Gently in the night, by Erin Steele
From the series Not Everyone Sees the Same Cat
Midnight sneaks quietly as it always does, like slipping into the pew at the back of church unnoticed. I’ve been standing here for far too long not to notice these things. So long in fact, my stubborn feet are starting to rust but I think that’s what the Passerbys call “patinaed”, which a friend of mine told me is back in vogue. Something about craftmanship’s longstanding pride.
Moon rises with the usual air of pompous superiority – she’s watched empires collapse, love blossom and fade, and cats – oh so many cats – saunter through all nine lives. And she’s never impressed by any of it. Like me, she too has a civic duty, and we argue sometimes about whose lighting is better suited for romantic movies.
Suddenly, a familiar brush of fur, barely noticeable at my feet. My old friend.
“You’re late. Again.” Everyone has one of these friends in life. The ones who arrive at your door unannounced, prepared with hours of conversation to interrupt your day but you’ll never turn away because that’s not what loyal friends do.
“Time is just a suggestion, not a rule.” Cat quips.
“Tell that to Moon.”
“I do – she never listens, the self-righteous grandstander,” says Cat as it sits on my pedestal. “The air feels different tonight. Thick, musty.”
“You said that last time.” Now I’m unimpressed by Cat, and I see Moon out of the corner of my eye tilt her nose upward in agreement.
“No no, I mean it this time!” Cat complains. Cat looks around exasperatedly. “Don’t tell me your paint isn’t flaking more than it usually does – you must feel it too!”
Moon glares down, unsurprised but still disappointed. She has no idea what Cat is going on about and doesn’t much care.
I can feel my circuits spark and flicker so I can hum in response. Cat has lived so many lives on this corner, of remarkable endearment filled with salmon for every meal and others of unmatched despair and bald patches. It reincarnates the way some people change clothes but always returns because Cat’s lineage is tied to this exact place regardless of what time it is.
“Well, believe me or not. I don’t care.” Cat is sniffing the air around us, feeling the dewey particles on its whiskers. “You and Moon are lucky that I put up with you two wet blankets.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I mutter with another forced hum. Drama is Cat’s trademark, regardless of which life it’s on. It’s made this last century more amusing than it would be without it.
“I have more lives than I can count on one and. Drama is what keeps me going.” Licks its paw, comes back to my iron feet. “I think it’s a Regular. That’s what you called them, right?”
On queue, the air does in fact thicken and gentle clacking steps can be heard against the pavement somewhere in the fog. Long, elegant, and modern in the way people are always “modern”, she walks slowly into my light. Cat, fog, and I pause as we hear the clacking stop and her graceful silhouette emerges. We hold our breath – or in my case, try not to flicker. Moon is blinded by the fog but is probably still not paying attention. The silhouette is carrying a plethora of different worries but pretends she isn’t. But she’s not pretending now – now she pauses in front of us. And humans rarely ever pause nowadays.
She looks up at my dim light, tilting her head upward so slightly you would have thought she didn’t move at all. I’ve seen that gesture before, decades ago, probably longer but time blurs when you’re made of metal and your best friend is a cat.
“Can I tell you something?” Her whisper is stifled by the thick dampness of the air. Cat steps forward sympathetically. She offers her hand to the old friend. “I wish we could switch places.”
If Cat had a distinctive brow, it raised it.
“I won’t be the next Steve Jobs,” She continued.
“Who?” Cat and I said in unison.
“Or anyone worth a Wikipedia page. Just a person who existed, at best a statistic.”
She stood there silently for a moment, her eyes recalling what hope looked like once upon a time.
“I want to be more than this life, or at least without a care in the world about it like you.”
Cat was unsure of whether to be flattered or insulted.
She closed her eyes and smiled, as if waiting for the impending waves of time to wash her away. “I wish I left more behind me than footprints that are just going to disappear.”
I know this woman. I felt saddened for her. Here she was, striving yet still unsatisfied by her place in the world.
“I hope you remember me, even when no one else will.”
We will, I flickered. Every time.
She gave Cat a soft scratch on the head. The gentle clacking disappeared again as it always does; into darkness.
“Told you.” Remarked my smug friend. “Regular.”
“Of course you did,” I rolled my coils. “I always wish the best for this one.”
Cat purred gently in agreement. “Me too. But she’ll be back -- who knows when. And when she does, we’ll be here for her like always.”
The night folded back into itself. When Sun came to relieve Moon of her shift, my light bulb dimmed, Cat had disappeared, and the fog lifted, taking with it the memory of the longing whispers and gentle clacking steps.
by Erin Steele