“Well…” He’s the one with the out-of-control cat, and he wants to question my methods? “Aren’t you a lot happier when you’re high?”
“I’m a public servant, hon. I’m not allowed to get baked.”
“Weed is legal in the state of Washington, you know.” Probably not so much for firemen, but I’m not too inclined to give him the benefit of being right. He irritates me too much.
He winks broadly. God, what an asshole. I’d think he was trying to flirt with me, but that’s just ridiculous. Him flirting with me is not something that’s going to happen in this lifetime.
I pull out another toy. This one’s a long, flexible stick with a string on the end. On the end of the string is a collection of feathers and a bell. For a split second I wonder what Jesse would do if I smacked the stick part across his tight ass.
I clear my throat. “This is a lure-type toy—they like to chase the feathers on the end.” I bounce the feathery lure up and down a few times then drag it across the floor, demonstrating. It’d be a much more effective demonstration if the cat were actually in the room. As it is, I come off looking a little crazy, I’m sure.
When I look back up, Jesse’s watching me and biting the inside of his cheek, obviously holding back laughter. “Do they like chew toys?” he asks.
“No. Dogs like chew toys. Not cats. Cats like things they can stalk.” I’m surprised again by how little he actually knows about his pet. Does he not know you can get books at the library if you need to know why your cat is shredding your couch or pissing on the carpet?
On the other hand, if he’d gotten books at the library, I wouldn’t be here now making a decent hourly rate.
“There’s more,” I add, “but we won’t get into that until we actually need it.”
He’s still giving me that “man-this-girl-is-crazy” look. “Is there a couch?”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at. He wants me to replace the couch his cat shredded? “A couch?”
“Yeah. So he can lie there and tell me all about how he never really got along with his mother.” The last word comes out in a weird little burst, like he’s holding back hysterical laughter.
I, however, am not finding him all that funny. “No.”
He shakes his head, still half laughing at me. “Well, I just hope it does work, because I’m not clear on any of it.”
I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or to walk out and let him figure his shit out on his own. I’m having a terrible time reading him. Does he like the cat or not? Is he actually trying to flirt with me, or is he one of those guys who likes to string girls along? Maybe he just has no idea how to flirt. Maybe he’s so good-looking he’s never actually had to. Girls just automatically fall at his feet, tossing their panties at them on the way.
I clear my throat again to get my own attention. “I’m sure it’ll make more sense once we get started. Let’s go see Thor.”
He makes a vague gesture toward the hallway. “He’s down here.”
I follow him down the hall. As we get closer to our destination, I start to hear noises. Strange noises. Banging and scratching and hissing interspersed with loud meows. What in the world has he done to the poor cat?
The noises get louder until we stop in front of the last door on the right. Right when we stop, there’s a violent pounding sound, as if the cat has flung itself bodily against the door.
“He’s in there,” says Jesse, gesturing but making no move to actually open the door. He looks…nervous. It strikes me again that he’s genuinely afraid of his cat. That’s going to make things complicated.
“You locked him in a bedroom?”
“It’s a big bedroom,” he says defensively. “It’s not like I put him in a box or something. And I can’t let him out, as if you can’t tell from my thoroughly fucked-up couch.”
“Did his previous owners keep him in a bedroom?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then he’s used to having room to roam. You can’t just lock him up in the bedroom and expect him to behave.” There’s another violent pounding and a series of loud meows. “He doesn’t sound happy.”
“He’s never happy. I put him in the extra bedroom because when he’s out ‘to roam’”—he makes air quotes, making it clear he’s not on board with my suggestions—“he jumps on my face in the middle of the night. I can’t sleep when the goddamn cat is trying to kill me.”
“He’s just lonely. He wants attention.” It’s my job to empathize with the cat, and I’m finding it far too easy to picture the poor animal wanting nothing more than to roam his new territory, but suddenly being forced into a completely different living situation than what he’s been used to. No wonder he’s not behaving.
I make a vague gesture toward the door. “Let’s see how he’s doing.”
Jesse wipes his hands down his thighs—God, those are nice thighs—as if he’s preparing himself to face the cat. He literally flinches as his fingers touch the doorknob. Slowly he turns it then jerks it open like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid.
The cat tears out of the room, a gray streak that makes Jesse and I both jump back to get out of the way. The streak resolves into Thor, looking even bigger and fluffier and more unkempt than he did when I saw him at the vet’s. He heads straight for the living room.
“Hey!” Jesse calls after him. “Stay away from the couch!”
Of course, the first thing we see when we get to the living room is Thor next to the couch, scratching the hell out of an upholstered leg.
“Stop it, you piece of shit!” Jesse runs toward him, swiping at the cat with his hand. Thor ducks the attempt to smack him and heads for another couch leg.
Before Jesse can chase Thor down again, I grab him by the arm and stop him. “Let me try.”
I grab the lure toy and walk over to Thor. I bounce the feathery lure next to his head. Thor immediately shifts his attention, swatting at the lure.
Pleased with the result, I tease him with the feathers, guiding him away from the couch. He slaps at it again and again. I trail it across the carpet and he pounces on it, so quick and accurate he almost catches it.
That’s not the point, though. The point is to keep him stalking after it. I play with him for a few more minutes while Jesse watches. The poor cat looks like he’s been dying for a chance to play, to the point where he’s almost manic, leaping and jumping after the feather lure like it’s the coolest thing he’s seen in years. He’s enjoying himself so much it makes me laugh, especially when he starts tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to grab at the toy.
“Okay,” I say to Jesse finally. “It’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Yes.” I hold the long, flexible stick out to him. “Play with the cat.”
He stares at the stick like it’s on fire. I poke it at him. The lure bounces and Thor jumps at it again. Finally Jesse takes the stick and starts bouncing it up and down.
The cat stops playing and just stares at the lure as it moves up and down. Then Thor looks up at Jesse with a dumbfounded expression, as if he can’t believe Jesse is so stupid that he doesn’t know how to play with a cat toy.
I have to admit, I’m fairly dumbfounded about that myself. Instead of doing what I was doing—bouncing the lure and then trailing it over the carpet—Jesse waves it weakly back and forth. It’s the least enticing lure I’ve ever seen.
“That’s not how you do it,” I tell him.
“How, then?” His tone tells me he doesn’t appreciate my critique.
“Have you ever gone fishing?”
“Sure.”
“So…it’s like a fishing pole, right? Hold the lure down and let him try to catch it, then pull it back. You can drag it along the ground, too. He wants to be able to chase it. Like it’s a mouse. It’s a natural predator’s instinct.”
He bounces the lure a few times, and Thor waves a paw at it, but Jesse’s technique remains less than intriguing to the cat. After another bounce, Thor looks at me, almost like he’s begging me to take over again.
“Try on the ground,” I suggest.
He lays the feathery lure on the carpet and pulls it back and forth. Thor jumps at it, but it’s too easy for him to pin down. Jesse flicks it around, yanking it out from under Thor’s paws. Thor tries to stalk it, but again he catches it too quickly and Jesse jerks it away from him.
“That’s not how you do it,” I tell Jesse, exasperated. I showed him exactly how to tease the cat with the toy; I can’t understand why he’s having so much trouble mimicking me. “Try it again. Do it a little faster and don’t let him catch it so easily.”
Jesse flops the lure around a few more times. He’s not trying. It’s infuriating. Thor smacks the feathers once or twice, then looks at me. His expression clearly says, “What the fuck is this guy doing?”
I’m wondering the same thing. “Jesse. This is not hard. You’re playing with a cat, not planning world peace. It doesn’t have to be time consuming, either. You can play with him with the lure toy while you’re reading a book, or use a laser pointer on the wall while you’re watching football. Just figure out how it works into your schedule.”