I lived with a girl once – only once – in my bachelor life. I had just graduated from college and was hired to my first job in Kansas City. I was looking for a relatively cheap place downtown while I stayed in my parents’ house (much to my father’s displeasure) just outside of the city, but was having very little luck finding an apartment that fit my criteria. It seemed that everything cheap was in the suburbs; everything downtown would require me to donate a kidney in order to make the deposit.

I literally stumbled across the ad one rainy morning en route from my car to my office. I was walk-running about a block from the building when I slipped on something and nearly landed on my ass. I regained myself and carefully lifted the bottom of my shoe. A Muddy’s Coffee Shop business card was stuck on the smooth sole, its bright yellow logo blaring. Annoyed, I peeled the wet piece of paper off and prepared to flick it back to the sidewalk when I noticed some writing on the back. I flopped the card over; it read, in loopy letters: “Have extra room in rent-controlled apartment downtown. Pets allowed.” Underneath, there was a phone number written next to a name: Rhonda Matland. So I called.


I had never actually been in the neighborhood of my new apartment until the Saturday I arrived with my three large boxes and a duffel bag containing everything I felt I’d need to begin a new life. As such, I didn’t actually meet Rhonda face to face until the morning I moved in. I had never seen the apartment either. Outside it was like the modern version of one of those old western ghost towns; the streets lined with tall buildings contained no pedestrians or moving cars. Several parked compact cars and SUV’s lined the street. I felt like the sole survivor of some apocalyptic event.

When I walked in, still huffing from hauling the largest box up the two flights of stairs, I was met by a gray and white cat. It mewed at my feet and looked up at me with large shining eyes.

“Oh – hello, Rob!” a warm, instrumental voice hummed from the room at my left. It must’ve been Rhonda. “That’s Casper. Don’t worry, there is only one more. I’ll be right out!” In our few conversations, Rhonda hadn’t mentioned any cats. I hate cats; the way they slink from room to room with their tails straight up in the air as if the only parts of them that you’re good enough to set eyes upon are their puckered assholes.

“Great,” I said, not trying very hard to hide my displeasure. At that moment, the thought to turn around and leave entered my mind. In my head, however, all I could hear was my dad’s voice saying, “You did what?! After all that trouble you went through to find a place, you gave it up because a couple of damn cats?!”

I sat my box on a tattered red velvet couch and turned my eyes on the room. The place was pretty pristine – no dust to be found, but it looked like a scene out of a David Fincher movie. The dark gray walls were darker in the dim light; the windows were choked by long, blood-red curtains that reached down as if to clutch at the mahogany-stained hardwood floors.

The gray cat sat at my feet and stared at me, its head tilted to one side. Out of the corner of my eye, a black shadow slinked from the kitchen on my right into the room from which Rhonda’s voice had emanated.

“Come here, Bear,” a grotesque coo seeped from the room, “let’s go meet Robby-wobby. Yes, yes… you want to meet him, don’t you?!” Her baby voice grew louder and more growling. “You want to meet the big many-wanny whose going to live with us, don’t you?! Don’t you?! YES!” she cried as she erupted into the living room.

She was gorgeous. She had curly black hair and pale white skin. Her cheekbones slanted cheerfully, and her clear blue eyes beamed with intensity. Her black sweater (covered in cat hair) fit her round breasts perfectly, and a small glimpse of her thin stomach was barely visible above her denim skirt. She walked over to me on her bare feet.

“I’m Rhonda,” she said, chuckling. Her voice (when she wasn’t talking to her cats, at least) was smooth and deep like a viola. She thrust her hand into mine and shook it with a strong, steady grip.

“I – I’m Rob,” I stuttered, amazed by my luck. She blushed a bit as the room filled with silence.

“This is Bear!” she gurgled with her awful baby-voice. She smiled at the fat black cat she cradled in her arms. Its eyes were half closed – it looked as though it was asleep. “Say hello, Bear!” she said to the cat. Its eyes remained closed.

“Hey, Bear,” I said in response to the cat’s silence. I reached to pet its shiny mane when suddenly its eyes sprang open. It flipped its ears back swiftly and lashed at me, dragging one of its razor claws across the top of my hand before letting out a long, triumphant hiss. I stood there stunned as I watched the small scrape fill slowly with bitter blood. I looked up to Rhonda’s face, which was already red with what seemed to be a mixture of apology and disgust.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said, looking at Bear. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or the cat. “Bear doesn’t take to well men,” she explained, turning her mock-apologetic gaze to me. “She’s an old soul. It’s a karmic thing.”

“Right,” I chuckled sarcastically, still staring at the bloody gash on my hand. I knew she couldn’t be serious. When I looked back to her, however, her expression had become one of pure disgust, no longer tainted with anything close to sympathy. She sat the cat gently on the ground, and it padded swiftly back into what I assumed was Rhonda’s room. After a pause, Rhonda’s expression cleared and she spoke again.

“Let me show you around,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Okay,” I responded, a bit offended by her sideways glance.

“This is the living room, obviously,” she said shortly, “and to your right is the kitchen.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes determinedly, and let it go. She opened her eyes and smiled, then led me further into the apartment with the smooth sweeping motion of a game show hostess.

“This is my room.” She directed me to a room just beyond the kitchen – not the one she had first been in when I arrived at the apartment. I thought it was a joke; the place was sprayed with lavender flowers – on the curtains, the pillows, and even the comforter. A small white pillow covered in gray cat hair sat at the foot of her bed. It didn’t look like her.

“This is the bathroom,” she said with disinterest, pulling my eyes away from her bedroom, “and this --” she paused as she led me to the final room, the one she had been in, “-- is where you’ll be.” I peered into the dark cave. There were four walls and a small mattress and frame in the corner of the unlit room.

“Looks… great,” I lied. She missed the tone and smiled warmly.

“So,” she said, “do you need any help bringing things up?”

“Sure,” I said cautiously, “that’d be great.” Her icy eyes beamed. “I’ve only got a couple more boxes,” I added. She blinked and tilted her head to the right. She looked panic-stricken.

“Did you not bring any pets?” she piped hopefully. My heart began to pound in my ears. I searched her eyes to find what she was getting at.

“No… no,” I admitted, “I – I don’t have any pets.” Her face fell.

“Oh. I see,” she pouted.

“You see?” I asked.

“Yes. I do.” There was a long silence.

“Are you fucking with me?” I laughed awkwardly, leaning in and hoping to receive a similar friendly response from Rhonda. She stood rigid, her eyes on the floor. She took in a long breath.

“Rob, animals are the spiritual driving force behind all of our human actions.” She sounded as if she was reading from a book.

“What?” I asked, dumbstruck. She looked into my eyes and leaned in like an elementary school principal talking to a student.

“A person without a pet is like a seed without water. You don’t know your true potential unless you experience your life in the presence of animals.” Her eyebrows rose slightly, suggestively, but the fact that she didn’t know what she was talking about coupled with her air of condescension only pissed me off.

“Whatever you say,” I replied as I turned to the door. “I’m going to get the rest of my stuff.” There was no response. I turned to look back at her. She assumed a stiff, straight-backed posture, folded her arms across her chest, and set her jaw. I walked away, and again the thought to leave and never turn back entered my mind, but again my father’s voice came through with a resounding, “NO!”

* * * *

“God,” I sighed to myself as I hefted the final box out of the trunk of my car. I was startled when I turned toward the apartment and encountered the black shadow of Rhonda in my path. She was smiling.

“Almost done?” she sang like a friendly neighbor. I nodded and strained a smile.

“Yeah.”

“You know, Rob, I was thinking… since I have two cats…” I already didn’t like where this was going, “…you could just sort of ‘adopt’ one of them. You know – take it under your wing; live with it like it’s yours. Then you could understand what I’m talking about.” As I stood there straining under the weight of the box and tiring of trying not to offend her, my hostility melted into complacency – I blame this for my response.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I sighed, exasperated. Her creamy face beamed devilishly.

“Oh, Rob, that’s great! This is going to be so exciting! You’re going to just love Bear!” she cried as she tried to hug me around the large box.

Bear?! I thought. I smiled wider and faker, and for the first time that morning I began to sweat.

* * * *

I lay in bed that night staring at the black figure on the white pillow that Rhonda had set at the foot of my bed. Its hissy snore sounded like air being let methodically out of a tire. Slowly, the rhythmic tango of its sleep lulled me into dreams of being sacrificed at the hand of my new roommate. She stood over me with her beautiful, cheerful face smiling wickedly as she carved cat claws into my forehead. I began to actually feel the knives picking at my head, a feeling I imagined to be a creation of my mind until I opened my eyes to furry darkness.

The black cat had climbed onto my face and was digging its claws into my temples.

“Jesus! Get the fuck off me!” I screamed, throwing the yowling black cat across the room. She landed with a thud and scurried out the door and down the hall shrieking. Blood was dripping from the tip my nose.

Down the hall I heard the click of a door, and angry footsteps rapidly approached my room in the darkness.

“Robert, what did you do to Bear?!” Rhonda screamed in a whisper. Her hair was up in rollers; she looked like Medusa in the dim candlelight that was glowing from her room thirty feet away.

“Do you see what that piece of shit did to me?” I cried. “If your bitch-cat hadn’t been using me as a pin cushion, I wouldn’t have thrown her off me!” The warm blood trickled into my mouth. I got out of bed and brushed past Rhonda into the bathroom.

“She was just trying to dig in and get to know you,” she reasoned after a moment. I flicked on the light switch and glared at her.

“Well, she did a really good job at the digging part!” I looked in the mirror. The bloody victim of a knife fight looked back.

“Well at least she was trying.” I turned and searched her eyes for a hint of sarcasm. They were clear with intensity.

“Do you see what she did to me?” I pointed wearily at my wounds. I was shivering with pain.

“Quit being such a baby, Rob. It’s just a few small cuts.” I couldn’t believe what she was saying. I responded with a loud sigh.

“Bear has never done anything like this to me!” she argued before I could assemble my words. “It’s obviously something about you.”

“Have you ever slept in the same room as her?” I asked.

“No.” She paused before she continued. “That is her room,” she said cautiously. “I sleep in Casper’s room.” I noticed the gray cat sitting behind Rhonda’s feet watching me wipe the blood from my face. Its eyes shone big and black; it looked as miffed as I felt.

“Casper’s room?” I wondered aloud.

“Yes,” she said straightly. “I like my pets to feel as at home as they can since they have been abducted from their natural habitat.”

“D– Wha—I …” I struggled to find the right words. “I am going to bed,” I ended. “Keep the damn cats with you!”

“Fine,” she shouted. We marched back to our rooms – the cats’ rooms – and slammed the doors.

* * * *

I woke to the smell of cooked eggs. I rose carefully, sore from the events of the previous night, slipped on a t-shirt delicately (trying not to touch my mangled face), and emerged into the living room. Two plates were set with eggs and bacon on the coffee table. A small yellow book sat next to one of the plates. I stepped forward to read the title when Rhonda burst forth from the bathroom wrapped in a white towel.

“Good morning,” she chirped. Her beautiful naked legs stretched upward into oblivion, and her creamy shoulders were speckled with light freckles.

“I made us breakfast to, you know, apologize for last night.” She raised her eyebrows and flashed a smile. I smiled back entranced.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She blushed and moved her eyes to the couch. The gray cat lay there sleeping peacefully.

“Do you want juice?” Rhonda asked, gliding to the kitchen. Before I could answer she had poured two glasses of cold orange juice. She came back into the living room and set them on the coffee table. “Sit down,” she said gently as she handed me one of the glasses.

“Thanks again,” I said. I sat on the red couch next to the gray cat. It stirred slightly and then returned to sleep. I was in front of the plate with the yellow book. I read the title: The Spiritual Needs of Cats, and my appetite slowly subsided to nausea; I moved my eyes from the book to Rhonda’s face. She had sat down across from me, still in her towel, and had just stuck a forkful of egg into her mouth. She stared at me chewing and smiling. Her eyes were sparkling.

“I think it’d be good if you read that,” she explained after swallowing. “You could learn more about what Bear feels and needs. It would make your time together more enjoyable.” I cleared my throat.

“I will never sleep with that cat in the same room again,” I said firmly. She froze, her eyes wide and set on mine.

“Rob, I…” she paused, “… I think you should reconsider. The benefits of owning a cat…”

“I will not take your cat,” I interrupted. Her eyes welled with tears. She stood, picked up her glass of orange juice, and walked quickly to her room, shutting the door behind her.

“Rhonda, I… I’m sorry,” I said perfunctorily before I lifted my fork and began eating my eggs. The gray cat had woken and was looking at me again. It flipped its tail back and forth couple times then rose, hopped to the coffee table, and began to finish off the remainder of Rhonda’s breakfast. I went into my room and shut the door, leaving the book on the coffee table.

I sat on my bed dotted with bloodstains and began to shuffle through a stack of clothes still packed in a box. A black figure stared at me from across the room.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I asked the cat. It stood and slinked over to me, then rubbed my ankle with its black fur and purred loudly.

“Get off me,” I moaned, kicking the cat away. It hissed and raised its tail to show me its asshole as it slinked to the door. I stood and opened it to let her out. Bear trotted under a denim skirt through two pairs of long legs. Rhonda was seven inches from my nose holding the cat book out to me with her left hand.

“You forgot the book,” she said huskily, one eyebrow arched.

“No, I didn’t.” I tried to say it firmly, but it came out as a stutter.

“Oh,” she said as she swept into my room and tossed the book onto my bed. She stood there like a proud statue of a Greek goddess, eyeing me carefully as if summing up an opponent. “What do I have to do to get you to read this book,” she said with a deep, playful moan.

“Nothing, noth—” I struggled to regain my composure, “nothing.”

“You’re not working with me, Robert.” She approached me slowly, her breasts bouncing slightly with each seductive step.

“What are you doing? Please leave.” She smiled and came closer, closer. I began to feel my resolve melt away, sweating through my forehead and my palms.

“I will do whatever it takes to get you to –”

A loud shriek roared in the living room, followed by clawed footsteps skittering across the floor, a yowl, and then silence. Rhonda spun quickly, her face a brighter white than I had ever seen. She ran quickly to the door and peered into the living room. I followed closely behind, my heartbeat slowing rapidly.

I peered over Rhonda’s shoulder through the window to see a lump of blood and black fur in the middle sidewalk five stories below. The gray cat sat on the arm of the couch licking itself clean. Rhonda covered her mouth with her hands and let out a muffled scream. She fell to the floor rocking back and forth on her buttocks and sobbing.

I stood there, unsure whether I should lean down and comfort her or run around the room doing cartwheels. My dad re-entered my mind, he gave a baffled shrug. I tiptoed back into my room and began re-packing my belongings.

* * * *

I returned to my parents’ house for a few days while I looked for a new apartment. I checked the classifieds daily, but as before, nothing suited my taste. On a whim, I went to a couple coffee houses to check their bulletin boards, and found an ad written on the back of a napkin from The Blue Room. It read in masculine scrawl, “NEED ROOMMATE FOR CHEAP APARTMENT DOWNTOWN. NO PETS.” So I called.