The Yowling Box

Jennifer sighed loudly. She was bored. SO bored. Spending the Summer with her grandparents had sounded like fun at first, but as much as she loved them, they were old. Old, and too busy to play with her or take her to interesting places. She loved their little farm in the country, but she’d explored every inch of it and there was nothing new to see.

She looked out the window at Grandpa working in the garden. He was picking tomatoes and cucumbers, just like he did every day. She could hear Grandma in the kitchen cooking something, and she sincerely hoped it wasn’t more tomato soup.

She wandered out onto the old front porch, and that’s when she saw it. Actually, she heard it first. A strange humming noise that rose in pitch until it became a frustrated yowl. She stared at the suspicious looking package at the bottom of the steps. It was moving a little bit, and was definitely the source of the noise. She approached it cautiously and sat on the bottom step. Wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of string, the box had not been there this morning. There was no postage label, so she thought it might be okay for her to open it without telling her grandparents.

Jennifer tentatively undid the knot and slid the string off. Then she tore aside the brown paper wrapping and opened the box. It appeared to contain an enraged cat.

“Finally!” hissed the cat. Jennifer stared at it; a bit taken aback.

“Did you just talk?” she asked in amazement.

“Do you always ask such stupid questions?” sniffed the cat, “There’s no one else here so of course it was me.”

“But cats can’t talk,” Jennifer said.

“Well, I’d like to agree with you but then we’d both be wrong,” stated the cat.

“Where did you come from?” she asked.

“That seems to be the source of some discussion,” said the cat. “In fact, there has been much debate about whether I was in there at all, or at least whether I was alive or dead in the box.”

“What do you mean?” she said with some confusion.

“Oh dear,” said the cat, hopping out of the box and proceeding to groom himself in a delicate area. “I suppose you’re a bit young for quantum theory, aren’t you?”

“I don't understand,” Jennifer said, averting her eyes politely. “Are you even real?”

“Ah, therein lies the crux of the question my dear,” said the cat, continuing his rather thorough grooming. “What is reality, and how do we know it?”

“That’s silly,” said Jennifer, “I know what’s real and what isn’t, I’m not a baby anymore. I don’t believe in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny because they aren’t real.”

“So how do you decide if I am real?” said the cat. Grooming apparently over, he leaped into her lap. “Do I feel real?”

Jennifer felt the weight of him, and the warm softness of his fur. “You feel like a real cat,” she said, “but I know cats can’t talk so I must be having a dream.”

“But how will you know?” said the cat, settling down into her and beginning to purr.

“I guess when I wake up,” she said.

She stroked the cat in her lap absently and felt him ramp up his purring. What a strange thing. She certainly wasn’t bored anymore, but she was confused. If she was dreaming, how did all of her senses confirm the existence of this curious cat? She felt the vibration of his purrs, and the softness of his fur. She leaned down to smell him and decided he smelled like popcorn. She could certainly see him, and she could hear him… he was talking again.

“Convinced yet?” the cat twisted onto his back and bared his belly. “Would you rub please?” he requested, stretching and arching in her lap.

Jennifer absently began to rub the soft belly. “This can’t be real,” she asserted, “because I KNOW cats can’t talk.”

“Oh really,” said the cat, fixing his green eyes upon hers. “And what else do you KNOW about cats and our capabilities?

“Well,” said Jennifer, I know you are good hunters and good jumpers. I know that you can meow and purr, but not talk.” She thought some more. “I know that you can be unpredictable, and that you can scratch and bite. I know you get stuck in trees sometimes, and I know you’re supposed to have nine lives but I don’t believe that either.

“Well,” said the cat, “it appears you know all there is to know about cats then.”

Jennifer nodded in agreement.

“Let me reinforce your belief system,” said the cat, and he stretched again, and then bared his claws and slashed four long scratches in her arm.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed, leaping up quickly and staring down at the now hostile feline, his tail swishing back and forth angrily. “Why did you do that?” she cried.

“You have no one but yourself to blame,” stated the cat, beginning to groom again. “You yourself said that we were unpredictable.”

“That’s not my fault,” whined Jennifer, staring in dismay at the gouges in her arm.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” replied the cat, “I said I was blaming you.”

Jennifer stared at the cat in confusion. “I thought you were nice,” she said sadly.

“I am whatever I choose to be,” said the cat pompously, “and I believe the same applies to you.”

With that, he leaped from the step and ran across the road into the neighbor’s corn field. “I’m going hunting,” he called back to her, “lots of mice in there, I can hear them.”

Jennifer stared in bewilderment until he disappeared into the rows. She looked down, and saw that the box, paper and string were still there. Nursing her scratched arm, she picked them up and went inside. She felt very tired all of a sudden, and thought she would take a little nap. She lay down in her bed and closed her eyes, and was asleep in less than a minute.

She woke to the sound of her Grandma’s voice, telling her to wash up, it was almost dinner time. Disoriented, she realized that she had slept the afternoon away. She lay there for a few minutes, and recalled bits and pieces of a dream she had had. Something about a cat in a box, and it was talking to her. How strange, she mused, as she went into the dark bathroom and quickly washed her hands. She wandered into the kitchen and took her seat at the table next to Grandpa. Grandma smiled at her and said “I made another batch of tomato soup!” Jennifer sighed inwardly and smiled, looking at these two people she loved so very much. “Yummy,” she said.

They said grace and she passed Grandma her bowl. She saw Grandma frown and stare at her extended arm.

“What on earth did you do to yourself, child?” Grandma asked, staring at the four dark scratches on her arm.

Jennifer stared down at the scratches, scarcely believing her eyes. “I got in an argument with a cat,” she said, “and I guess he won.”