Ties that Bind

This is a micro fiction, addressing a relationship between two very different people.

You’re a dog person. I’m a cat person. How was this ever going to work? Your love is unconditional, cloying. I could kick you, strike you, snap the worst of insults at you, and still your love would be mine. Is it wrong that I find this more pitiable, than comforting?

My love is capricious, waning. It undulates like the sea, and you never know when a storm will hit. When you impose your presence on me, command my attention, my time, I lash out in reprimand. When you bark loudly, your temper flared, my anger rises to meet it, beating down at you until you stop. When I hiss and spit in fury, you slink away, ashamed and wary gaze given to me over your shoulder as you leave.

I don’t understand how you could love someone like me. I shrink away from your approach, swipe at your unwanted hand on my shoulder. I’m working. I’m doing better things. Go and play in the corner, out of my sight and out of my mind.

Is it because my good moods outweigh the bad? When you give me your attention, I throw it back in your face. Yet when you turn away, I demand it back again. I can be affectionate when I want to be. I can jokingly clamber onto your lap, smile and playfully ruffle your hair, lick the tip of your nose to make it wrinkle in disgust. When we lie in bed together, I stick to your side, sealing myself to your body and giving you the happy purrs that thrum through mine.

I’m most loving of all when I want something from you. A promise. A task. A favour. I may not love consistently, but when I do it’s complete and overwhelming.

We’re just trapped in a cycle that’s degrading us both. Your love is enslavement, a cage that holds us together. You always want to be with me, but I hate that you’re always there. I’ll turn away from you, hurt you, neglect you. My stomach will twist in guilt , and sometimes in apology I’ll come back and jump up to wrap my arms around you. You’re always so happy when I do that.

Maybe I can pick the lock of that cage, and claim my freedom. I can give you to someone else, someone warm who delights in your warmth, your mess. Someone who sees your love as safety, rather than a prison.

When I pack my bags and walk to the front door, your dog follows me. He whimpers, because he thinks I’m going without him, but his self pity turns to excitement when I clip his leash onto his collar. I pause with my hand on the handle, and turn for one last look at this place, this setting for our love. My cat sits on the sofa, prim with her curved back, content in the silence and space between us as our eyes meet. Hers, yellow and knowing, narrow and squeeze shut in a slow blink that opens to hold my gaze.

Then I curl the leash around my free hand, pick up my suitcase, and follow the dog out of the door.

Reviews

[Taylor]

For a while I thought this was going to be about a cat but of course I was wrong. I'm not sure that I would describe this as a short story -- more like a portion of an outline for a story. Nothing really happens and I'm not so sure that the first person voice works in this piece. I have just read one of your other stories about a woman's grief where it worked very well. I really like your writing but this is not my favorite piece. I don't mean in any way to discourage you and of course this is just a matter of personal preference.