“Let’s go to the kitchen first,” Edith said, and padded off. Her head was held high and there was a certain, barely perceptible, strut in her gait. She was proud of the home that she let Tiffany share with her. Upon entering the kitchen, Edith continued, “Here it is. This is where Tiffany makes my breakfast.”
Stick Cat looked around. Like the bathroom, this all seemed very familiar to him. There were only slight differences. The small table off to the side was circular instead of rectangular. The cabinets had different handles and the walls were painted light green instead of tan.
“It’s very nice,” commented Stick Cat. “When you say ‘makes your breakfast,’ what does that mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘what does that mean?’”
“How does Tiffany ‘make’ your breakfast?” Stick Cat asked again. “Goose just tears open a pouch and pours my breakfast into my bowl. Isn’t that what Tiffany does?”
For a single second, Edith looked at Stick Cat with shock. Quickly, however, she regained her composure even though it was clearly evident she found this whole idea quite primitive and unsavory.
She said, “Umm, Tiffany did that a few times for me when I was younger, but I made her stop.”
“You made her stop?”
“That’s right,” Edith answered. Then she shook her head a bit and said, “I don’t eat just any old thing that comes out of a plastic pouch. I have too sophisticated a palate for that.”
“How did you make her stop?”
“I refused to eat it, that’s how,” Edith answered immediately. “And sometimes I would step on the edge of my bowl and tip it over. Then I’d walk out of the kitchen without eating a bite.”
“Didn’t you get hungry?”
“Of course I did. But it was a small price to pay,” Edith answered. “Tiffany soon began serving me much better food.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, scrambled eggs. Bacon or sausage for breakfast usually,” answered Edith. She sniffed the air in the kitchen now, attempting to pick up any lingering aromas to provide Stick Cat with a more comprehensive answer. “Then dinner is usually steak or salmon cut up into little pieces. I like rice with my dinner. I prefer basmati, but I’m not too picky. And there has to be a few drops of hot sauce on everything. I LOVE hot sauce. Especially on scrambled eggs.”
“You do?”
“A lot!” Edith exclaimed. “I like things spicy. It matches my personality. I’m spicy, don’t you think?”
Stick Cat smiled. “I do.”
“Tiffany has a whole collection of different hot sauces just for me.”
For some reason, he found it very unsurprising that Edith loved hot sauce.
“You should stop eating for Goose—that will change everything,” Edith suggested. “You might even get some hot sauce!”
“I don’t know,” answered Stick Cat after a moment of consideration. This was all very, very strange to him. He had never been served anything besides pouch food. Goose was nice enough to change the flavors of his meals, but they always, always came from a pouch. For some reason, refusing to eat what was given to him just didn’t seem like a very nice thing to do—even if it might lead to better food. “I don’t mind the pouch food. Some of it’s pretty tasty.”
“Suit yourself,” Edith said. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Maybe you could save some of yours for me sometime?”
“I’d really like to, Stick Cat. I really would,” Edith said, and sighed. “But here’s the problem: Tiffany does this strange thing whenever she prepares my meals. It’s always the perfect amount, the ideal portion. There’s never one morsel left over.”
“That’s okay,” Stick Cat said. He wanted to change the subject. “What else can you show me?”
“I can show you the bedroom,” Edith said. She tilted her head toward the kitchen doorway. “Come on.”
Stick Cat began to follow her. As he did, he glanced back toward Edith’s food bowl. He noticed something he hadn’t seen before.
“Why is there a pillow by your food bowl?”
“Oh, the tile floor gets so cold under my paws when I’m eating,” Edith said without slowing down. “I made Tiffany get the pillow for me.”
“How did you do that?”
“I stopped eating again,” Edith said. “I get a lot of things that way. Eventually, Tiffany just keeps trying things to get me to eat again. She figured out the pillow thing in just a couple of days. She’s fairly bright.”
Stick Cat said nothing else as he followed Edith out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bedroom.
“Here’s where I let Tiffany sleep with me,” Edith said, and pointed up to a neatly made bed. There was a fluffy blanket decorated with yellow and white daisies folded halfway down the bed. On one side of the bed was a small table and lamp. On the other side, a rectangular pegboard was attached to the wall. It had Edith’s bejeweled collars hanging on it. She had a different collar for each day of the week.
“It’s very nice,” Stick Cat said. Then, observing the pillows at the head of the bed, he commented, “Tiffany must use a lot of pillows. Goose only has two—and there are four here.”
“No, no,” Edith said. “She only uses one. The other three are mine.”
Stick Cat tried not to act surprised. “You sleep with three pillows? And Tiffany sleeps with just one?”
“That’s all she needs,” Edith explained. While this didn’t make much sense to Stick Cat, it all seemed perfectly logical to Edith. “And I like to move from one pillow to another before settling down to sleep. I never know which one is going to be just right on a particular night.”
Stick Cat tilted his head to the right just a little and asked, “Aren’t they all the same? They’re all covered in that shiny pink material.”
“That’s silk. I only sleep with silk pillowcases. But they’re not the same at all,” Edith said, and then explained some more. “One pillow is a little softer. One is a little harder. And one is sort of medium. I never know which will be right until I try each one out a few times every night.”
“Oh.”
“Then, when I do figure out which one is best,” Edith continued. She seemed to be taking enjoyment in describing her bedtime ritual. “That’s when I let Tiffany tuck me in.”
“Tuck you in?”
“That’s right,” Edith answered. “She puts that cashmere blanket on me.”
“She puts the blanket over you?”
“Of course,” Edith answered. “Isn’t that what Goose does?”
“Umm, no.”
“What do you do with your cashmere blanket?”
“I lie on it, not under it,” Stick Cat said. This was all starting to make him feel funny for some reason. He wasn’t jealous of all the luxuries Edith seemed to have. But he couldn’t help wondering what steak and salmon tasted like—or what it felt like to have three silk-covered pillows and a cashmere blanket. “That’s what most cats do, I think.”
“Not this cat, mister,” Edith said immediately. “I can’t believe you sleep on your blanket instead of under it.”
“Well, umm, it’s not really a blanket anyway. Umm, yeah.”
“What is it?”
“It’s more like a towel.”
“A bath towel?” Edith asked. She was just now realizing that maybe Stick Cat did not have a similar sleeping arrangement. “Well, that’s okay, I guess. Those can be kind of soft and cushy sometimes. I’m sure it’s quite comfortable.”
“It’s not a bath towel.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“What kind of towel is it?”
“It’s more like, umm, a dish towel.”
“A dish towel?!”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I see,” Edith said.
Suddenly she seemed to be searching for words to use. “Well, those can be very nice. Especially if they’re new.”
“Mine’s not new.”
“It’s not?”
“No. It’s kind of old. It has some tears in the middle and it’s kind of frayed on the ends,” Stick Cat explained. He had always loved that towel. It was worn, yes, but it had always been his. It was familiar and cozy. “Goose was going to throw it away, but then he decided to put it in my box.”
“Your BOX?!”
Stick Cat nodded.
“You sleep in a BOX?!”
“Yes. Sometimes, I’ll jump up into bed with Goose in the morning, but I prefer the box. It’s right by the side of Goose’s bed. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
“I guess I’ve never noticed.”
“It’s not my favorite place to sleep,” added Stick Cat. “It’s just where I sleep most often.”
“Where’s your favorite place?”
“Goose’s lap, of course,” Stick Cat said. “Isn’t your favorite place to sleep Tiffany’s lap?”
“No way. Too hot!” Edith exclaimed. “She’s always trying to get me onto her lap. But I prefer my three pillows, silk pillowcases, and cashmere blanket by far.”
“Have you always had all those things?” Stick Cat asked.
Edith shook her head. “No, not always.”
“How did you get them?”
“I stopped sleeping,” Edith explained as they walked out of the bedroom. “I would just get up in the middle of the night and move around. Eventually, it drove Tiffany crazy. And that’s when she started trying out new things to help me sleep. It’s just another one of the ways I’ve trained her. She’s a pretty fast learner.”
Stick Cat was growing tired of Edith’s explanations. He couldn’t imagine acting that way with Goose. Edith’s way of doing things made him feel uncomfortable.
He scanned Edith’s living room as they entered it. He saw the morning sunshine streaming through the glass. And he saw a very inviting windowsill.