Quarantine Pet

I got a cat during lockdown. I was feeling lonely. I’d turned 30 recently. I worked from home. If I was honest, my job consisted of sending emails that didn’t need to be sent to other people who didn’t do any real work. I didn’t like my colleagues. We had zoom drinks every Friday. We had endless zoom meetings during the week. I drank wine out of my White Male Tears mug. I sat in the shower at night and cried. I didn’t have a bathtub. I had zoom meetings with my therapist. I didn’t tell her about the drinking. I know she’d tell me to stop. I don’t think she’s really helped. I needed to get my valium prescription filled. I wanted to be diagnosed with ADHD. Comedians in the 90s would make sexist jokes about how women are crazy, but now doctors won’t give women the mental health diagnosis they need. I had an idea for an app which would partner women with washed up 90s hack comics. Women take so long getting ready because they have undiagnosed ADHD!

I was living alone. My housemate moved back in with their family in Queensland. They sent me an email saying they wouldn’t be paying any more rent. I can’t get anyone else to move in. Who’s moving during a pandemic? They asked if they could keep their things in their old room until restrictions eased. They couldn’t organise anyone to move their stuff into storage under the current lockdown rules. I agreed. They had embroidered Detox your mind, body and contact list and hung it on their wall. I took it down and used it to clean my arse in the shower. I told myself that if they asked about it, I’d blame it on the mold. We had mold. I asked the real estate to do something about it, but they blamed their lack of action on the unprecedented times we were living in. Maybe the mold was why I was feeling sick. Sometimes I slept in their bed. I wrapped myself in their sheets and blankets. I wanted to drown myself night after night in the scent of someone else. Their bedding ended up smalling like me. I worried that I was going to die alone, but I knew that wasn’t true. I would die with roommates. Even if I never found love, I’d be forced to live with someone out of mutual financial necessity.

I shared mommy wine memes with my girls group chat. It's post-ironic. I wanted to have a baby. I wasn’t seeing anyone. I was on the dating apps. I got plenty of matches. I didn’t talk to most of them. I just wanted to know if they would match with me. It was nice to feel attractive. I took photos for Instagram. Women don’t pose with duck lips anymore, now they get lip fillers. Mine cost $300. I matched my pink cowgirl hat with my undies. Gay guys called me a queen in the comment section. Straight guys sent me pictures of their dick. I talked with this guy Damien for a while. I looked out for the red flags. He didn’t read Infinite Jest or try and explain The Sopranos to me. I told him I was rereading Harry Potter. It gave me comfy vibes. He told me his favourite movie was Paddington 2. I asked if he wanted kids himself one day. He said, “maybe one day”. He ghosted me. Men always think they have more time and a younger option.

I got a cat. His name was Charlie. He was a really cute cat. I posted pictures on my Instagram. I started an account for Charlie. I told people I rescued him, but he was actually very expensive. I had to put him down in the end. I told everyone Charlie was sick. People wouldn’t understand; they’re very sensitive when it comes to violence towards animals.

Charlie kept finding dead birds. Every morning there would be another dead bird in my bed. I wondered where Charlie was finding all these dead birds, so I googled cat keeps finding dead birds. Apparently, those birds weren’t dead when Charlie found them. Cats bring you birds because they’ve been watching you and they think you haven’t been doing enough killing, so here is a bird that is nearly dead for you to kill. Like, an easy one to get you going again. Charlie brought me a bird the next morning. I no longer found it cute. I felt the bird’s heart still beating as I held it in my hand. I opened the window and threw the bird out, hoping it would fly to safety. The bird fell limply to the ground. Charlie purred with satisfaction.

One night when I came home from the shops, I opened the front door and Charlie was there. He started rubbing up against my leg. Then he led me down into the apartment’s storage locker/car port. In the storage locker/car port there was a man tied up to chair. All around the walls were cats, their eyes shining from the light spilling in from the open door. One cat emerged from the shadows. I could tell she was the leader because she had a cool scar across her eyes. She started nudging a knife along the ground with her head, arching her back as the slid the blade along the floor. The cat looked down at the knife, then at the man tied up in the chair, then back up at me. I picked the knife up. There was no way I was not going to do it, but you can’t leave knives on the ground. My hand was shaking. The cats began to move around me, weaving in, out and around my legs. I looked at the man in the chair. I went to cut him free. Light reflected off the blade and illuminated his face. It was Damien. I saw the recognition in his eyes. He started to struggle. He must have thought I was responsible for his unlawful imprisonment. Bitches be cray, I guess. I’m glad he ghosted me, if that’s the case. I took the final step towards him and tripped over a cat. The knife ended up lodged in Damien’s throat as I tried to break my fall. I tried to stop the flow of blood, but it kept bubbling out like the world’s saddest brook. The cats scattered into the shadows. Damien was dead. Charlie lapped up Damien’s blood like it was spilt milk.

I tried driving my Charlie out to the edge of town and leaving him to fend for himself in the bush. I knew he wouldn’t have a problem finding dead birds to eat. Damien was in the boot. I was going to leave him in the bush as well. I was on the lookout for police on the drive. Abandoning your pet in the bush wasn’t one of the approved reasons to leave the house, let alone within my 5 km radius. As we passed a hitch hiker Charlie pawed desperately against the window. She was young and had dreadlocks. I pulled over. I was worried for the young hitch hiker. Charlie kept pawing at the window. Sometimes animals are the first to sense danger. Hitch hiking is very dangerous for women. I asked if she wanted a lifted. She agreed. She went to put her bag in the boot. She saw Damien. We made eye contact in the rear-view mirror. Charlie pushed down on the hand break. The car rolled backwards knocking the hitch hiker to the ground. Her skull was cracked. I picked her off the ground and put her in the driver’s seat. I took the knife out of the glove box and pressed it into her hands, imparting her prints onto the handle. I put it back in the glove box. I reported my car stolen. I rolled the car off the edge of a cliff. It hit the rocks below and burst into flames. I hitch hiked home wearing the dead girl’s clothes.

I took Charlie to a vet. The vet asked if I shouldn’t be the one seeking medical treatment. I must have looked a wreck. I said my cat need to be taken care of first. The vet understood, lots of people feel that way about their pet. The vet examined Charlie and said there was nothing wrong with him. I went into the bathroom and cut my forearm with a scalpel I’d taken from the vet’s office. Pain can be therapeutic but, in this instance, it served a more immediately practical purpose. I went back into the vet’s office. I showed her the wound. I told the vet Charlie had done it, he had severe behavioral problems and needed to be put down. I could tell Charlie didn’t blame me. If anything, he was proud. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.