A White Cat

9 pm on a Friday night. Ana had no particular feelings about Friday nights—they were neither good nor bad, neither a reason to celebrate or a reason to complain. She was old enough to value a night curled up with a good TV show much more than a night out with friends, and that was how she spent most Friday nights, as well as most other nights of the week. (Though she would never admit it aloud, Ana had never really spent a night “out,” and could count her partying experiences on one hand. What did one even do at parties?)

She worked Saturdays, anyway, so “The Weekend” as a concept had not been a part of her life in years, and Friday had lost the appeal that it held for people working desk jobs. But this Friday was different, she reminded herself, and hurried to finish wiping down the counters. It was the last Friday before Christmas, and tomorrow the café shut down until after the holidays.

Sophie came from the back of the house, interrupting Ana’s wandering train of thought. She and Ana were closing together tonight, taking extra care that everything was set for the holiday break.

“Any plans for Christmas?” Sophie asked, as she came over to help Ana clean up behind the counter.

“Not much,” Ana said with a wave of her hand. “I’m just getting together with some friends. Have a nice dinner. Maybe a bottle of wine.” She shot Sophie a quick grin.

“Yeah, we’re keeping it lowkey this year too,” Sophie commiserated. “It just takes so much energy to do the whole family Christmas thing, you know?”

Ana nodded without listening, and let Sophie keep up a pleasant stream of conversation about Christmas, relatives, children, etc.

It was all a lie, of course. There would be no Christmas dinner, there were no friends, and there would be no bottle of wine. She would have a quiet day to herself and sleep in as long as she wanted. Maybe she’d light a couple candles and eat a tub of ice cream. Didn’t sound half shabby, she thought to herself.

That night Ana lay in bed, fighting the urge in her fingers yet again. It had been particularly insistent in the last week, and she fought the impulse down almost every night. The impulse to pick up her phone, unblock her parents, and send them a quick text. Just “Merry Christmas” or “I hope you’re okay.” Every time she stopped herself, but every time she felt a pang in her chest, knowing that it would never be back the way it had been. It had been three years since she had voluntarily cut contact, and it had probably saved her life, but at crazy moments like this she wanted nothing more than to go running back to the people who had destroyed her.

Maybe this is what other girls mean when they say they want to text their ex, she thought, and turned onto her side, hugging the covers close to her chin. She fell asleep soon, but it was a fitful sleep, and she dreamed of a small house with a huge Christmas tree all aglow, its light reflected in the eyes of four children, and their happiness reflected in the eyes of a mother and father.

It snowed Christmas Eve night, muffling the city sounds in an eiderdown of silence. Ana awoke in the morning to an eerie quiet, as if the city itself had ceased all activity in honor of the holiday. She lay in bed dozing for quite some time before she finally swung her legs over the side and sat contemplating the day.

Christmas really wasn’t all too different from any other day, she thought, as her sleepy eyes roamed the one room of her apartment. It only becomes important when people choose to celebrate it. Her eyes came to rest on her tree. She had caved finally, and shelled out fifteen dollars for a knee-high potted fir, that now stood on a stool where the kitchen ended and the living room began. She had had nothing to decorate it with, but the tips of the needles had been sprayed with silver when she bought it, and she had placed a few candles on the stool at its base. Really, quite Christmassy. Nothing else about the apartment indicated that this was a holiday. She had cleaned up the clothes on the floor, but the dishes were still in the sink, and the dark wood and general griminess of the place didn’t allow for a very festive mood regardless. Her eyes wandered over to the two small windows, set in basement casings at level of the street. On a good day they let in a little sunlight, but on this morning they were almost entirely covered in a bank of white snow.

Ana went to shower and think about her options for the day. Do the dishes? Watch a movie? Check the cupboard to see if she still had a bag of chips for breakfast? But her plans were interrupted when she returned from the bathroom, by a commotion at the window. Half-buried in the snowdrift, its fur pressed against the window-pane, was a large, white cat, clearly offended at having fallen into such a cold and fluffy prison. It showed its indignation readily, by clawing at the window and scrabbling wildly at the snow, finally freeing itself from its cold embrace. Climbing out of the window well, however, proved a harder feat. After watching the cat struggle for a good minute, Ana took pity and ventured to open the window. A pile of snow poured onto her bed, and Ana shrugged. The sheets would dry.

The cat had retreated as far from Ana as possible, but it did not seem afraid. Once she stepped away from the window, it came readily over, peered through the opening, and then bounded gracefully inside. The cat did not like to be touched, Ana soon found, but it was not unfriendly. It graciously accepted the plate of leftovers she offered, and politely sniffed the apartment once over. When it was satisfied, it jumped up on the bed and lay down on the opposite end from its new human companion. Ana didn’t mind. The cat seemed perfectly content to lie there and watch her, so she found her bag of chips and played video games, keeping a respectful distance from the newcomer.

They were perfectly comfortable this way for the better part of several hours. Every once in a while, the urge to text her family crept back into Ana’s fingers, but she could drown it out in her game, or by casting a glance at the purring ball of fur at the other end of the bed. When it started to get dark, she lit the candles under her tree and turned down the lights. But then she couldn’t help it. The tiny tree, with its sad excuse for Christmas lights, brought back aching memories of Christmases past, and the faces from her dream swam brightly before her eyes. She drew her knees up to her chest and bawled like a baby, ugly tears making streaks across her blotchy, red face. She cried for a good ten minutes. Then she wiped her eyes, got up, and went to do the dishes she had left in the sink for far too long. It was an acquired skill. Hide away to cry for ten minutes in your car, in the breakroom, in the bathroom, wherever—then wipe your eyes and carry on, as one must.

She did the dishes and sat down again on her bed. It was almost ten, making it soon acceptable to turn in for the night. The white cat had been watching her intently for the past several minutes, and now it jumped down from its perch and wandered over to the Christmas tree, where the candles still burned beneath it. The cat folded its legs and settled down under the branches, giving Ana a probing look which she hesitantly followed. When she lowered herself to the ground beside it, it did not move. Presently she put her hand carefully on the cat’s soft fur and stroked between its ears, and it leaned its head into her and stretched closer. After a while, it placed its head fully into Ana’s lap and closed its eyes, a purr building gradually from its chest until it hummed softly on Ana’s knee. She sat for a long time, and her mind settled. There was only the cat now, and the tree, and the candles—and that moment was all that mattered. The past and the future might be dark, but here there was soft fur and the scent of pine needles above her. Maybe this was Christmas, she thought. Maybe this was what Sophie and all the rest of the quiet city was celebrating. A white cat and a Christmas tree.