With autumn now well underway, I again find myself trapped alone in the house with, if not by, animals. For most of the day my only company besides the dog and the cat is a robot-shaped money box that repeats one of several stock phrases - usually "Have a nice day" or "How do you do?" - whenever I interrupt the beam cast by its glowing eyes. I also receive a number of phone calls from recorded voices offering to send me on a cruise or consolidate my debt, and it is a measure of my isolation that I have begun to listen to them all the way through. Sometimes I even respond to their rhetorical queries with stock phrases of my own. "Well, as a matter of fact, I have been worried about the future," I say, "but what, if anything, can I do?"
Mostly, though, it's just me and the dog and the cat. The cat, in particular, has taken advantage of the lack of independent verification of his needs to demand feeding at every opportunity. When I walk into the kitchen, he waits until I come to a stop so he can fix me with a plaintive stare. Then he says, "Miaow." Given his proximity to the cupboard where the cat food is stored and the way he looks from me to the handle and back, it is clear what he wants. "Don't be ridiculous," I say. "I just fed you 10 minutes ago."
"Miaow."
I always take this second miaow to mean, "The dog ate it", because I can't imagine something as stupid as a cat producing more than one excuse.
"That's not my problem," I say.
"Miaow."
"I'm not listening," I say, "because I don't care."
"Miaow."
"This conversation is over."
"Miaow." At this point, invariably, I feed the cat.
At least the dog doesn't answer back. Over the course of a day, our discourse becomes more open-ended and one-sided, beginning with a few sarcastic asides ("Great. This is just great.") regarding some discouraging email or other, and eventually developing into a bloated monologue about various people who are trying to undermine me professionally. Often, these discussions carry over into our afternoon walk around the park (anticlockwise, for variety) and more than once I have been in the middle of a rant about something and looked up to find myself alone, with a pair of joggers staring intently as they pass by in the other direction. If I had a headset, I think, it would look as if I'm talking to someone on the phone. Then the dog suddenly bursts out of some undergrowth, covered in wet leaves and mud, turning furious circles while sniffing the ground.
"Where did you go?" I say. "How far had I got up to?"
When we return, the cat is standing in the hall.
"Miaow," it says.
"Don't even start," I say. "I've put food in that bowl four times today."
"Miaow."
"Impossible," I say. "The dog has been with me."
During the week, my wife and children rarely get home before 5pm. By the time I make it downstairs, the telly is on and things are already boiling on the stove. The youngest of the three is sitting at the kitchen table in front of his open homework book, while the eldest stares at a laptop screen. The refrigerator door is open, with the middle one concealed behind it. A quantity of milk splashes on to the floor between his feet. The microwave bleeps. As I take a tentative step backwards, the cat walks in behind me and says, "Miaow." Everyone looks up.
"There he is," my wife says. "There's your father."
"What is he staring at?" the youngest says.
"I don't know," my wife says.
"Miaow," says the cat.
"Just staring at nothing," the youngest says. "Like a freak."
by Tim Dowling
