Harry Best - Cats
Badges The Elder
Melancholy was insistent we have lunch in the Città Vecchia, which I assumed meant the old part of the city. It’s always a good bet with these European cities, isn’t it? What I mean is… oh, never mind. It’s a banal observation. I must remember to check myself in front of company. What would my grandmother say? Keep your conversation light, Harry. Light like a feather. I fear I may have already tried your patience with my circumlocutious manner of telling this story. I can only ask for your forbearance, dear guests, sweet and patient and loving guests. My mind has a tendency to wander.
Yes, alas, back to the story. Melancholy’s knowledge of Trieste astonished me. He even had the exact name of the cafe, Pirona something, and he must have known exactly where it was. I could barely keep up with him, he was walking so forcefully through the streets. He didn’t pause to check street names or even to consult a map. The cat had silenced Melancholy, so he wasn’t saying much now, just taking long strides that cut across the pavement.
About the cat. Didn’t I mention the cat? Sigh. My memory, or lack of one, again. You see, it was the cat that finally stopped his ranting about Nazis and Italians and bad architecture and someone named Primo Levi—it lasted a while, this one—and only the cat stopped him.
You must know, in case you ever see him, that Melancholy hates cats. He absolutely detests them. If he ever had the power of God, he told me once, he would exterminate all the cats in the world, cleanse the Earth of them.
This was at a time when Melancholy was drinking heavily, and he was prone to… well, I shouldn’t really say. Strong outbursts, if you understand what I mean. He was never violent, exactly, except… well, now I really shouldn’t say.
I can’t say I blame Sybil, of course. What that poor girl had to put up with. I mean, Melancholy had become totally outrageous. But now you see what is happening? My mind is wandering again.
We both wanted to take a closer look at the Adriatic Sea, no, no, not the Adriatic, the Gulf of Trieste, I mean, and we were walking near the ferry terminal on the main pier, when suddenly, from behind one of the garbage cans, a cat jumped out in front of us. I nearly died. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I’ve never understood why people are so embarrassed to admit fear. I was shaking in my boots, as they say.
But this cat. I’d never seen anything like it. It immediately began hissing at Melancholy! Absolutely an absurd sight. But true. I swear on the memory of my grandmother. It was a horrid screeching sound. And Melancholy? Well, he hated cats, remember, he wasn’t afraid of them. I could see his hand tighten around the Herald Tribune he had just bought, and I swear, I thought I heard him hissing back.
That’s ridiculous, of course. But sometimes, I wonder.
