Cats Person (1.5k words)

Hello beautiful gorgeous patrons <3 I am all better from FFS but have been struggling hard with writer's block. I've FINALLY finished a first draft of Don't Feed the Trolls ch 4, which currently clocks in at 16k words. I'm hopefully gonna cut it down quite a bit though. It'll be a little while before that's ready to share, but thank you so much for your patience and support. Here's another old short story, it's really stupid I hope you enjoy.

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“So you’re saying your son is a Cats person?” said Dr Fong.

I shook my head, “Not a cat person. A Cats person.”

He frowned, “That’s what I said. I said Cats person.”

 “Like the musical Cats—”

“I know,” he said, “I get the premise.”

“Oh,” I said, “Sorry. I’m pretty tired.”

Dr Fong sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Tell me how it started.”

*****

It wasn’t Jayden’s idea to see Cats. His older sister Olivia requested it as a special treat for her sixteenth birthday.

“Cats?” I said, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah!” she said, “Esther’s uncle is in it.”

Esther Desrouleaux’s family had recently migrated from Haiti, and I was very proud of how Olivia and her friends had taken her under their wing. Right now, she was sitting in the front seat of my minivan, while the rest of the girls were crammed in the back.

“Is that true?” I asked.

“Um…” Esther said hesitantly, “He plays Rum Tum Tugger.”

There was a burst of giggles from the other girls.

“What?”

“He’s Jason Derulo!” said Olivia, “Her uncle is Jason Derulo.”

“Isn’t that cool?” said Olivia’s friend Melissa, “We love his music.”

“I love Talk Dirty,” said Annaleigh, “Esther, how does Talk Dirty go again?”

Esther glanced at me. I smiled encouragingly. 

“Been around the world, don’t speak the language…” she sang softly, “But your booty don’t need explaining...”

The other girls burst out laughing again.

“So cool,” said Melissa, “I love your uncle’s song Talk Dirty.”

“I can’t wait to see him act!” said Carmen, “He’s perfectly cast as a sexy talking cat.”

“Esther, you should be in the sequel!” said Annaleigh, “You can sing a duet with your sexy cat uncle!”

I knew bullying when I saw it. This wasn’t it, because they were saying nice things.

“Well, remember to bring Jayden with you,” I said.

“Perfect,” said Olivia, “He can sit with Esther.”

Jayden looked up from his phone.

“What’s the movie?” he asked.

“Cats,” I said. 

That was when it all began.

*****

I sighed and looked out the window. It was autumn, and orange leaves were falling like botanical dandruff.

“Hey,” said Dr Fong. He snapped his fingers, “Don’t do that. Don’t leave a dramatic pause.”

I blushed. That was exactly what I had been doing.

“I wasn’t,” I said, “I thought I saw something out there.”

“What?” said Dr Fong.

“A shooting star,” I lied. I smiled to myself. I wasn’t sure where that lie came from, but it was a good one, and quick too.

I turned back and noticed the large painting of a shooting star above his desk.

“Just get on with it,” he said.

*****

The movie was fine, although Olivia’s friends whispered to each other the whole time and Esther left early in a flood of tears. 

Jayden loved it, though. He talked about it constantly and then started trying to make up his own cats.

“I’m Bippitus Ponk, the pissing cat!” I would hear him sing from the bathroom, “Meow, meow, piss!”

Bippitus Ponk didn’t last long, but many others followed. It seemed like Jayden had a new cat every morning.

“I’m Smegsy Von Queef, the shitting cat!” he cried out from the ensuite, “Meow, meow, shit!” 

My husband, Bryce, pulled his pillow over his head.

“Make him stop,” he said, voice muffled.

“He’s expressing himself,” I said, “It’s nice.”

“I’m Zoolius Gunt, the wiping cat!”

“Why’s he using our toilet?” said Bryce.

“He says the other bathroom smells like Olivia’s period blood,” I said.

“Meow, meow, wipe!” sang Jayden. 

I assured Bryce it wouldn’t last long. I was right. School resumed, and Jayden was too busy to think about Cats. Occasionally I’d hear him humming as he worked — “I’m Mungus McPlum, the studying cat!” — but mostly things returned to normal.

Then COVID happened.

*****

I sighed and looked out the window. Leaves were falling like shingles from a badly tiled roof. Dr Fong threw his pen lid at my head.

“Ow!”

“I told you to stop that,” he said. 

“I can’t help it!” I said, “I did a storytelling workshop and they trained me to use pauses.”

“What’s out there, anyway?” he said, “Don’t say a shooting star.”

I shrugged, “Just falling leaves. Like shingles from a poorly tiled roof.”

“Bad analogy,” said Dr Fong.

“Well, how would you describe it?”

“They’re like rocketships,” he said.

I scoffed.

“Not taking off,” he said, exasperated, “Returning from orbit. After they deploy their parachutes. They drift down like leaves.”

“Not relatable,” I said, “More people have roofs.”

Dr Fong threw the rest of his pen at me. Incredibly, it went point-first directly into my right ear.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!” he leapt up from his seat, “Are you okay?”

I pulled out the pen, which had penetrated about half an inch into my ear canal, and tilted my head. Nothing fell out. I gave a thumbs up. After a moment’s hesitation, Dr Fong sat down. I offered him the wax-covered pen, but he declined, so I put it back into my ear. It actually felt quite comfortable in there. 

“Then COVID happened,” I continued.

*****

Jayden had a lot more spare time during lockdown, and he devoted it all to devising new cats. At first, they were just as shallow — “I’m Jizzembuggler, the banana-peeling cat!” — but as time passed, he became more introspective. 

“I’m Scorpiolanus, the frustrated cat!” I caught him musing to himself, “I have thoughts that I don’t quite know how to express. And it causes me feelings of shame and distress.”

*****

“Jesus,” said Dr Fong, “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” I said, “I didn’t think I had the emotional capability to deal with that.”

“Good instinct,” he said, “Continue.”

*****

I asked Bryce to talk to Jayden, but my husband had his own lockdown project: installing a motor in our Hill’s Hoist so he could play Goon of Fortune, “with deadly stakes.” 

The depth of Jayden’s cats continued to increase, as did the quality of his lyrics. Before long, he had achieved self-actualisation.

I was eating noodles with a pair of foot-long barbecue tongs (I hadn’t done the dishes since lockdown started) when I heard Jayden singing from the hallway.

“I’m Jayden Bryce Kelly, the self-actualised cat!” he proclaimed, “I’ve reached an acceptance of all that I am, and searched myself down to my core. And yet I’m no further from where I began, than ever I have been before!”

Before I could ask what that meant, there was a roar of triumph from the backyard. I rushed out to see Bryce on his knees underneath the Hill’s Hoist. A spray of goon splattered my wedding dress (I hadn’t done any laundry either) and distracted me completely.

Until I heard Jayden’s plan.

*****

I sighed and looked out the window. Leaves were falling like, sure, rocketships. 

Dr Fong groaned, “For fuck’s sake.” 

“Jayden’s plan,” I said, “To reach the Heaviside Layer. The place Jellicle cats ascend to… when they die.”

“There we go,” Dr Fong clapped, “He’s going to kill himself. Thank you. Could’ve just said that.”

I shrugged.

“Well, I don’t know what the hell you expect me to do about it,” he said, “I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m an astrophysicist.”

He pointed at the shooting star, and at the pen in my ear. I pulled it out and looked at the side. It said Space is outta this world!

“I know,” I said, “I didn’t want a psychiatrist. I wanted you, Dr Richard Fong. One of the most respected astrophysicists within five kilometres of my house who bulk bills.”

He frowned, “What for?”

“The Heaviside Layer is real, right?” I said, “Jayden googled it. It’s a layer of ionised gas 90 kilometres up.”

Dr Fong nodded, “The Kennelly-Heaviside layer. We call it the E region now.”

“I thought you could talk to Jayden,” I said, “Help him redirect this Cats energy into a career in, you know. Astronaut. Or whatever.”

“Hmm,” he said, “I don’t really want this freak as a colleague.”

I sighed and looked out the window. This time, I saw something incredible. 

Something worthy of a dramatic pause.

*****

“This is a great plan,” said Olivia, “This will definitely work. You’re so smart.”

“Olivi-divi-davey is an insecure cat,” Jayden muttered as he buckled himself in, “Her smile belies an oncoming attack, her compliments cut like a knife. But what do her friends say when she turns her back? The thought makes her fear for her life.”

Olivia’s face turned red. 

“Well, that may be true,” she said, “But you’re obsessed with the movie Cats, and you’re going to die.”

“We’ll see,” said Jayden. He pulled on his helmet, complete with cardboard cat ears, and hit the throttle on the Hill’s Hoist. 

It spun, faster and faster. The crude plastic airfoils duct-taped to the arms rattled, but held. Slowly but surely, his flying machine took to the sky. 

“I’m Bingus Fucktastic, the flying cat!” Jayden cried, “Meow, meow, fly!”