The Cats That Talk About Love

     It all happened so quickly. During my morning inspection, while walking through the aisles of warehouse B, a small earthquake shook some boxes from their place on the upper racks and—the next thing I knew—I was in the hospital where a very kind doctor explained that several large wooden boxes falling on my head had given me a concussion. He quickly explained that there was no cerebral hemorrhaging, so there would be no lasting effects, but in the meantime he prescribed three weeks of bedrest—no strenuous exercise, no intense thinking or concentration—and a follow-up visit.

     The first week was easy. Painkillers for my headache, eight hours of Netflix a day, video games, Uber eats, and naps—honestly, one of the greatest vacations I’ve ever had. The doctor’s insistence that there be no strenuous activity, mental or physical, removed any guilt I had over staying in bed all day. By the start of the second week though, I was feeling a bit…cabin-feverish.

     I decided that walking around my neighborhood was fine and, after lunch, would go for a one-hour circle around my apartment building and the surrounding area. I quickly stopped taking my painkillers, since the fresh air and light exercise seemed to alleviate the headaches. Seeing parents and kids at the nearby park, dogs playing fetch, and some of my neighbors also exercising relaxed me and gave me a sense of community, even though I never even thought to learn the names of these strangers.

     On the second day, as I came to the end of Pinecrest Avenue—a residential street filled with single-family houses that sat behind my apartment complex—I met the gaze of a cat. Fluffy grey hair with white feet and cheeks, her piercing green eyes seemed to stare right through me. I waved, as I do with all the cats and dogs I meet on my walks, and continued on my walk. Suddenly, she meowed loudly, stood up from where she was relaxing—she was sitting on one of two cushioned chair next to the front door—meowed a second time and approached me cautiously, never breaking eye-contact.

     I stopped, bent down, but she stopped just outside of my reach, sniffed my outstretched fingers, then sat back and studied me for a while. After a while of trying to coax her closer, I decided to respect the cat’s caution, waved good-bye to her, and continued on my walk. I noticed the cat follow me until the edge of her owner’s property and then watch me until I turned the corner onto the next street.

     The next day, as I passed that same house, the grey and white cat ran up to me, rubbed up against my legs, and—as I bent down to pet her head—dropped onto her back and began to purr as I rubbed her belly. I was confused at the sudden affection, especially since she was so cautious yesterday, but was glad for it and happily scratched the cat for much longer than I should have. The heart-shaped nametag around her neck spelled out “Lola” and she seemed to meow in response whenever I said it aloud. I stood up after a while, Lola retreated to the chair on her porch, and I returned home.

     On the third day, after hanging out with Lola, when I reached the next cross street—Longmeadow Drive—I noticed a dark-grey cat with light blue eyes watching Lola. I smiled at this new cat, but as its eyes moved from Lola to me, it hissed angrily and quickly disappeared into the bushes behind it.

     On the fourth day, after deciding not to bring Lola a piece of fish from my lunch—I didn’t know what kind of diet she had—I met her at the usual spot and rubbed Lola’s belly for a while until a car zoomed down Pinecrest, causing her to scurry off as quickly as she could through the cat door and into her house. I waited for a bit, but when it seemed certain that Lola was not coming back outside, I walked on to Longmeadow where the grey cat with blue eyes popped out of a bush and approached me on the sidewalk. The look in his eyes seemed dangerous and I slowed as he got closer.

     “Villain,” a small, but angry voice came from the cat, “you dare return and plague me with your indecency.”

     I was confused, seeing the cat speak, and instinctively looked around for a person whom the words could have come from.

     “Face me knave,” the cat got up on its hind legs and scratched at my shins. I recoiled in pain as the blue-eyed cat hissed at me, “nothing but a coward and a weakling.”

     “Master Smokey!” Another cat, this one a bright orange tabby, rushed out from the same set of bushes and tackled the blue-eyed cat to the ground. “Master Smokey, your father strictly forbade any contact with human strangers! This deep into Pinecrest territory, you endanger yourself and your family!”

     I stared down at the cats in disbelief and bewilderment. Are these cats talking?

     “Hold back your rebukes good Oscar, my passions overtake me. This bastard visits my dear Lola daily now and…and commits acts of indecency upon her.

     “Indecency?” I said.

     “Lola?” Oscar said. “Never would she allow a human such access to her…” he stammered a bit. “…your eyes must deceive you.”

     “Hey,” I said, my need to explain that I was not engaging in sexual activity with Lola surpassed my surprise that these cats were talking. “I’m not…committing acts of indecency with Lola, I’m just petting her…like a normal person…” My words stray as I realize that I never wondered what cats thought about the exchange.

     “Silence beast!” Smokey shouted. “I’ve seen you both yesterday and today…stroking her. Your hands were everywhere!”

     Oscar turned to me. “Stranger, is this true?”

     “I…wait, how are you guys talking right now?” I asked.

     Oscar and Smokey looked at each other and then back at me. “You dare such a foolish and fumbled attempt at changing the subject?” Smokey hissed. “I should neuter you here and now.” He brandished his claws at me and I backed away.

     Oscar jumped between us. “Master Smokey, sheath your weapon, recall Sir Nox attacked a human once and was marked feral before being taken away. I cannot allow the youngest son of the Rivera family to bear such a fate.”

     “Foul species,” Smokey declared, “they walk this planet with such an entitled gait. I’d sooner have infection take me than bow before such a malefactor.”

     “What…?”

     “Now the monkey cannot hear, yet I cannot punish such a scoundrel for laying hands on my future bride.”

     I wondered if I were going insane, if the concussion had somehow gotten worse.

     “Stand back,” Oscar pawed Smokey, pushing him away from me. “Violence is not the answer today, if indeed what you say is true, we must notify Master Tiger and call to court Lord Simba.”

     Deciding that, instead of these cats speaking in some strange form of English, I was just hearing things because of my concussion, I rushed home and then to the hospital.

     My doctor did several tests including an MRI, but nothing seemed strange, so they cleaned up the scratches Smokey had carved into my leg, scheduled a visit with a therapist in my network, and sent me home. The therapy session was scheduled for the next week, so I decided that maybe—possibly—I was just hearing things. It was only Oscar and Smokey who spoke English, Lola was all meows and purrs.

     I considered avoiding the cats entirely, but something drew me to Lola. Perhaps it was the fact that I hadn’t had much contact with others since my concussion—three phone calls, one with my parents and two with close friends—or perhaps it was because all the Korean dramas I had watched in week one of my bedrest had given me an inflated sense of loneliness but, eventually, I decided to continue visiting Lola on my walks.

     The moment I reached her house, Lola jumped down from her chair and rushed over to me. “Sir, sir, I heard you battled with Smokey.” Her eyes moved to the band-aides on my shin. “Oh, my apologies sir human, I fear this is all my doing.”

     I stared down at Lola and wondered if whatever brain damage I had would be permanent. You should ignore her, maybe the voices will go away, I thought to myself. I looked up and wondered if I should just keep walking, but something drew my eyes down to her concerned face. “What…what do you mean?” I asked.

     Lola looked away for a moment, surveyed the surrounding area before speaking in a hushed tone. “As you may know, I am to be wed to Sir Smokey. A wedding of convenience orchestrated by my father, Lord Simba, Duke of Pinecrest Avenue.”

     “What?”

     “Father’s health is in decline and, with no male heir, he is pressed to secure peace for the citizens of Pinecrest.”

     “So…you have to marry Smokey…” I think I was following correctly.

     “Tiger, King of Longmeadow Drive has, in recent years, gained much favor amongst the neighborhood ever since their owner began leaving food and refreshments outside for feral and countryman alike. Their bountiful nightly feasts have gained Tiger a large following and military numbers. Without my wedded union with Smokey and the security of Longmeadow’s numbers, Pinecrest would fear siege and destruction from the southern empires.”

     I looked back down my walking path. “Blueberry Lane?”

     Lola seemed to shudder at the words. “A fearsome and barbarous lot.”

     I wondered if I had ever seen cats on that street.

     “They murdered the previous Duke of Pinecrest, my father’s father,” Lola’s eyes filled with fear, “and displayed his severed head on a fence for all to see.”

     “Cats…decapitated another cat?”

     “I shudder at the thought of my saintly mother and fair sister ravaged by such brutality.” She hopped into my lap and I scratched her chin.

     “So what does any of this have to do with me?” I was surprised how quickly I accepted what had been said, but I was also talking to a cat about cat politics.

     “I…I understand my father’s aim in arranging such a marriage…yet, I…I cannot find the heart to abide…my heart…it does not beat for Smokey.”

     I nodded compassionately as if I were listening to my friends talk about one of their relationships.

     “And so,” Lola spoke sheepishly, “I played the enamored damsel, smitten by the wandering stranger, in the hopes that Smokey’s pride would call off the wedding and force our parents to barter a different treaty.”

     “Oh,” I said, surprised at how hurt I felt.

     She snuggled her face into my hand. “I’m sorry human, It was not my intention to abuse your feelings.”

     “Oh, its…I’m okay,” I nodded reassuringly, a bit embarrassed by my own feelings. I began rubbing her belly and for a split second, I wondered if Smokey’s accusations yesterday were viewed as valid in the cats court of public opinion, but decided not to open that line of thinking for myself. “So, did anything happen after Smokey confronted me? Oscar told him to go talk to his father.”

     “Our families met this morning and agreed to move the wedding forward to Sunday, after which I would spend at least a week at Smokey’s residence before returning to our human masters here.”

     “Sunday…” Time had lost all meaning during my bedrest, but I knew that Sunday was soon. “How do diplomatic marriages work in…cat society?” A sentence I never thought I would ask earnestly.

     “Of course we cannot simply disappear from our owner’s households, but we are expected to spend most of our free time—our outside time as I’ve heard your species call it—with our spouses. We wives are expected to hunt and provide meat for the husbands and, while I can no longer bear children…I would be expected to—”

     “Alright, I see,” I said, not wanting to visualize cat sex, but already starting to see it in my mind. “So, you don’t want to get married, is there anything I can do to help?”

     “I thought the sight of your affections would drive Smokey to call off the marriage, but now…” Something rustled out of the corner of my eye and I instinctively turned towards the movement. Lola rushed over to the rustling bush and crawled into it. Suddenly, a large, striped (dark brown and light brown) cat with pointed ears poked its head out of the top of the low-seated bush and crawled out of it. “Cinnamon?” Lola appeared behind the new cat and rubbed her face against theirs. “What are you doing outside?”

     Cinnamon had a fierce look in her eye, but shrunk immediately as Lola began to groom her. She looked around awkwardly and then mumbled quietly into Lola’s ear.

     “Oh no, he’s a good one,” Lola and Cinnamon both looked up at me and then continued whispering quietly. “What are you doing outside? I know you…Oh no, it’s nothing for you to worry about, I…” Lola put her paw on Cinnamon’s head and shushed her lovingly. “This is not your responsibility, it is mine big sister, all you need to do is live in the comfort of Owner’s house.” She licked her sister’s face, which seemed to calm the large animal. “I will take care of the outside world.”

     Eventually Cinnamon went inside through the cat door and Lola came back to sit in my lap. “My older sister, abandoned by her previous owner in a field next to the highway. When the rescuers found her, Cinnamon was surviving off of gopher meat with a broken hindleg and severe mange.”

     “Rough life,” I mused watching Cinnamon in the window curl up and fall asleep.

     “Under normal circumstances, she would be the one to wed, but the outside world destabilizes her mood and she is prone to violent episodes.”

     I was silent, not sure what to say.

     “Knave!” Smokey’s voice cut through the somber tone as he approached from Longmeadow. “You humiliate yourself with such depraved action.” He scratched at my shoes as I stood up, Lola leaping out of my lap. “Disgusting. Are your chances with a woman of the same species so low that you must instead attempt to debase the innocence of my bride?”

     “I’m not—This is not sexual,” I said a bit too loud. I had never thought about kicking a cat before, but this one seemed like he was asking for it.

     “Smokey, remember yourself,” Lola scolded him. “This human is just a friend.”

     “A friend who strokes your underside? I shall not have it!”

     “That sounds way more dirty than it should,” I said. “I’m not trying to…inappropriately touch a cat.” Another sentence I never thought I would have to say in earnest.

     “Master Smokey,” Oscar appeared out of nowhere, “Master Tiger gave us express instruction to avoid the human.”

     “Enough of this blatant attack on my honor,” Smokey declared. “A challenge, with our lives at stake, the victor will have Lola and their honor restored.”

     “Are you challenging me to a duel?”

     “Have your ears suddenly turned deaf or your mind turned dumb?” Smokey said. “What other meaning would my words hold?” He lunged at my ankles, claws primed to draw blood.

     I jumped back instinctively. “Hey, stop,” I dodged another attack. “No, bad kitty.”

     “Your words condescend, but your actions prove you spineless!”

     “Stop Smokey,” Lola cried, “enough of this!”

     “I do this for your honor as well as mine,” Smokey shouted as he lunged at me again.

     “That’s…an antiquated notion,” I said while dodging Smokey’s attacks and wondering what life choices had led me to this moment.

     “Smokey, you do nothing but tarnish your honor with these foolish action,” Lola said.

     “Quiet, woman,” Smokey shouted. “How peculiar that women cannot grasp the pride of men.”

     Eventually, I ran back down Pinecrest towards my apartment. Smokey stopped chasing me after I passed Blueberry Lane, but he hurled insults at me until I was out of earshot. I tried to forget the cats while I wasn’t with them—told myself it was none of my business—but I found my mind continuously wandering back to Lola’s predicament and the parallels to my last relationship. Being trapped in a relationship that felt more like an obligation than love was something I was all too familiar with. Memories of my diminishing mental health—a cycle of anxiety and self-blame—and that aimless feeling of complacency swirled around in my head. Fear of being alone and a constant voice in my head telling me I was foolish for feeling sad, that I was never going to do better than her.

     After dinner, in the dark of night, I went out again to see if I could find her, maybe help in some way. As I approached Lola’s house, I saw, under a glow of a streetlight, two cats. One was definitely Lola, while the other was a cat I had not seen before—all black with bright yellow eyes and big round pupils. They were standing so close together, tails intertwined, while the black cat licked Lola’s face all over. They spoke in hushed tones and I understood that this was not a moment to be interrupted.

     The next day, before I even reached Lola’s house, I heard hissing and a kind of high-pitched growling I had never heard before. I rushed over to find Oscar unconscious on Lola’s lawn just as Smokey flashed past me, followed by the much larger Cinnamon—the source of the growling. Blood dripped from her mouth as she dogged Smokey across the intersection of Longmeadow and Pinecrest, onto a patch of green where—with a single paw—she batted him against a tree. His body slammed against the solid trunk and crumpled onto the grass below.

     Cinnamon’s eyes had fully glazed over, her pupils razor thin as her claws drew blood. With all the strength he could muster—I could hear his weak cries of pain—Smokey tried to get away, but Cinnamon was too powerful and, with each attack, crushed any chance of escape. Eventually, she took Smokey’s neck in her mouth and, with a slow but deliberate tightening of her jaw, the entire street heard a horrible snap and Smokey’s body went limp.

     Lola, limping as she moved, approached her sister and held Cinnamon’s face in her paws. “Breath sister, just breath.”

     Cinnamon’s eyes returned to normal, “Lola? Sister, what—” She recognized Smokey’s dead body just as Lola nuzzled her face with her own.

     “Worry not sister,” Lola said. She was bleeding from a gash in her head. “This was nothing. This was nothing.”

     Cinnamon began to make small whimpering noises. “Sister…sister, it happened again did it not? I…I—”

     “No,” Lola stroked her sister’s head. “It was I, the one who slew Sir Smokey was none other than Lady Lola, Daughter of Simba, Duke of Pinecrest Avenue, and Duchess Mango. To follow my heart’s true beat, I slain the Prince of Longmeadow.”

     They finally noticed my approach as I checked Smokey’s body for any possible signs of life. It was already growing cold.

     “Kind human,” Lola approached me. “Might I trouble you with a desperate request?”

     “What do you need?”

     “My sister’s face and paws are heavy with blood,” Lola said. “Anyone who finds such a visage would immediately know what transpired this day. I cannot bear to see beautiful Cinnamon punished for defending me. A place to wash her wounds and clean the evidence from her hands would be a kindness.”

     “I understand.” The wound on Lola’s face dripped a bit and I wiped it with my jacket sleeve. She purred contently and nuzzled her face in mine before I took Cinnamon into my arms and ran home.

     After convincing Cinnamon that following Lola’s instructions was the best course of action—something I wasn’t even sure of—I gave her a bath, groomed her a bit with a comb I never used, then let her nap for the rest of the afternoon. As night fell and I prepared to bring Cinnamon back to Pinecrest Avenue, she refused to leave. “What’s going on?” I asked as she dug her claws into the carpet. “You need to go back or else they’ll suspect you.”

     “No,” Cinnamon shook her head. Her face was solemn. “Exile shall be my punishment for the blood I spilt. My absence will prove my dear sister’s innocence.”

     Nothing I tried convinced Cinnamon to leave my apartment and she was far too agile for me to catch bare-handed. Eventually, I returned to Lola’s house alone, but no one was there. I waited around for a few minutes before a sleek-looking black cat appeared before me, approaching from across the street. It walked around me at a safe distance, eyes glued to the front of the house. Then, when no other cats appeared, it approached me.

     “Are you the human male Lola speaks of?” the cat asked.

     “Uh…I guess so, I am friends with Lola.”

     “Stranger, I am Luna,” the cat introduced herself with a small bow. “I…have known Lola a long time. It is around this time that we would normally meet,” the small cat’s voice trembled with anxiety, “but she is absent and I hear whispers of a death on this street. Please, assuage my fears and tell me where I can find my…her.”

     I didn’t know how much I could tell Luna about what happened that afternoon, but the desperation in her eyes told me I had to say something. Just as I began speaking, Lola jumped down from a nearby fence. She called to Luna and the black cat rushed to Lola—their tails intertwined.

     “What happened?” Luna asked immediately noticing the cut on Lola’s face.

     Lola looked to me. “My gratitude, human, your concern had brought you here at such a dark hour, but worry not, I am fine. Where is my dear sister?”

     I explained what had happened and how Cinnamon refused to return.

     Lola looked grim, but nodded. “All the better,” she said. “Unfortunately, both Tiger and Simba suspect my sister already. Never have I seen a father so quickly discard his daughter.” Lola shook her head. “I know this is a burden, but may I trust your generosity one last time to see that my sister is taken care of?”

     I nodded without thinking and scratched her head.

     “Why do you say: ‘one last time’?” Luna asked.

     “There is much I have to say,” Lola turned to Luna. “Will you grant me your company for a walk in this moonlit air?”

     Luna nodded and they quickly disappeared down the street. I felt an overwhelming sadness come over me at the thought of never seeing Lola again, but I walked home without another word.

     “I’m sorry, I’m just making sure, but…” my therapist looked deep into my eyes, “you’re talking about the cats you’ve met around your neighborhood? This isn’t like a TV show or something? You’ve met these animals in real life?”

     I looked down in shame. “I’ve gone insane, haven’t I? I spent this entire week talking to just cats, they speak in some weird, semi-elevated language that I’ve never heard anywhere else about a diplomatic marriage to secure the safety of their kingdom, of course I’ve gone insane.” I looked up at the therapist. “I really don’t want to be medicated.”

    “Well, wait a minute,” the therapist said. “So…what happened after that?” Her face was a mixture of interest and concern.

     “Last thing I know, Smokey seemed to have given Lola a cut on her face, which caused Cinnamon to go into a rage and kill him. Now Cinnamon is at my place refusing to go back to her parents and Lola met with a black cat, Luna—I think her name was Luna—and they took a walk last night to talk about things. I think they’re in a relationship, but I’ve only met Luna once and it was for like a minute or so.”

     The therapist’s face seemed less concerned, but I couldn’t understand why. She reclined in her chair and started writing things down. “How is work?”

     I was surprised, but, given that I had just spent the last hour talking about cat drama, I was happy for the change. “Well, last time I was at work, I got a concussion that might have made me hallucinate cats talk,” I tried to joke, but the therapist didn’t laugh. I sighed and thought about my job. “Well…I’m an inventory manager at a good company…I think things are going pretty well, even though it can be a bit boring. I guess that’s to be expected after five years doing the same thing.”

     “How do you feel about work?”

     “I mean, no one grows up hoping to become an inventory manager,” I chuckled. “It’s a stable position and it pays the bills.”

     The therapist started writing noted on her clipboard and then continued. “How about your personal life? Anything big happen recently?”

     I took some time to think, getting the strange feeling of wanting to impress the therapist. However, I quickly realized that lying would not be good for my mental rehabilitation. “No,” I said. “Ever since the engagement was called off, I haven’t really felt very social.” I stammered a bit as I realized how that sentence might have sounded. “I think calling off the engagement was a good thing though. I don’t think my ex and I were a good fit at the end of it all.”

     “Why do you say that?”

     “I don’t think it was always like this, but by the end of it I always felt like a burden, like she was always mad at me, but not mad enough to bring it up or talk about it.” I shook my head. “A minor nuisance.” I paused for a moment and we sat in silence before I started talking again. “Then when we finally talked, she told me it felt like she was constantly pushing me down, making me sad for reasons she didn’t understand. We agreed that marriage was probably not the best idea and she wanted to try something new. I wanted to try something else too, or…I guess I just didn’t want what we had anymore.”

     The therapist’s looked less concerned at this. “Who decided to break off the relationship?”

     “I think it was mutual, amicable, but I do recall that she was the one who had the courage to actually start the conversation. I don’t know why, but I just let it keep going.” I sighed. “Even when I knew things were bad. I didn’t want to…I don’t know…feel like it was all for nothing.” I shook my head. “Sometimes, umm—on particularly bad days, when I didn’t want to go home and face her—I would go to a library or bookstore and just sit there. Not long, usually, maybe thirty minutes or an hour sometimes. Sometimes I would read, but mostly I would just sit.”

     “Do you often think about that relationship?”

     “I do,” I looked out the window to avoid the therapist’s piercing stare. “I…yeah…I do.”

     “Do you still talk to your ex?”

     “Oh no, I think by the end of it things were so toxic that further communication would have been bad for both of us. Last I saw on social media, I think she moved to Hawaii with her new boyfriend. She looks happy.” In the last two weeks, this had been the longest time I had gone without thinking about talking cats.

      “Have you been on a date since the break up?”

      “Oh, umm, no,” I said, slightly embarrassed. “I…I don’t feel like going out really.” We talked a bit more before time ran out and she asked me to make an appointment for the next week, same day, same time. I agreed to the second appointment but, before I left, I asked her one more time about the cats. “Am I going crazy?”

      “I can’t tell right now,” the therapist said. “Our brains sometimes do crazy things just to process trauma or the unresolved emotions that we try to hide from ourselves. What I do know, is that you should probably return Cinnamon before the owners start missing her, and we can talk more about everything else next week.”

      “I shall not go back,” Cinnamon said when I told her it was illegal for me to keep her.

      “I think it would be best for all of us and I’m sure you want to see your sister.”

      “I am not worthy of such an reunion with my righteous sister, nor the cats who adopted me and treated me as their own. I spilt the Prince’s blood and such injury comes at a high price. Surely, I have brought ruin on our kingdom…and my sister.”

      “So, you’ll spend the rest of your life where? With me?”

      “I intend no burden for you, sir human,” Cinnamon said solemnly. “The only reason I remain in your abode is because I cannot find escape, nor should I be so discourteous as to leave without farewell.”

      “Where will you go? I don’t…I can’t let you out into the wild.” Cinnamon’s past flashed through my mind.

      “It seems such a fate were my punishment,” Cinnamon said as she scratched at the front door of my apartment. “I was not royalty in my past, nor should I have ever been more than a mangey feral on the side of the highway.”

     “I’m not going to let you do that,” I said. “It’s either return to your owners or stay here.”

     “What stake do you have in this? You owe me nothing.”

     I realized that if everything these cats were saying was a delusion drummed up by my own mind, then I could have simply stolen a cat from a neighbor—a cat who possibly didn’t have some tragic backstory about being abandoned on the highway—but I didn’t want to take that risk. “Lola made me promise to make sure you were safe, so either you live here or I bring you home,” I spoke resolutely. “So those are your choices.”

     “And why should I not choose to slip out of the door when you eventually open it?”

     “Because the next time I see Lola, I don’t want to have to tell her that after everything she’s been through, I let her sister struggle alone in the wild.”

     Cinnamon agreed to stay after that, but she didn’t really talk much. She would eat the food I gave her, watch some TV with me at night, and usually when I woke up, I would find her sleeping on the pillow next to my head, but most of the time, she would be sitting at my living room window, staring down at the street.

     The next day, while on my normal walk, I loitered around Lola’s house for a while, but she never appeared. The next day was the same, and the day after that. I thought about knocking on the door and talking to the owners, but I wondered if it was too creepy that a stranger was asking about their cat.

     I tried to ask any cat I could find about Lola and Luna, but most of them ignored me or told me that royal affairs were of no concern to a human. Soon, missing cat posters—for Cinnamon and Lola—appeared all over the neighborhood. Lola had disappeared. When I asked Cinnamon if Lola could have escaped—found freedom in exile—she simply stared at the ground. “The price for a Prince’s life is high.”

     I spent the next few weeks looking for Lola. I became friends with her owners—Jack and Tiffany—I walked all over, looking for the grey and white cat with green eyes. I never found her and something told me it was for the best.

     Months later—after I had quit my job and started volunteering at an animal shelter, after I stopped thinking about my ex, and after Cinnamon’s words turned back into meows—I stared out my bedroom window one night and saw two cats rolling around underneath the glow of a streetlight. I recalled the time I spent with Lola—the three weeks I could talk to cats—and I smiled, hoping that she and Luna were out there somewhere, playing under their own streetlight.