My master had taken a long break from writing, refusing to lift a finger for more than one week. He wandered from room to room staring out windows, flipping on the television, picking up little knick-knacks and doodads around the house, gazing at old photos on the walls or well-thumbed books on the shelves and, when he was in the kitchen, eating anything he could get his hands on. Before my arrival here, my master had been prone to this kind of languid lifestyle, that of a time-wasting slacker, which partly explained his lack of production. I've heard Linda chide him about his habits, if you were wondering how I knew about his prior habits. I'm not that omniscient. My master was just lacking a regimen. He needed some discipline and I had taken it upon myself to help him. I am incredibly tolerant, though, despite my rough talk. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and that's a fact. I'm a firm believer in leisure time and consider it a necessity for any well-adjusted creature, but then there is a time and place for everything.

In my master's defense, raising a family and working a full-time job has a tendency to take a lot out of a person. I hate to say it, but he worked like a dog. He loved his family, too, which is a deep commitment and one that should be commended. Writing, though, is not something to be trifled with, and it is necessary, that when facing some wall in our creativity, to redouble our efforts and begin again. As I was saying, my master was experiencing a lull in his productivity, but I wasn't so concerned. It would pass in time. Unfortunately, my abilities only affected him when he was at his desk, while he was holding a pen or a pencil in his hand, as if the writing implements were our divining rods, our medium. At other times, I had no power over his thoughts or movements whatsoever. I couldn't raise him from the couch or inspire him to sit down at his desk and begin to write, nor could I extend my control over the machine world. I couldn't will the TV off, to eradicate a distraction, and if you can recall my last effort at pushing buttons, which was at the computer keyboard, you could very well imagine how well I might operate a remote control.

I think he was burnt out. He simply wasn't used to so much writing, to the abundance of words which had been pouring out of him untended, and the excessive output had finally caught up to him. He had drained his brain. Creative efforts can be as strenuous as the most severe physical labor. Perhaps my slavish grip on his writing efforts had come to a head and he needed a rest. Perhaps he had just gotten lazy, thinking the words came too easily for him, now, and that a break was in order. Perhaps he had something on his mind, which occupied all of his creative energies. Perhaps he was bored. Whatever the reason, he spent long hours asleep on the couch in his study or snoozing in front of the television. During this stretch, when he wasn't sleeping, he spent an unusual amount of time on the telephone, also, which was out of the ordinary for him. In general, my master rarely used the telephone.

As my master was indulging one of those passions I had mentioned above, I did my best to provide my form of support, which was all I could be expected to do under the circumstances. I curled up near his feet and slept with him.

*

What do I care about the day to day drama of a human life? I am a cat, albeit extraordinarily exceptional, as you are learning. The drudgery of an adult human, in most cases, was often something less than interesting and a cat has his own existence and well-being to worry about. I liked to sleep, too. I liked to play games. Sometimes, I needed some exercise, neither of which my master generally helped to facilitate. I don't hold anything against him, though. He was merely human and had his own interests at heart. In any event, it was usually more fun to roll the dice with Penny and Ryan who, when they weren't terrorizing each other, could be quite entertaining.

Chad had been coming over every day, recently, which was a little unusual. He and my master would go into the study for long hours discussing their latest plans, shooting the breeze and I don't know what else. They weren't playing cribbage like they always did and they weren't listening to the basketball games, but I wasn't always present when they met. I had more important things to do. When I was around, they kept their voices down, although they didn't hide their conversations from me. As always, I was privy to their exchanges, when I had a mind to be, which was as often as I chose to.

"So how did it go?" Chad didn't waste any time.
"Your friend never showed," my master said. The two men had just sat down in the study and were both smoking. My master was sitting up in his chair with his forearms resting on the table in front of him, looking a bit confused but very attentive. I was sitting on the window sill, feigning disinterest by staring out through the cold glass into the late Autumn twilight.
"What," Chad said, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and leaning forward in the chair. It looked like he hadn't shaved for a few days. "So you don't have the money?"
"No." My master said plainly, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drag from his cigarette. There was a long moment of silence. My master exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "How well do you know this guy?"
"I know him. He's an old friend, and we've done this before. It's not like him." Chad crushed out his cigarette in the large glass ashtray on the desk and leaned back in his chair, his right leg now nervously bouncing up and down. I watched a brown leaf blow across the lawn in the backyard. "Something must've happened. Something must've gone wrong." Chad bit the nail on his pinky. "I'm just surprised that I haven't heard from him, yet."
"It's only been a few hours. Are you sure he didn't call?" My master took another drag from his cigarette. "I waited for him for over an hour, but then I had to get back to the house. Linda didn't know I had gone out and she doesn't know about any of this." My master exhaled. The cloud of smoke in the room was getting thick. He got up and walked over to the window.
"I understand and I'm glad your wife doesn't know anything. It's better if she doesn't. No, my cell didn't ring," Chad said, feeling around in his pockets, "which is strange."
"I know it's cold outside, but I'm going to open the window and clear out some of this smoke, Ok? Get some air in here." My master held the window with both hands and jerked upwards, lifting the window a bit and letting the cold air rush in. I bent down to smell the fresh air coming in from outside. There was something in the air I didn't recognize.
"No problem." Chad checked all of his pockets again. "Actually, I don't have my phone with me." Chad had an exasperated look on his face. "That must be why I didn't get any calls."
"Is it in the chair? Maybe it fell out of your pocket." Chad searched the chair.
"No, it's not here."
"Did you set it down anywhere when you came in?"
"I don't know. I don't remember if I had it in my hand or not. Call my number and see if we can hear it." My master picked up the receiver on his desk and dialed Chad's number. The room was quiet.
"Nothing?"
"I don't hear it."
"Did you leave it in your car?" My master walked back to his desk, sat down and put out his cigarette.
"I hope so," Chad said, standing up. "Let me run out to my car and check." Chad left the room and we heard the front door slam. My master looked at me."
"C'mere, Buddy." I leaped off the window sill and walked over to him. "How are you my little friend," he said, picking me up and setting me in his lap. "I hope Chad's phone is in his car, Buddy, or he's not going to be happy," he said while stroking my back. I closed my eyes. We sat in silence like that for a few moments. After another few minutes, we could hear the front door open and then Chad reappeared, a little winded and nervous looking, biting on his pinky.

"It's not in my car." Chad stood in the doorway shaking his head. He didn't come back into the room, but he put his hand down. He was holding his keys. I watched him from my master's lap, which was the warmest place in the room now that the window was open.
"Did you leave it at home this morning when you went to work?"
"No, I used it on the way over here. I had to call my grandmother. It's her birthday today."
"Did you stop anywhere?"
"I put gas in my car."
"Maybe you left it at the gas station."
"Yeah, I hope not. I'll have to go back on the way home and check." Chad was working on his pinky again. "I'm going to take off. If I can't find my phone I'm going to have to get a new one tonight."
"Alright." My master started to get up and I jumped out of his lap and trotted out of the study and into the hallway just behind Chad where I started licking my forepaws. "Let me know if you need anything." He went over to the window and closed it now that the room had cleared. "I'll walk you to the door."
"I'll give you a call when I get home. Hopefully, there's a message on my machine." The two of them were walking down the hallway to the front door.
"Well, let me know what happened when you find out. I'll be waiting for your call."
"No sweat."
"Good luck, Chad."
"Yeah, I need to find that phone or I'm in a world of hurt."
- posted by Bob @ 6:35 PM 0 comments