The Cat Who Watched Me Drown

The holiday party at Johnson Logistics was exactly where I'd come to die spiritually, though nobody else seemed to notice. Three gin and tonics in, and I was moving through the warehouse floor like a zombie—smiling, nodding, shaking hands I'd already forgotten by the time I let go. My marriage had ended two weeks ago. Linda had taken the cat, Mikey, leaving me with an apartment that echoed and a Queen-sized bed that felt absurdly large.

Outside, the Los Angeles sky burned orange through the warehouse loading doors, that peculiar toxic twilight of wildfire season. I found myself staring at it, nursing my fourth drink, thinking about the weight I'd been carrying around since Linda left. It sat on my chest like a bear—heavy, warm, impossible to move without acknowledging its presence. People kept asking if I was okay. I kept saying yes.

"You look like you're swimming upstream," said Sarah from accounting, appearing beside me with fresh drinks. She'd divorced two years ago. She knew the look.

"Something like that," I said, accepting the drink. "Just tired."

"The bear gets lighter," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Eventually."

I stared at her. "How did you—"

She pointed toward the corner where Mikey—Linda's cat, my cat, our cat—had materialized on a crate of inventory, watching me with those judgmental yellow eyes. But that was impossible. Linda had taken him to Portland.

"You see him too?" I asked, my voice barely holding together.

"I see something," Sarah said softly. "The things we carry. They don't leave just because the boxes are packed."

The orange light deepened to purple. The warehouse noise faded to a hum. I looked at the space where the cat wasn't, really, and realized Sarah was right. The bear on my chest had weight, yes, but it was my weight now. Linda had taken the furniture and the cat, but she couldn't take what they'd meant.

"Drink?" I asked, raising my glass.

"Drink," she said.

We stood there as the sky darkened, two zombies learning how to be alive again.