When our occasional friend Jason called to say that he “needed” to get away from cold, dreary Chicago, but that the Marriott was booked, it never occurred to me that he was fishing. It’s such a rare thing for my partner and me to have houseguests that, by mutual consent, we have given the guest room to our two cats but now, backed into a corner, I finally said, “Well if you don’t mind sharing a room with our cats I guess you could stay here for a day or two.”
“I love cats!” said Jason brightly. “And it’s only for two weeks. See you Saturday.”
“Two weeks?” I stammered, but he had already hung up.
Jason arrived Saturday afternoon and we showed him the guest room. Appalled, he saw the threadbare chair that Haley uses as her scratching post, the bed, where Ginger was napping, and the cats’ toys, tiny mice stuffed with catnip, all over the floor. When he saw the litter box he gulped.
“I told you it was the cats’ room,” I said defensively. Jason nodded grimly.
He approached Ginger. “Nice kitty,” he said, and tried to pet her. She hissed loudly and swiped at him with her paw, but he jumped backward and she missed. “Don’t worry, she’s declawed,” I said.
Jason was meeting some friends for dinner that night so before he took his shower he put a crisp, white shirt and a pair of black pants on the bed. After his shower he went back to his room and uttered an oath. I hurried over and saw Ginger, the orange cat, laying on his black pants and Haley, the black cat, sitting on his white shirt. When he saw that his clothes were covered in cat fur he tried to shoo the cats away, but they both hissed, and Haley, who has her claws, swiped at him. She did not miss.
“I’ll get a Band-Aid,” I said. “And the lint brush.”
Jason got home late that night. My partner and I were asleep but were awakened by a ruckus outside our door. Using a catnip mouse, Jason had lured the cats into the hallway and then slammed his bedroom door shut. The cats were not pleased to be locked out of their room so Ginger started howling at the top of her lungs while Haley stood on her hind legs and beat the door, hard, with her front paws. Hearing the knocking, the dog began barking loudly. We heard Jason, swearing softly, open the door and wait while the cats, in pure feline fashion, debated whether to go back in. They debated for a long time but eventually they decided; the door closed firmly and it was quiet for almost 20 minutes. Then we heard a startled yell that sounded like it came from a man who just felt something warm and furry brush against his bare leg under the covers. Then there was silence.
The silence lasted until 7AM when the cats, hungry, wanted to get out of the room for breakfast and started to really howl, in unison. Jason opened the door and the cats ran into the kitchen as my partner was opening a can of “Seafood Delight” for their breakfast. I gave him a quizzical look but he looked away. Meanwhile Jason, hung over and queasy, went back to bed, wisely leaving the door ajar this time.
Twenty minutes later first Ginger, then Haley, ran for the litter box because “Seafood Delight” gives them almost instant diarrhea. Within ten minutes the paint on the guest room ceiling was peeling and Jason, deeply unwell, was an arresting shade of green. Two hours later he was at the Marriott.
Hours after Jason was gone my partner was still smiling like the cat that ate the canary. “You know you probably just lost your friend,” he said.
“My friend?” I said. “I thought he was your friend.”