George and Rum

The old man sat, legs in front of him, thin arms propping himself up. "Beautiful sunrise," he said, running his fingers through dewy grass. The cat twined her tan-banded tail around one of his arms.

"Yes," she said, smelling the air. "I bet there are mice in that field over there."

"Why don't you go look?"

"It's a ways off."

"Think you'll get lost?"

"I think you'd get worried. You're a born worrier."

"Why should I worry?"

"I might not come back. Cats are very unpredictable, you know. And they can't feel affection for their masters. I might forget all about you in an hour and go off chasing butterflies."

"I'd call you back," he said.

"I might not hear."

He chuckled. "Go on. What do I want with you, anyway?"

Rum crossed the small stream in a leap and stood on the other side, tail raised, dew flickering her tan ears. "Come with me?" she said.

He got to heis feet, still chuckling, and followed. They found a trail as wide as George's boots and they followed that; the man bending goldenrod out of his way, rum with only her tail showing above the clover.

"Smell any mice yet, Rum?"

"Cats don't smell mice, they feel them. Dogs, they're the ones with noses, poking everywhere. Cats don't use smell for catching mice. We can feel their presence."

"You won't really kill a mouse if you catch it, will you? Just let it go? Please don't hurt it, Rum."

"Oh, I don't know. Mice taste pretty good. Better than that canned stuff you feed me. I could go for a nice fresh mouse."

George, knowing this was only meant to worry him, grinned broadly.

"I probably can't catch a mouse anyway. You and your big feet scare them all away. Why can't you humans walk lightly, like proper animals?"

"I've got quite a bit more weight than you," George said in his own defense. But Rum shushed him, bending close to the ground, ears flattened. She stared intently at the earth under a clump of pink clover. Then she relaxed, disgusted.

"Only a toad."

"Why don't you chase that?"

"Oh, toads are no fun. They hop up and down like grasshoppers, and just when you think they're one place, they turn up another. You can't catch them on the ground because they just hop again. And they don't stay in the air like butterflies, either."

"Toads don't have wings," George said matter-of-factly.

"And even if you do catch one, it wets in your mouth," Rum said, switching her tail. George laughed, bent down and caught the toad. It hunched itself on his palm, not willing to jump from such a height and not willing to admit its identity either. It closed its eyes, pretending to be a rock.

"It's all right," George said. "Rum wouldn't really hurt you. She just likes the chase."

" 'Just likes the chase,' " the toad muttered. Likes to scare me, that's what. Damn terrorist. Sadistic cat."

"I'm sure she's sorry if she scared you," George said, stroking the lumpy skin, loving the texture and coolness. Rum grumbled. The toad said, "She's not sorry at all. Horrid furry thing. All claws and hair and teeth. Damn terrorist. And stop petting me. I ain't no damn cat."

"I'm sorry," George said, suppressing laughter.

"What's so funny? How'd you like someone petting you? And put me down before I piss all over your damn hand."

George put the toad down and it hopped angrily away. It would have stomped away, George thought, if it could.

"Nasty dispositions they have," Rum said. "You never can have a pleasant conversation wiith a toad."

"It was scared. All creatures act like that when they're scared. I bet you've never been scared, so you wouldn't know."

"And such language!" Rum said in mock shock. "I don't know where he picked that up!" Then she contemplated George's words. "No, I never have been scared. I've always been with you." It slipped out, like a too-quick butterfly, before Rum could catch it, and she was embarrassed. It surprised them both. Rum turned and said curtly, "Let's go back," then ran ahead down the trail. George followed her orange tail, wondering how he could possibly be any happier.



Later, as lightning flashed outside the window, Rum sat on the sill with her tail around a potted plant, watching the rain with satisfaction.

"You think that'll help the garden?"

"Undoubtedly," George said.

"Even the catnip?"

"Especially the catnip. I told the rain, 'You give that catnip all the minerals and vitamins you have because that's Rum's catnip.' And it will, too."

Rum showed her amusement only by moving her whiskers, but that satisfied George. It was all he expected.

"What makes the lightning?"

"I don't know. Ask it sometime."

"No, I mean really. What makes it?"

"I told you the truth. I don't know. Something about dust particles, I think. Nobody really knows what makes lightning, Rum. Not even me."

"Then what's the use?" she said vaguely.

"The use of asking? The use of me?"

"The use of the world."

"Nobody knows that either. But we all go on living because we hope to find out."

Rum shook herself of raindrops that were cming in through the screen. "I don't really want to find out," she said. "It might rattle me." She leapt down onto the floor and padded to the kitchen. "Let's eat."

"We got some nice tuna for you." George placed a bowl on the floor. "And cream." He sat at a card table with his dinner and the newspaper in front of him.

"So what's going on in the world?"

"A plane crash. Somebody kidnapped a child. Russia made some more atomic warheads. The United States made twice as many, just in case. And scientists think California is losing land to the sea at the rate a finger-nail grows."

"How fast is that? And how soon will the ocean reach us?"

"I wouldn't worry. We'll be kidnapped, killed by radiation, or have a plane land on our houses before the sea swallows us."

"You're a comfort," Rum said, her mouth full of tuna.

"The sea is kind. If it swallows California, we'll gain land on the east coast, and that would do this country good. We could expand our garden, too."

"What would you do if I was kidnapped?"

"Nobody would kidnap a cat."

"You're talking with your mouth full," Rum said. "Swallow before you speak. And somebody might kidnap me, you never know. What would you do if they held me for ransom?"

"For ransom? I'd sell the house an d the land and all the furniture. Even my wedding band. I'd get you back, somehow."

"Come on, be serious," Rum said, hopefully.

"I am! Aren't I always serious? I'd sell everything for you. And I'd beat up that nasty kidnapper. I'd make him sorry."

Rum eyed George carefully. "Really?"

"Really." George put a forkful of beef pot pie into his mouth. "Who would I have to talk to? You keep me company. You keep me in shape with all your sunrise walks. And sunset walks. You keep me on my toes. I couldn't live without you. You keep me alive."

"Talking with your mouth full agaijn," Rum said, but she was moved. She chewed her food a long time before swallowing.

"I didn't think you had to ask, Rum. I thought you must know I love you. More than anything."

"God! I'm sorry I brought itu pu. I can't take all this sweetness."

"And what about you, Rum? Don't you love me?"

She regarded him with curious eyes. "If I answered that, I wouldn't be a cat. But I think you know the answer."

"Maybe I'd just like to hear it."

"Not from me."

"Why won't you ever just let yourself be yourself?" asked George. "You could be really sweet if you were brave enough. I wish you'd say what you feel. Won't you ever?"

Rum flicked her tail. "Mrrow," she said, and began to wash.


She stayed out late that night, watching the stars, being chased by tomcats. It was good to be away from humans for a while. George understood. He always welcomed her heome. But this morning as she approached the house, Rum felt a change, an absence of welcome. What had happened? She leapt up the steps to the front door, trying to shake the nervousness from her fur. She meowed to the screen and waited. Nobody came. She meowed again and called to george. Perhaps he had slept late. Perhaps he hadn't heard. But what was this feeling creeping over her? She turned around once on the doormat and meowed again, then padded swiftly down the steps, crossing the garden, passing the catnip, around to the back door. There was no screen there, only wood. She meowed at that five times, tail swishing. "Hurry up; my fur is all wte!" Back to the inside, peering through the wire mesh. Her claws pulled at it, then let go. She went to George's bedroom window and yowled loudly under it. Get up, George. Who do you think you are, sleeping late, leaving me outside? I'm hungry. I want breakfast. Dammit, georgge, wake up and get out here. I'll meow until you let me in. I'll just keep meowing until you come, dammit. Where are you? Where are you? Rum sat back, mouth closed. This had never happened before. He wouldn't do this to her unless something awful had happened. She looked up at the window. He had been kidnapped. That was it; somebody had kidnapped him.

The door opened. Rum ran to the steps and then froze, looking up into the face of a stranger.

"I guess you're Rum?"

"Mrrow?" she said.

"Come on in."

She climbed the steps slowly and squeezed in through the door. The strange man led her down the hall to George's bedroom, at the open door of which Rum stopped again, bewildered. Why was George in bed? Was he sick? But he had been fine the night before. And who was the woman? She stood by the bed, worry bringing her brows together, one hand on George's still arm. The man picked Rum up and carried her to the bed, placing her gently beside George.

"Yes, that's his cat," the woman said. "If he's going to recognize anything, he'll recognize her. He loved her. Talked to her all the time. Tried to tell him it was useless, cats can never love their masters. Tried to tell him, get a dog." She was close to tears. "He loved that cat. Why doesn't he recognize her?"

"Well, this condition may be only temporary," the man said. "It's too early to tell just yet. We won't know much more for a few weeks. These things take time."

Rum looked into the still, blank face. "George? George, talk to me. They're all talking over my head, as if I didn't exist. What happened to you? You can tell me. What happened? You look awful. Can you hear me. Are you very sick? What happened, dammit, answer me!"

George's one open eye stared blankly, unknowing. The right side of his face sagged, and spit had collected in the lower corner of his mouth.

"What are they talking about, George? Are you mad because I stayed out all night? I have a right to that, you know. I'm a cat. And, come to think of it, I'm pretty mad at you. Why didn't you let me in? Is that any way to treat me, leaving me out all night and not even getting up to let me in? I was all wet and cold out there, George, and I called and called for you. What kind of a master are you, lying in bed, leaving me outside? Listen! Listen to meQ I can find another master. One who takes better care of me. Who needs you? You won't even answer me! Are you listening? I'll find another master, George! George?"

The doctor said, "What a noisy cat! If I had a cat like that, I'd learn to talk back too."

"Poor thing. I think it really does miss him. It misses his voice."

"You stupid people, don't you think I know what you're saying? I hear every word! Stop talking about me. Talk to me. Tell me something. What's happened? Why is George like this? George? George? Can you hear me? I love you. I love you. Isn't that what you wanted to hear?"

She was quiet now, watching him, hoping that the words carried some magic that woud make him well. She longed to hear his voice, feel his hands welcome her home.

"Is this my fault because I didn't say it before? Why didn't I, George, why didn't I? I love you. Aren't I brave? I love you George."

"Shhh," the doctor said to the meowing cat.

George lay still, one glazed eye unmoving, unreachable, uncaring.

"He doesn't recognize her," George's sister said, wiping at her cheeks. She gathered up Rum, who lay limply in her grasp, and carried her away.