Leonard (My Life as a Cat) by Carlie Sorosiak (13 ebook reader .txt) 📕

faster now, her sobs thicker. “And yesterday, you told me that story about my dad . . . And I thought . . . Do you know what my best day on Earth is? Every day that I’ve been with you. Every day at Turtle Beach, at the aquarium, talking to people about animals, having them listen and not make fun of me or tell me I’m ‘socially unprepared for the real world.’ ”

Norma jerked her head back. “Who said that?”

“Frank.” She chokes out his name. “He told me I was weird, and that I didn’t know how to make friends the right way. And I wanted to love him. I wanted it to be good. But who says that, Norma? How could he tell me that?”

A beat passes before Norma says, “Listen. You might not see it now, but you and me, our hearts are the same. What you did this summer? Rescuing that cat in a rowboat? Helping with the penguins and the sharks? You’ve got it in your blood. You’re fearless. What Frank told you? That says a heck of a lot about him, and nothing about you. You hear me? Hold on to yourself. Because you’re good, Olive. You’re good.”

“Anyone there?” Q yells in the distance. “Hello?”

Norma’s head spins toward his voice. “We better go. Can you stand?”

“My ankle,” Olive says, grimacing.

“Oh, Lord,” Norma says, seeing the swelling. “We’re taking you to a hospital.”

Panic spreads across Olive’s face. “No, no, we have to keep moving, get to Old Faithful . . . We have to save Leonard! He’s . . . No! Norma, stop!”

But Norma scoops up Olive anyway, murmuring something like, “I think you might’ve hit your head.”

We leave my raincoat there, in the woods outside Yellowstone. I pick my way through the muck, a silhouette in front of me: a grandmother carrying her granddaughter through the night forest, the two melding into one.

Most humans believe that cats only purr when we’re happy. That is largely the case. Give me a warm patch of sun and a soft blanket to knead, and listen to me hum away. But as the ambulance arrives, as amber lights flicker across the sky, I also purr to calm myself—to make the world feel safer than it is.

My instinct is to jump into the ambulance with Olive, to take a watchful seat by her stretcher. I’m midleap when the driver declares, “This is a cat-free zone.” Olive, delirious with pain, reaches one hand in my direction—as she did in the river. She’s whispering urgently to me, but I can’t tell what she’s saying. Can’t tell what I’m supposed to be doing, as Norma climbs into the back and clasps Olive’s reaching hand.

“We’ll have you fixed up in no time,” Norma tells her, voice shaky. But I wonder if these are just more words. A large lump grows in my throat. I wasn’t aware that throats could have lumps, difficult to swallow down.

Seven hours and forty-five minutes. That’s all I have—and I wanted to spend every second of it with Olive.

“She’s a strong kid,” Q says, after the ambulance has left. Stanley and I are flanking his sides, the three of us wallowing along the empty highway. Q dips his chin to catch my eyes, which are glowing green in the dark. “She’ll be back soon. I think she will. If not, I heard Olive say something about Old Faithful? Is that where you need to go? Don’t worry, my man. We’ll get you home.”

Exhausted, Stanley and I gather around the motor home as Q fixes the flat tire, then drives us to a campsite seven miles from Upper Geyser Basin, which—remarkably—has an open space. The whole site smells of ash and brush fire, and leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. All I can think about is Olive, strapped to the stretcher—even as Stanley does his best to distract me.

Three hours later, Q talks to Norma on speakerphone: Fractured, she says. Olive’s ankle is fractured. And isn’t this my fault? Isn’t worrying Norma my fault, too? We wouldn’t be here, if not for me. Olive wouldn’t have been chasing my raincoat, if not for me. This whole month, worrying about my own safety—and I should’ve been worried about Olive’s.

I’m safer on my home planet.

Maybe Olive is safer without me, too.

Under the faint light of the RV, I decide something—something I should’ve settled on days ago. In preparation, I eat a hardy meal from the kitchen tray, licking even the crumbs. I take several long swigs of water from my dish, lapping with quick flicks of my tongue. “Gonna hop in the shower,” Q says. “Then we’ll leave to pick up Olive at the hospital.” As soon as he closes the bathroom door, I tell Stanley goodbye. His fur is glistening in the five a.m. moonlight.

I will miss you, I say.

Me?

Yes. Yes, you. I thank him for the midafternoon naps, for the way he always breathed on me, even though it smelled.

You are leaving? he asks. Now?

And I say, After one more thing.

He helps me with the laptop. Between the two of us, between his teeth and my claws, we pry the screen open.

Words spill out of me.

Dear Olive,

You are right. I did not want to be a cat. But I am happy I was your cat, even if for a little while. These past few days, everyone has been sharing their best days on Earth, so I would like to share mine. I hope that is okay.

It is the first day. The day you saved me. I might have been scared and wet and stuck in a tree, but everything changed when I saw the boat. There is always good mixed up with the bad, and the good is you.

I have learned a great deal about water on Earth. Water pushes its way through rocks. Water carves its own path. And you are like water, Olive. Some people may call you weird. Perhaps this