What the Cat Knew

Maya found her first gray hair the morning Thomas moved out. She pulled it from her temple, held it up to the bathroom light—a silver thread in a sea of brunette. Some superstition about plucking them making more grow back stopped her, but she kept it anyway, tucked into a jewelry box she hadn't opened in years.

The apartment felt cavernous with him gone. His side of the closet was empty. His coffee mug was gone from the hook. Only Barnaby—his cat, now hers—remained, watching her with that mix of judgment and indifference only cats can perfect. Barnaby had always preferred Thomas. Maya couldn't blame him. Thomas had been the one who remembered to change the litter box.

"You and me now," she told the cat, setting down food. Barnaby ate without acknowledgment, then proceeded to vomit on the rug she'd bought for their anniversary.

On the third day of solitude, Maya noticed the goldfish—Thomas's impulse buy from a county fair, won with a surprisingly good aim at ring toss. The fish floated at the top of its bowl, motionless.

She tapped the glass. Nothing.

"Don't do this to me," she whispered. She'd already lost her marriage. She couldn't lose this too.

The internet said goldfish typically lived five to ten years. This one had lasted three months. Thomas had promised to research proper care. He'd also promised to love her forever, and look how that turned out.

Maya found herself weeping over a fish she'd never wanted, flushing it down the toilet with an apology she didn't understand. Later, she curled onto the sofa, and for the first time, Barnaby jumped into her lap, purring with a vibration that settled somewhere beneath her ribs.

She petted him absently, her fingers catching in his fur, and thought about the gray hair in her jewelry box. About Thomas, who'd run out on her at thirty-seven, leaving her with an aging cat and a dead fish.

Barnaby licked her hand. His tongue was rough, like sandpaper, like a truth she wasn't ready to name.

Outside, the city moved on without her. Inside, Maya sat very still, feeling the weight of something shift in her chest—something like loss, and something terrifyingly like beginning.