Lost
This was part of my final portfolio for Fiction and Poetry Writing II with Amy Eisner.
Carlos Macasaet
7 December 2004
220.106 – Final Portfolio
Who can really distinguish between the sea and what’s reflected in it? Or tell the difference between falling rain and loneliness?
Haruki Murakami – Sputnik Sweetheart
trans. Philip Gabriel
The sun was setting when I brought the patio table inside. As soon as I turned around to get the chairs, the cat dashed out. He turned his head to glance at me one last time before jumping off the terrace. Our flat was on the first floor of the building, so it was not much of a drop. When I looked outside, he was gone. In one direction, there was a road that ran past several other apartment complexes and led to a busier main street. In the other direction, there was an orchard that served as a common backyard for several of the condominiums and townhouses. I hoped he had chosen to run off in that direction. I ran out after him, but I could find no trace of him. This would be easier to do in the morning. I put out his water and food bowls as well as the small bamboo tree that he loved to chew on then went to bed.
It was surprisingly warm the next day. Had I known it would be so nice I would have left the furniture out. I would have liked to sit on the patio one last time while the sun rose – sipping a can of beer and smoking a cigarette, while the early risers drove to work.
I always woke up early, but unlike everyone else, I didn’t have to worry about getting to work on time. I had lost my job over the summer so I was constantly looking for ways to fill the days. I should have been looking for a job, but I’ve been pretty unmotivated. I worked with computers but I eventually realised that I was miserable with my career choice. I would continue to get paid through the end of the year, so money is not really tight. Ultimately, I was left with a lot of time come to grips with the reality of my life.
Now the cat was gone. My ex-wife had bought him from a friend of hers when he was just two months old and he had always been an indoor cat. I never had him de-clawed. Sure, he would occasionally scratch up the carpet, or my arms when I tried to pet him, but I always figured he would need them someday, if he had to survive on his own. Still, I never expected this. Sometimes, if the front door was open, he would venture out to explore the new territory, but he never went far. All I had to do was follow him out and he would tense up, his tail would flail back and forth to indicate his anxiety and he would stare at me for a moment before darting inside.
I headed toward the wooded area. I walked among the trees while freshly fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet. Anyone who saw me walking by would have thought I was just taking a leisurely stroll through the woods on account of the fine weather. I eventually wound up at the nearby park. I sat on a bench and pulled out a stale cigarette. When I was still working, I smoked so often that my cigarettes were always fresh. At the office, I had been the only person on my team who smoked. According to company policy, smokers were entitled to a ten-minute smoking break every two hours. My job had gotten so boring that I took advantage of this rule as much as I could. I think the others resented me a little for it, but I didn’t really care. Now that I was unemployed, I made quitting one of my goals. The urge to smoke was gradually diminishing but I couldn’t kick the habit altogether.
About two weeks before I was sacked, we had a division meeting in which the higher-ups told us that due to budget cuts, they were required to let a number of people go. They told us that we needed to “hold on to our stars�?. This meant that they would be closely monitoring our performance and those of us who demonstrated the most dedication to the corporate goals would be guaranteed to stick around. I was a strong coder, and I always did what I was assigned, but I was not surprised when my supervisor came to my cubicle and explained that my contribution to the company was not on par with what was expected of team players. Six months of pay wasn’t bad. I came in as a contractor so I was already making more than my teammates, and whenever one of my managers learned that I had received an offer from another department, my salary went up in order to get me to stay.
I took another drag then put out the half smoked cigarette. I wanted to start jogging again. I had tried running around the block a couple times the week before, but since I graduated from college, I jogged less and less and smoked more and more.
I noticed a sudden movement in the bushes. When I went to investigate, I saw the cat. His head turned suddenly when he saw me. It had to be him. He had the same black, brown and white coloured fur and he even had the golden-brown smudge on his forehead. I made the meowing sounds that a cat owner learns to imitate while I crouched down and extended my arms. He hesitantly approached, alternating glances between my outstretched arms and my face. I wondered what I would do if he actually did come to me. Trying to pick him up always resulted in cuts on my arms from his teeth and his claws. But then I noticed that this cat’s front right paw had the same black fur as the other paws. My cat’s front right paw had a light caramel colour – like the crema that naturally forms on top of a perfectly brewed espresso.
Something snapped behind me and the cat jerked its head up, then turned and ran away. I looked behind me, searching for the source of the noise, but I saw nothing. I stood up and recommenced my search. I pulled out another cigarette but then reconsidered and replaced it in the pack. They were Marlboro Ultra-Lights – my wife’s brand. Before we met, I smoked pretty much anything, but now, even though she’s been gone for five years, I still buy the same brand exclusively. The cigarettes and the cat were all that was left to remind me of her.
She loved that cat. I still don’t know why she left it. It was almost like a son to her. The cat had a tendency to scratch and bite people whenever anyone tried to pet it, but he really warmed up to her. He used to curl up in her lap while she sat at the desk, typing on her laptop. Sometimes, when he propped himself up with his front paws on the desk, the top of his head would just touch her chin and it looked like he was carefully reading the stories while she wrote them – as if he was her most important critic. Sometimes, he sat on the table next to the bed while she wrote in her journal, always ready to alert her if he felt that her characters needed to be developed more. I always wanted to make a photo journal of the two of them together. However, she hated having her picture taken and even I was not allowed to photograph her. Once, when we were still in college, I took a photo that truly captured her beauty. I happened to be holding my camera just when she laughed. We were inside so I was already using a wide aperture that held her face in perfect focus while blurring everything in the background. The composition was perfect so when I printed it, I included the edges of the negative as proof that no cropping had been performed in the darkroom. But no amount of technical skill could have made the photo beautiful without her smile at that moment. I mounted the photo and placed it on the wall in my dorm room. However, after she stayed there for a couple days while I was away on a job interview, the photo mysteriously disappeared. I understood what was going on. For Christmas that year, I gave her a present of all the prints I had of her along with the negatives so she could be sure that no one else would see them. I always hoped she would one day return the gesture by giving back that one mounted photo.
After graduating from college, she wanted to continue to develop her writing, so we moved to the northeast where a school had offered her a writing fellowship. We married shortly afterward in a small courtroom ceremony. But things never work out as planned. The school reneged on the fellowship offer; so instead, she found work as an editor for the local newspaper. At this point, the job market for information technology was not so volatile so I had no trouble finding employment through a national contracting agency. When she left, she took all of her things as well as the few photos that featured her. She said, by way of explanation, that I was the same person she met in college and that I wasn’t changing to accommodate her growth.
Maybe she was right. Before she left, I was engrossed in my job. Programming was what I had learned to do well in four years and I felt like I had to show up the regular salaried employees. The managers noticed, and soon, they offered me a salary comparable to what I was making from the contracting agency plus benefits. After that, my diligence won me promotion after promotion until the only thing higher was management. But I knew where my skills were and I was content as a programmer. We were living in a nice condominium in a nice neighbourhood and we had a cat. She had a job, and she was writing on the side. What more could she want? In the end, however, she moved back home, leaving me the cat and her preference in cigarettes. The divorce papers arrived a week later. I signed them, but kept no record for myself. Now, the cat and I live by ourselves in the flat. I really cared for that cat, although, you probably wouldn’t think that based on the way he behaves towards me. I make sure he has food and water every day and I change his litter box regularly, but he still doesn’t let me pet him. He has the run of the flat, but he spends most of his time hiding under furniture or in my closet, which I keep open for him. Occasionally, however, when it’s cold at night, he comes out from hiding and curls up next to me in bed. Together, we form a peculiar sort of family and I can’t help but wonder if she ever existed at all and I did not just make her up.
It occurred to me that the cat might never return. I suppose with my wife gone he’s been pretty lonely. Perhaps there was a female cat waiting for him out there. Maybe during the summer, while I sat on the porch, they would meet on opposite sides of the screen covering one of the open windows. Maybe he was looking for a family of his own to look after.
Then again, perhaps he had no idea what lay in store for him outside. Maybe with my wife gone, he had decided to seek adventure. Maybe he was never meant to be an indoor cat. I imagined him silently sneaking up on unsuspecting prey the way he would sneak around the flat. I saw him lying perfectly still, blending in with the sticks and leaves, ready to pounce at any moment. Just then, I realised that if he didn’t want to be found, then I would never be able to find him.
I gave in and lit another cigarette. The sun was directly above me and I hadn’t eaten all day. I decided I would continue looking later. He might have even returned on his own by now. If I don’t find him, I’ll post signs around the neighbourhood and take an advertisement out in the local newspaper. I wonder if they would hire another photographer. Or maybe with the recent boom in population, they would be interested in launching a new online edition.
