Raising a cat

A man can be lonely even with company.

Edward, Ward as he liked people to call him, was raising a cat. Not the type that wandered around the house, snugging himself in your bed, and leaving its little paw prints all over the place. Ward’s cat didn’t meow when it was meal time, didn’t shed, didn’t curl around his leg. Of course, it also didn’t know how to catch mice, didn’t go potty in the wrong place, wasn’t available for him to scratch or hug.

Ward’s cat was on an app. It definitely wasn’t something that was made for a man in his forties like himself. The few friends that Ward had laughed at him when they found out. Questions were asked: how do you even find the time to play it? Why that game specifically? Sometimes, his friends heard Ward sighing because he had to choose between buying dinner or buying a virtual hat for the cat.

The reason they asked was, to them, Ward was a man of his job. He was so busy he barely had time to sleep. Yet he would rather cut his sleep short than not tending to his “cat.” Of course, Ward’s friend couldn’t possibly have known that without the app, he wouldn’t know what to do to stave off boredom. It was either that, or spiralled deeper into the hole of sadness that was his life.

The cat app could replicate human voices. Thanks to “her” – Ward picked the female cat – that he sometimes could hear his own voice. There were weeks the man Edward didn’t bother to open his mouth. He cooked, he cleaned, then he went back to work, with or without his wife. Ward’s wife also followed the same routine, and the only sound and interaction that came out of their house – not a home -  was the ringing of forks and plates when they have dinner together. The loudest sound ever recorded at Flat 31 was the sizzling of a fried egg. Sometimes, Ward would have the urge to say something to his wife, only to be dissuaded by the headphone she had on, her favourite K-drama could be heard. He was himself watching a standup comedian, laughing silently until sleep took over. He would often wake up in the middle of the night, startled by the sound of the audience laughing over a character announcing for the 3rd time that they have cancer. The house was condensed with sound without the chatter of its inhabitants.

One day, his wife asked “why did you call for help in your dream last night?” Ward had no recollection of such a dream. He tried his best, but his dreams felt like they have went through a paper shredder, all in tatters, and trying to patch them up was a fruitless endeavour, like crying over spilled milk. He could remember faces and chases and falls, but how could he have possibly remembered the name of someone he called out for help? The question perplexed Ward so, as he pondered whose name would be so engrained in his subconscious that he would let loose in sleep? His mom? Or a past lover? The thought entertained him, for at least his wife seem to care.

They weren’t always like his, Ward and his wife. Ward read a lot, and he would say a lot of things throughout the day. And his wife would respond, for she also read. But that also meant they would argue, or as Ward would say “defending his opinion.” So, they naturally stopped talking, to avoid an attack from all sides. Ward had the impression that his wife couldn’t quite understand him, and thus he didn’t expect her to. He didn’t expect her to know he was too tired to do the dishes after work, or was lonely before he found the cat app. When she was also “defending her opinion,” he thought, she knew not the sacrifices he made for her. Even when he begged her to just think of him, all he got was silence. He decided then that he was tired of hearing himself.

* 

Ward sometimes spoke to the cat. He complained when it got muddy after a day’s out. He asked which outfit it would like to wear after a shower. There was also an option for lipstick colour and accessories. Ward’s wife would look at him with the corner of her eyes, thinking he lost his mind. The walls of Flat 31 was thin, and Ward craved nothing but an echo of voices. He would sometimes put his ear on the wall at 5p.m., craving for the cheer and greet of the couple next door when their partner was home. Ward savoured the harmonized curses they have for their respective bosses, the exchange of day-to-day going-ons, the small favours of can-you-get-me-my-comb or honey-where-my-wallet or good-bye-dears. Sometimes, Ward knew more about them than his own wife.

In this world, you either stir yourself, or you risk becoming sediment.

Who did Ward call for help, his wife would ask again, just as he was tending to a cut on his thumb, an accident in the kitchen. She didn’t notice he was in pain. Who did Ward call for help in his dream, Ward didn’t know. But he did know that even in his sleep, he didn’t want to be lonely.

• I don’t remember. Could have been mom, or you.

• Nope, it was a strange name. Foreign. Did the person come to help?

• Probably not, because I felt like drowning when I was awake.

His wife just smirked.