The Picasso of Pee by Gwen Cooper

Author:Gwen Cooper [Cooper Gwen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781946885913
Publisher: BenBella Books

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Laurence had lived in the same rent-controlled, three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment for seventeen years—with roommates initially, although for the past decade he’d lived alone. Moving in with my three cats was an uneasy transition for all of us at first. Definitively not a “cat guy,” Laurence seemed inclined to give the three felines a wide, wary berth—an inclination that at least two of my cats reciprocated. Homer, who bonded instantly with most people, turned unexpectedly skittish in the face of Laurence’s booming, basso profundo (Laurence’s rich, ringing, almost preternaturally deep voice was one of the things I loved most about him—but it was easy to see how it might spook a blind cat at first.) As for Scarlett, she couldn’t quite believe that, after nearly seven years, I was once again forcing her into the horrors of living with two humans instead of just one.

But where Homer and Scarlett saw a potential adversary (one that Homer dealt with largely by avoiding him, and that Scarlett handled by angrily slashing at him with her claws whenever she thought he was standing too close), Vashti shrewdly surmised an opening.

She may have been “the pretty one,” but it was Homer who’d always gotten the lion’s share of attention from newcomers. Once people oohed and aahed over Vashti’s beauty, they fell to watching Homer, fascinated to see a blind cat going through the simple, everyday motions of retrieving a favorite toy or walking across the room unassisted.

But Laurence—with whom I’d been best friends for nearly three years before we started dating—had met Homer before, and had long since gotten used to hearing me insist that Homer was a perfectly normal cat despite his blindness. Accordingly, Laurence wasn’t inclined to be unduly impressed when Homer did normal cat things.

From Vashti’s perspective, this presented a golden, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: the chance to have, for the very first time, a human who was all her own—one she wouldn’t have to share with any other cats.

As with anything that grows surely but imperceptibly, it’s hard to look back and know exactly what the earliest overtures were. Did Vashti creep over to stand at Laurence’s feet as he sat on the sofa alone one night after I’d gone to bed, weaving affectionately—with many a dazzling tail flourish—around his ankles? Did she jump up on the couch and lean oh-so-tenderly against his shoulder while he watched a Jets game and I read a book in the bedroom? It’s impossible to say. But I do remember very clearly, perhaps a month after we’d moved in, walking into the living room to find Vashti firmly ensconced in Laurence’s lap—Laurence, Mr. I’m-Not-A-Cat-Guy, who’d once upon a time said, I’m not sure that living with cats is for me. “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?” Laurence now crooned as he scritched Vashti beneath her chin. For her part, Vashti looked as pleased and proud as the cat who’d swallowed a man-sized canary. “A pretty, pretty girl . . .”

So much for Vashti’s long-standing mistrust

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