Friends left their little black cat with us for a week. Every inch of this kitty from head to toe was completely black. Her fur and skin gleamed darkly. Even her claws and nose were like pitch.

The little black cat patrolled our flat, swaggering. She had to map out her new territory, never mind that it already contained a cat. She moved with the boldness of one who’d seen something of the world and already met others of her species. Meanwhile, Cat had never seen any other cats. He’d always assumed that, apart from himself, the world contained nothing but humans, or perhaps he thought he was human too and never regarded himself as a cat in the first place.

The first time Cat saw this other cat, shock and confusion were written all over his face. He couldn’t believe there existed another living thing so close in appearance. After he’d verified that this was actually happening, the atmosphere grew tense. Both creatures began letting out hissing sounds, a warning of impending danger.

All of a sudden, Cat developed a strong territorial sense. He wouldn’t allow another cat to pass through his turf. If she advanced an inch, so would he, following her every step of the way, looking for an opening to launch his attack on this uninvited guest and to chase her off. His attention was laserlike; his eyes never left her. His gaze was utterly focused on her body, as if he wished he could set it alight.

The pair of them kept up this stalemate all day long. The little black cat tried to hide but couldn’t resist her curiosity when it came to these new surroundings. In the face of this great enemy, Cat didn’t let up for half a second. They advanced and retreated, feinted and parried, but never started fighting for real.

At night, when drowsiness arrived, I left both cats in the living room while I went off to the bedroom, shut the door, and fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, a yowling arose from the living room. The kitties were dementedly chasing each other, knocking over anything in their path, an endless series of skirmishes and clangs. I glanced at the time: past three o’clock.

Lying in bed, I hesitated about whether to involve myself. I listened a while longer, but there was no sign of a truce, so I dragged myself to the living room. I stood in the center of the room, but they completely ignored me and continued baring their teeth at each other. Other than the faint gleam of her eyes, a pair of green beans, nothing of the little black cat could be seen. Where were her belly, her limbs, her tail? They were invisible in the darkness, having transformed into shapelessness, a sort of inky gas. All I could see was Cat chasing after a little sooty cloud, lunging at it only to come up empty.

The little black cat’s visit was like a storm cloud drifting into the sky above my flat. Lightning streaked from the space between the two cats, followed by thunder and heavy rain, pitter patter pitter patter … The summer rains had arrived early and were in my flat.

For several nights after that, I found myself automatically waking in the middle of the night and getting up to check on the cats. Finally, walking from the bedroom to the living room, I almost tripped over something—an object that jumped and shrieked at the same time I did. Kitten had decided to sleep right in my path, but her entire body had melded with night into a single entity.

After several days of quarreling and fierce battle, the cats were bone-weary. Nighttime gradually grew quiet. On this night, Cat fell asleep leaning against the softest imaginable surface. When he woke the next day, he realized he’d been pillowing his head on the little black cat’s belly all night long.