“Yeah,” I say. “You might have.”
“Does it matter what it was called?”
“I’m just worried for the kitty,” I say. “It doesn’t sound very happy.”
“It’s dramatic,” she reminds me.
“Not really how animals work,” I respond. “Let me see her…”
“I think you should go,” she says. “You being here might be what is disturbing the cat.”
I stand up, more certain than ever that something very strange is going on. I haven’t put two and two together yet, but I cantell that mathematics are going to come in handy very soon. Lydia and I might not have known each other for long, but my enhanced senses can detect the shifts in her pheromones and such that arise from lying.
I go to the bathroom door, and open it.
“Don’t!” she calls out. “She’ll escape!”
The cat rushes out immediately. I see a streak of white, and that’s about it. The little beast bounces around the apartment, then somehow hits the handle of the front door and manages to free itself from her domicile. For a homeless beast, the cat is clearly not very grateful.
“Fuck! You fucking idiot!” Lydia curses at me, turning almost as feral as the cat instantly. “I’ve got to get her back.”
She dashes out after the cat as fast as she can go, which is fortunate for her, because being called a fucking idiot is not on the list of behaviors I tolerate.
Lydia comes back a couple of minutes later.
“She got out the front door,” she says. “Someone was coming in with a delivery and now she’s lost. I can’t believe this. It’s such a mess. Why did you do that? Why can’t you listen to anything?”
I wait until she has closed the door behind her before addressing things.
“You didn’t even try to help!” She squints her eyes at me. “You just opened the door and let her out! What’s wrong with you?”
I wait for her to stop asking me aggressive questions, which takes a while. Lydia is in full rant mode, commenting on how poor a listener I am, what dubious decisions I make, how shejust wanted a little time to herself but I had to show up and ruin everything… the list goes on for quite a while, and is exhaustive.
When she finally realizes she is not getting the reaction she expected, she stops and looks at me, waiting for me to say something.
* * *
Lydia
He is so annoying. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that before. I guess when he was in charge at work and with all the intense sex, his disappearance, and the fact that he can turn people into animals, I failed to notice he can’t follow simple directions like ‘don’t open that door.’
“Lydia…”
I don’t like the way he says my name. It is too calm. Too quiet. My stomach starts doing nervous flips.
“Yes?”
“Did you turn Veronica into a cat?”
Those words are like a wrecking ball smashing through the walls of my annoyance to find my guilt.
“What makes you think I’d do that? Or that I could do that?”
“I asked you the question first.”
He’s being insistent, and I can’t just ignore him. Though it would serve him right if I did. Apparently listening to each other isn’t high on our list of priorities.
“Lydia, if you don’t tell me the truth, I am going to go into your kitchen, take out a wooden spoon, and spank your bare bottom with it until you confess,” he says.