did not travel well. He retched and shat out his guts onto the plastic liner of his carrier between New York City and the Connecticut border, then crouched down, trying to avoid his bodily ejaculations and played dead. It was unnerving for Ben, always worried that they would arrive and find him limp and lifeless in his own mess. Then Ben would have to shovel a Moebius-sized trench in forest soil hardened by winter with Gillian standing by, whimpering.

Ben ordered the car from West Side Park, stored in the bowels of Manhattan, two hours before he needed it, and pulled up to the front of their building, stashed the groceries and other provisions into the back of the car, brought out two packed suitcases and a backpack. Returned for Moebius. 

The door was ajar. No Moebius.

 Ben looked everywhere-- apartment, hallways, every floor, every doorbell.

Nada.

Nada.

_____

He’d found the kitten in the woods behind the cottage. It was the beginning of lockdown, and he was safely out of the City, like most New Yorkers who had a second home or generous relatives. 

A kitten-cat, a lost stray. A feral mother cat takes her young to the fields and forests so they will strike out on their own. This is instinctive:- the growing feline will then have its own hunting grounds, its own turf. 

He couldn’t help it. He scooped it up, this small fur thing and sniffed it, burying his nose in its small neck. His childhood cat had a wooly smell he recalled; this one smelled like – like what? Milk? There was no question: it was coming back to the house now. Its quest ended here. The man loved the odd mix of black, ginger, tawny and white. For the time being he would keep it warm in a laundry basket lined with soft towels and an old stuffed duck.

It grew, and over time the pandemic ebbed. People trickled back to the cities and tried to reinvent their old lives, but things were different. Before the pandemic he had been alone but not lonely. Now, paradoxically, back in the city, he was lonely. Even the growing kitten was not enough.

The man found a mate on an online dating app. She was blonde and British and bubbly and he was entranced. Six months later they were living in the City in his small apartment and she continued to grow her business into an international company featuring beauty products made from moth wings.

And the cat grew plump on delicacies from its owners, but didn’t move around. Occasionally the two people would go up to the country house, and there would be a nightmare sick time in a cage. It was then transferred into the house, as the woman was scared it would get lost in the forest if it were every let out.

Life was leisurely, but something was off. The woman was often away for stretches of time. The man always came back at the end of the day.

Life was simple, strange, unvaried, unvarying. The space felt small.

But when the woman was away, the cat was allowed to sit on the man’s lap while the man sat in front of a screen. 

And one day when the woman was away and the man was carrying boxes and bags outside, a decision was made. The cat saw the door was open and ran and ran. 

It wouldn’t never again have to ride in a car. 

It would make its own way back to the sweet-smelling forest in the country behind the nice man’s house.

                                         * * * *

Ben was exhausted and slept for 20 hours when he arrived in Connecticut. 

He had arranged to work from home for a few months until they could sort out the tangle of choices and sacrifices that would have to be made.

He missed Moebius so much it was like part of his heart had been scooped out.

When Gillian was away he’d cuddled the cat while he read, watched movies, and sometimes Moebius wrapped himself around his neck like a fur scarf.

Announcements in the neighborhood stores and WhatApp neighbor chat had yielded nothing. So that was it, end of story.

Except it wasn’t, as this is not a sad story. 

Improbable story maybe.

The Cat Came Back the very next month….. stretched out exhausted by the back door of the house in Connecticut and slept for 20 hours. 

Ben found him there, skinny and bedraggled but still very much his Moebius.

________