Chapter 5

It was in the process of not thinking about it that Boo let Leopold know the answer, as he was reading one morning, about Wolfe’s adventures with Kesey, still snug in bed. She wouldn’t leave him alone, as she’d been doing while he read about Peter Pan on past mornings. She inserted herself into the reading experience, by inserting her head into his hand, the one holding the paperback, and played at that for a while, and then settled off to the side, where the window with the blinds continuously drawn met his bed, her mission now complete. It was Leopold’s turn to understand, and as he read about Perry Lane, he found that he could, if he just concentrated, and so he did.

It’s about time, she said to him.

The book fell from his hand.

Look, it’s as simple as stretching out your mind, she continued, speaking but without moving her fuzzy jaws, and continuing to stare out the window, at what Leopold now thought he could identify, though he couldn’t see it. Another cat, an orange one, much bigger. Boo leapt out of the bed, and Leopold followed. They were hunting Ginger. Only, Boo traced a path to the patio’s sliding doors, sheathed by more blinds, vertical ones, and sat down by her perch, which contained two apartments. Leopold, meanwhile, prepared his breakfast, aware that this was both a normal morning and an extremely unusual one, too, but he couldn’t quite decide yet how he should be thinking about it. The one thing he was sure of, however, was that Boo’s greetings signified a show of power, which she was otherwise and other times mostly incapable of demonstrating. The hallway, the common laundry room across the way, these were arenas of independence, and Boo never seemed to mind losing them until the next time.

Leopold understood how Boo asserted herself. Presently he attempted to part Boo and Ginger, from their prison visit through the glass, and for the first time he heard Boo hiss, so he let her have her fun. He took his bowl of grainy cereal to the table, where he took the seat, as always, which faced Boo, her perch, and the visit now in progress. As an indoor cat, as her owner and Leopold’s sister had long ago decided, this was as close to freedom, a picture show, as Boo would ever get. Her favorite spot was on that perch, where the blinds were graciously parted. Leopold had a magazine to read, a CD playing, and his breakfast, but for as long as it lasted his interest lay in Boo’s encounter, and he heard nothing of it, and thought nothing of that.

So he could hear Boo, if he wanted to. Maybe that was the extent of his newfound awareness, which he had been wondering about for most of his waking hours. None of his dreams concerned this development, at least not yet, but with this new power it was as if he were sleeping when he was awake, and awake when he was sleeping, where his R.E.M. coincided with the usual explorations of buildings he had never really seen, on campuses he had never been to. One of them was seeming more real, and it wasn’t reality. He happened a glance over at Boo, and saw her, the excitement over Ginger now passed, resting lazily atop the perch, waiting for something else to happen, or for another novelty to interest her.

The CD ended, after the breakfast had, and the magazine finished not long after. Leopold had the rest of the morning now. He took a shower and brushed his teeth, and throughout all of it he threw his thoughts on Boo’s words to him. How would she have even known? And if she did, why wasn’t it a big deal for her? For the same reason he was taking it in such strides? He didn’t want to ask her, just yet, for answers. For one thing, he had a hard time believing himself. This was just a dream, right? And the dreams are real, the dreams are real, like an elephant in the room, waiting for someone to notice.

All he could think to do was write about it in his blog, which meant booting up his sister’s computer, the slowest one on the planet, not because it was old or anything. In fact, the only thing anyone could figure was that there seemed to be too much crap on it, bundled crap, not stuff added personally. As Leopold waited, he tried to frame his thoughts, like composing a résumé, where the most convincing document would make it attractive rather than revolting, or worse. Coincidentally, Leopold was also currently on the job hunt, as if he was after big game, and he was wearing all the wrong colors. With the screen finally ready for him, Leopold logged in and took a look at the blank form, inviting him to swing another note along the SPIDER MONKEY. Just a few thoughts away from perceived insanity, he mused, and laughed, because as far as he knew, no one had ever climbed on the MONKEY’s back, had ever read a word of his ramblings. His fingers tensed, hovering over the keyboard, and he began to type.

Some minutes later, he clicked on the publishing icon, and watched as it loaded up. He took a look at his handiwork, and laughed again, and closed the window. Boo had found her way into his sister’s room, where these days, since the humidifier had been added, the white cat was no longer as welcome, because she enjoyed swiping at the top of the device, which gave way easily enough, to the base, which was filled with water, Boo’s real prize. She had no greater pleasure these days than to bat around anything associated with water, be it one of the dishes Leopold and his sister were testing, or one of the two humidifiers. Then there was the plant on the kitchen table, the one she had pruned, and greedily observed as Leopold would pour more water into. Was it the plant or the water she was interested in?

Both, Boo’s reply came, which startled Leopold more than the first time he’d heard her. Both, she repeated. Can’t a girl indulge herself? What else is there to do? Feeling better about it, by the way, after expressing yourself in one forum where you won’t be looked at cockeyed by admitting this? Liberating, I know.

Leopold still could not bring himself to reply. He wasn’t frightened, exactly, but he was taken off guard; a barrier was being breached, to something he should not have any knowledge to, and the penalty was not punishment, but puzzlement, and that was the only reaction he found he could have. It was a strange reward, but it felt like that, too. He was chewing on this, still seated in his sister’s computer chair, at her computer desk, in front of her computer, yet he was looking at Boo, who was busily exploring around this strange device, where she sometimes followed captured cursors with her eyes and a paw. Leopold also had a newly-acquired cell-phone, with a ring tone of a meowing cat, which he had used one time to terrorize Boo. Clearly technology was not something cats were attuned to.

That’s true, she said, crossing over to the window sill, where assorted trinkets and more blinds got in her way, but not entirely so. It’s not something we bother with. It’s certainly not something we can bat with our paws, and so there’s very little fun in it, and then very little point. But we can be amused, if we want to be. For instance, finding the source of that humming.

“The fan in the tower?” Leopold offered, without realizing he was cooperating for the first time.

No, something else, she said. It’s not something you’re aware of, but don’t worry about it. There’s plenty more of that, and it’s probably best not to worry about.

“But I will think about it,” Leopold insisted. “For one thing, thinking hard is the way I got to hearing you.”

No it isn’t, she said, demurely, and jumped down from the sill, next to the humidifier, which she began to swipe at. Why keep such a thing so hidden? It seems counterproductive, a waste.

“That water serves a purpose just as it is,” Leopold said. “Besides, spilling your water doesn’t seem so smart by those terms.”

My water? she laughed, and then let loose one of her chirping meows, unlike any Leopold had heard before. That water is easily accessed, but it’s not the water I want.

“Cats can’t be finicky,” Leopold said.

Oh, she said.

“And please don’t do that,” Leopold said, brushing her away from the device, and knowing full well that wasn’t the end of that.

Persistence, she said. It’s a good way to make a living.

“Even with all the failures?” Leopold said. He was playing along now.

Especially with them, she said, and walked coyly around a bedpost, knowing Leopold was wise to her tricks. The things with doing are never the easiest ones to do. There are always deterrents, naysayers. People who say you shouldn’t do it. Let them worry about it. I have more fun doing it, and no fun with moralizers explaining why it’s wrong.

“Instincts aren’t always right,” Leopold said.

Who said anything about instincts? Oh, right, she said. That’s what we act on, according to your kind. A tidy way to explain it. She gave in, then, and then ran off, with Leopold watching, bemused, and not a bit understanding. But he was making progress, which was all Boo was after, and she had no time table to follow, only whims and Leopold’s readiness, however long that would take to fully arrive, if ever. Things were delicate, but not so delicate that she was pussyfooting it, as the human expression went, out of caution, but rather out of patience. She was a model of that.

Leopold, ignorant as he remained, knew he was on to something, and decided to make another post on his blog. As freeing as this form of communication was, he would not divulge all of the details, but enough so that their basic form was evident, to those attune to it. He felt it meant something, but he still couldn’t decide what that might be, and so he would play along and hope he could, or at least piece enough of it together himself so that he could ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d bitten off the deep end.
He shook his head, logged the post, and went to look for something else to do, and hoped Boo would leave him alone. He got his wish.