Devil

Was this the same cat? The same cat who'd hiss and show its teeth every time Beth went near it, or even held one finger out for inspection and detente? It was hard to believe. But there was the copper burst around the right eye, and the mustache. This was Devil.

Only now, Beth had Devil in her arms, and the cat wasn't fighting for its life. She was lying there, actually folding herself into Beth's arms. A drowsy infant. An angel. Beth sat on the green painted steps out front. I peeked past the curtains and just watched them, Beth rocking Devil, and I know you can't see into an animal's mind, but it sure as hell looked like Devil was enjoying the attention. Like she was drinking it in and would let herself be lullabied out there on the steps. For the world to see. For the other cats to see.

And it was great. But it was also… I don't know. Not wrong, really. But like some part of the world had been squeezed down and molded to fit into our convenience. I'll bet she was purring. She looks so peaceful. Isn't that what new parents say about their sleeping babies?

Beth had a way of going a little overboard at times, treating our dog Rudolph and our cat Moonie like children. Cooing to them. Talking to them in baby-talk. Making sure the blankets they liked to sleep on were straight and smoothed and just right. And if they slept together, which they did so rarely it was remarkable, Beth would flush with pride. "Look at my babies" she'd say barely above a whisper. "Quiet—don't wake them." The first few times, she took their picture, and she would actually show people that picture.