The Purr-Fect Present

Note before reading: story mentions cancer.

The Purr-fect Present

James emptied the clownfish. Golden coins gushed out of its belly. The bag of coins jingled down the stairs. James and his dad put on their coats and shoes and walked to the picketed gate. James turned and looked up at the bedroom window. I hid behind the curtain. The black and white striped kitten pounced here and there and rubbed her new fur against my cold legs. I picked it up and watched James and his father vanish from view.

The bedside table made my stomach churn. Crumpled tissues, Paracetamol, a glass of water, the bookmark in between the same pages because my eyes couldn’t read a paragraph more. The bedside table was full of off-whites, browns and beige and I yearned for florals and natural sunlight, and why not—splashing in puddles during another April shower. At least, it’s just a stubborn flu and not the cancer one week shy of an all-clear nod. Kitty nestled in the crook of my arm and we fell asleep.

The yielding glow and a hungry kitten demanded I get up. Kitty leapt into the arms of James, but James’ hands were busy holding an abstracty object wrapped in fuchsia.

“Close your eyes, mummy,” said James. Pete, my husband, smiled, leaning against the door.

“For me?”

He jumped into bed, and I carefully pulled the ribbon. James’ gaze alternated between my face and the gift, and Kitty was ready, paws in position, rested on my arm. I let the ribbon collapse and scrunched up the wrapping. She jumped on the floorboards as if Christmas for cats had already arrived.

I discovered a plastic vase. Soothing turquoise. I instantly imagined it sweeping away sickness and boredom from my bedside table.

“I love it,” and I squeezed James until James said, “mummy you’re squeezing me.” Pete gave me a wink and Kitty, with ribbon and wrapper in tow, dragged her new toys downstairs.

“You know what, James?” His curious, big, almond-shape hazel eyes stared into mine. “When I’m better, we’ll go and buy some flowers.”

“Tomorrow?” He said eagerly.

“Maybe, not. How about the day after tomorrow?” He responded with a cuddle.

*

The vase stood empty. It reflected a dress I’d been meaning to wear slouched over a wooden chair. I lifted the vase to my face as if it were a pair of glasses and zoomed in. I watched Kitty play or fight with the fringes of a once-beautiful rug. Soft and mosaic.

I walked to the dress, un-slouched it. The daisies over blue cotton swayed to and fro before I slipped into it. The pastel blue cardigan would be perfect, I thought, though Pete would make me wear something warmer. I pulled the vase to my heart. “Today you’ll be filled with colour.” Kitty, bored with the cotton fringes, decided to make figure eights using my feet as boundaries. I tripped, the vase catapulted out of my hands, but junior basketball skills did indeed come in handy, and I caught the vase.

“Naughty,” the kitten flinched. Her teary eyes, for I’m sure they welled up, stared at me in a “what-did-I-do-wrong,” way and the scold transported me back to James’ hand in the cookie jar, muddy feet on the freshly polished floors, and the moment he clung to my leg refusing kindergarten.

I placed the vase back and cuddled Kitty, tickled her actually, “how about some brekkie.”

Downstairs, James and Pete made me pancakes. Kitty’s soft pâté waited in a far corner of the kitchen as to not clash with the buttery aroma. We wolfed down the pancakes. A sudden hunger, a springtime energy to get out there and make this house a home again, overwhelmed.

I hurried upstairs with a spring in my step. I fetched the cardigan and the vase hungry for water, stoic stems and a magnificent bouquet. I thought hyacinths, tulips and azaleas in shades of purple and pink. Kitty followed James upstairs, but it made a detour into my bedroom. I studied myself in the mirror. Still a bit pale but on the mend. I brushed rose across my cheeks and applied a touch of gloss over my cracked lips. There. Ready to go.

Kitty stood in the doorway. We faced each other like knights about to dual. I hugged the vase. I hugged it tightly when Kitty’s not-so-innocent eyes glared at my precious present and pleaded for a catfight. It was no longer cute Kitty but an amazonian feline ready to attack. A flurry of thoughts triggered a racing heart. Maybe the fever is coming back. Maybe we should go tomorrow. No. Not going to let a domestic cat get in my way. Defiant, I said, “we should have gotten a puppy.” Well, that was the last whisker. The kitten ran toward my feet and figured eight for what seemed a million times. I circled on the spot, dizzy, called for help but the vase escaped my grip, out the door and tumbled down the stairs.

*

Tears mingled with blusher and settled in the fissures over my lips. James joined me in a couple cry and Pete sealed the crack. It would never hold water and fresh flowers.

Kitty stayed away from me for a few days, but regret in her eyes, a purr, an ankle rub, brought us closer again. Pâté and pancakes tolerated proximity and we all ate together. I remembered the day she chose me at the shelter. The only one at the gate and I saved her from a life not lived.

*

Mrs. Ruby, the florist, took one look at the vase, and ordered us to return after lunch. James and I enjoyed warm scones and lemonade at Jimmy’s coffee shop around the corner to Mrs. Ruby’s. We stopped at the pet shop and grabbed a new collar for Kitty. Black with white paw prints and a silver bell.

The vase’s glued scar faded as it was surrounded with an assortment of dry blooms. Cherry celosias, astilbes in peachy hues, lavender—an all-time classic and delphiniums in reddish blue. “Wow,” said James. “It’s stunning, Mrs. Ruby.”

Everlasting flowers and a scar that constantly reminds me of life’s fragility and resilience. We fall and we get up. Both Kitty and I came close to dying but now we’re blooming again discovering each day, together, that playtime is one of life’s effective antidotes when the going gets tough.