technoglyf

Last Saturday, I called my son inside for lunch three times. He ignored me. So did the three cats standing beside him. All four were lined up at the garden gate, watching a man unload a van across the street. My son had one hand resting on the orange cat’s back, as though they were discussing whether the man needed help. Two years ago, those cats fitted together in a shoebox. I found them behind a storage shed, small enough that I was afraid to pick them up wrong. We looked for their mother, asked around, and eventually brought them home. My wife was pregnant at the time. I told her we’d get them through the first few weeks, then find proper homes for them. She still brings that sentence up. There were late feeds, little faces to wipe, and towels constantly in the wash. I kept a chart because I couldn’t remember which kitten had eaten and which one was simply shouting again. By the time anyone offered to take one, I’d started explaining why that particular kitten couldn’t leave the other two. Eventually, my wife stopped asking when they were going. Then our son arrived. The cats watched him from a distance at first. When he started crawling, they moved their naps to places he couldn’t reach. But once he could walk, something changed. Wherever he went, there were three cats somewhere nearby. I thought they were following him because he dropped food. Then I started noticing what happened whenever there was a noise outside.