Baby Cats
by Chris Morton
When an imaginary friend turns up at your house, it’s difficult to pinpoint its exact time of arrival. One moment it’s not there, the next moment it is. And then later, eventually …
Jie Jie, my daughter had been talking about a cat for a while and at first I figured it to be just a game. She liked cats. She’d invented one. It would sit beside her when she was watching TV. I’d come into the room and ask her, “Is your cat here too?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“That’s nice,” I’d say, handing her a cup of warm milk. It was that time of day when it would be just the two of us. Mummy was upstairs, studying, busy – I’d take over the reigns after my long day at work. I’d look forward to the evenings, catching up with my daughter before bedtime.
“So how was your day?” I’d ask.
Nestling against me, she’d quietly say, “Bad.”
“Made any friends at kindergarten yet?”
“No,” she’d answer, though according to Mummy she was happy enough. She just missed me, that was all. And now she’d invented a cat.
One day I asked her, “What colour is this cat of yours?”
“Green and yellow,” she replied without hesitation.
When it was time for bed, the cat would follow.
“Over there,” Jie Jie would say, pointed to a space beside her, and it was easy to imagine it curled up between her stuffed toys and pillows.
I’d tell Jie Jie stories before going to sleep. Often these stories would involve her toys coming to life with little personalities of their own. Her baby owl, her baby fox. They’d be off on adventures. There was Hello Kitty and the grumpy rabbit that sat beside her on the aeroplane, always asleep when the air hostess came round with food. From time to time these stories would include Mummy and Daddy too. They’d be about our days out, picnics in the park or shopping in the department store at weekends.
These stories, however, never involved the cat and now I wonder why. Maybe because it was right there next to us. And that was a story in itself.
“Your cat sleeping now?” I’d ask, while we lay there eyes half shut and almost asleep.
“Downstairs.”
“The cat’s gone downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Why is it downstairs?”
“Don’t know.”
“It likes to walk around when we’re asleep?”
“Yes,” she replied dreamily.
/
Jie Jie never referred to her friend as a kitten. It was always a cat, but a baby cat all the same. Small and she’d hold it in her little hands. Talk to it.
“What’s it saying?”
“Meow!” Jie looked at me, her face beaming. “She likes you, Daddy. You want to hold her?”
“So it’s a girl cat, is it?”
Jie Jie paused. “Don’t know,” she said, screwing her face up in thought.
“Well …”
“Hold her, Daddy, hold her!”
“Ok, ok.”
Jie Jie passed the cat into my outstretched palms. I felt nothing.
“Oh. It jumped down.”
“Where is it now?”
“Over there,” she said, pointing to under the wicker chair.
Jie Jie was off to her dance class. It was a Saturday morning and Mummy was waiting in the car.
“Your cat going with you?”
“No, Daddy.”
“It doesn’t want to?”
“It’s sleeping.”
I helped Jie Jie to put her coat on. We were by the door.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to the sofa. “And there,” she said, again pointing to under the wicker chair. “And in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?”
She paused. “And there,” she said, her finger outstretched.
“Wait a minute. How many cats are there now?”
“So many,” she laughed.
I was putting on her shoes. Mummy was waiting in the car and I kissed Jie Jie goodbye.
“Be a good girl,” I said. “Maybe you’ll make some friends at this dance class of yours.”
As she was running to the car, Jie Jie shouted back to me: “The cats like you, Daddy.”
“Well that’s nice to know.”
“They’re good cats, don’t worry.”
The horn of the car beeped.
/
It wasn’t long before the house was full of the creatures. Through Jie Jie’s eyes I’d see them poking their heads out of toy boxes, in my place on the sofa, sat sullenly on the kitchen draining board, gathered under the dining table; on the pillow beside me as I slept.
They were watching me from dark corners.
“Why are there so many?” I’d ask her.
“They like you, Daddy.”
“Oh, yeah? They like Mummy too?”
“Yes.”
“And they’re your friends?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“What are they doing?”
“Don’t know,” Jie Jie would say. Or sometimes the answer would be, “sleeping,” or, “looking.”
“Looking at what?”
“At Mummy and Daddy.”
“Ah, so we’re interesting, are we?”
“They’re just looking, Daddy. Don’t worry.”
“Why should I be worried?” I said, gazing around nervously. Settling back into the sofa I asked: “Do they mind if I turn the TV on?”
Jie Jie was sat on the floor playing with a toy car, pushing it forwards and backwards. There were building blocks and she’d made a house for her cars and dolls. She was a girl but I’d buy her toy cars and action figures – she’d give them makeovers, give them tea parties. Jie Jie screwed up her face. “They don’t mind,” she said. Then she stood up and came over to me She rested her hands on my legs. “They’re just cats, Daddy.”
I picked Jie Jie up and put her on my lap. Switching on the TV, I selected her favourite channel. “You hungry?”
“No.”
“Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Tired?” I asked, though I knew the answer to that one. I glanced at the clock.
Jie Jie nestled into my arms, making herself comfortable. From every corner of the room the cats observed our interaction, taking note.
“Mummy will be down in a minute. Time for your shower.”
“Watch Dora first.”
That’s what the TV was showing. Dora the Explorer, friends with all the animals.
“Ok, then. You like Dora?”
“Yes.”
“Her best friend is a monkey.”
“Boots,” Jie Jie sighed sleepily, for that was the monkey’s name.
“Like you, I guess. Friends with all these cats.”
Jie Jie again sighed sleepily. Her eyelids were drooping. When Mummy came into the room the two of us were almost asleep. I felt my shoulder being squeezed.
“Come on, you two.”
My wife took our daughter up into her arms.
“Daddy, Daddy,” Jie Jie called from over Mummy’s shoulder.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Such a Daddy’s girl,” my wife smiled. She gave Jie Jie a kiss and called back to me, “Don’t be long.”
/
Who knows for how many weeks or months they were there for. But at some point I noticed that the cats weren’t around any more.
“Where did they go?” I asked Jie Jie some time later.
“Finished,” she told me happily.
“Finished?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“They’ve gone?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, yeah? Got what they wanted, did they?”
I watched her screwing her face up as she often did. I could see her mind working away.
“Back to wherever it is they came from,” I sighed.
“That’s right,” she answered. But then seemed to changed her mind.
I guess she sensed my disappointment.
“Here, Daddy,” she said, picking up an imaginary kitten from the floor. She handed it to me and I pretended to hold it in my palms.
“What colour’s this one?”
“Pink!” Jie Jie smiled. “Pink and blue. And white. And red! And brown,” she added thoughtfully. “Baby cat!” Jie Jie pretended to stroke it. “It likes you, Daddy.”
Leaning forward she gave me a peck on the cheek, then leaving me with the cat, she ran off into another room.
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