What the Cat Knew

The hat sat on the edge of the pool like a dead thing. It had been a good fedora once — black felt, wide brim, expensive — but now it was just sodden wool slowly surrendering to the chlorine. Sarah's hat. She'd left it there the night she walked out, right before she told me she'd been sleeping with Marcus from accounting for six months.

I watched it from the lounge chair, nursing a whiskey that was mostly melted ice. The cat — her cat, technically, though she'd left him behind — wound around my ankles, purring like an engine. He was a Russian Blue named Igor, and he was the only living creature who didn't look at me like I was something he needed to fix or forgive.

"You knew, didn't you?" I asked him. Igor blinked his gold eyes and jumped onto my lap, kneading my thigh with claws that were slightly too sharp. "You knew she was leaving before I did. That's why you started sleeping in my study instead of hers."

The pool glowed an artificial turquoise in the dusk, surrounded by the expensive patio furniture we'd bought together when we still thought joint purchases meant something about forever. Sarah had loved this pool — she'd claimed she loved swimming, though in three years of marriage I'd seen her actually swim maybe five times. Mostly she'd lounged on the edge, perfectly arranged, waiting for someone to notice her beauty.

Marcus must have noticed.

The hat was sinking now. Just the crown still above water, black against the blue like a hole opening up. I stood up, dislodging Igor, who let out a squeak of protest. I waded in — shoes and all — and retrieved it. Water streamed from the brim. It was ruined, obviously. Felt doesn't recover from chlorine.

"You know," I said to the cat, who was watching from the safety of dry concrete, "I keep thinking there should be more. More tears, more screaming, more — something."

I squeezed the hat out. Chlorine-scented water pooled on the deck between my feet.

"But mostly I feel like I've been waiting for this shoe to drop for years. Like I knew, somewhere, that this wasn't forever. Maybe I have more in common with you than I thought, Igor. We both knew she was leaving before she did."

The cat padded over and sniffed the ruined hat with delicate disdain, then rubbed against my wet leg. His fur smelled like sunshine and old books. He purred loudly, a rumble I could feel through my jeans.

"Fine," I said. "We'll figure it out. Just us."

The pool reflected the first stars coming out. I dropped the hat in the trash and went inside to feed the cat. Tomorrow I'd drain the pool. Tonight, there was whiskey left in the bottle, and a creature who needed dinner, and that was enough.