Love in Lowercase Read Free Page A

up, placidly asleep on my chest.
    â€œYou’re a stubborn animal,” I said, wondering if I should throttle it there and then.
    Almost out of curiosity, I stroked its short, soft fur. The cat revved up its purring and opened its sleepy eyes. Then it began to stretch, raising its back and shifting its paws, and ended up sitting on my belly. It was still purring and seemed to be smiling.
    Can a cat smile?
    After breakfast, I decided that the intruder could stay until the animal shelter opened. I found the number in the phone book but, when I called, a tinny voice informed me that they were closed until January 7th.
    Then I remembered that I’d seen a pets section in the
Pennysaver
.
    It could be an option in case the shelter won’t take it
. I rummagedaround in my storage room, trying to find an old copy of the paper, which I’d occasionally consulted when I wanted to buy second-hand furniture.
    I phoned the number, and an affected voice promptly answered. I mentioned the section in which the ad would appear and dictated: “Almost new cat. Free of charge. Excellent condition. Phone afternoons.”
    I thought a touch of humor might help to find a home for the animal. It seemed that the operator didn’t agree.
    â€œIs that all?” he asked after jotting down my phone number.
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œI can’t take this ad as it is. What about its shots?”
    â€œWhat?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.
    â€œWe only take ads for vaccinated animals. The paper can’t be held responsible in case of infection. You need to make it clear it’s had its shots.”
    I was about to confess that I didn’t know whether the cat was vaccinated or not, but bit my tongue.
    â€œIt’s been vaccinated,” I lied. “Put that at the end of the ad.”
    â€œOK.”
    According to the operator, I was in luck. They were closed that day, but they’d publish my ad on January 8th. I decided I would postpone my trip to the animal shelter for another week after that date. I needed time to see if some charitable soul would take the cat. And anyway, there was still the issue of its vaccinations. Anyone who came would want to see the certificates.
    The cat was now comfortably installed on the couch, observing me as I pondered all these questions. Without changing its elegant pose, it studied my movements around the living room, restlessly flicking its tail.
    Since I tend to deal with bothersome chores as quickly as possible, I picked up the phone book again, this time to find a vet.There were several clinics, and one was quite close to my place, so I called to book an appointment.
    A brusque female voice answered.
    â€œYour reason for the visit?”
    â€œIt’s for a cat. It needs a vaccination certificate.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œSamuel de Juan.”
    â€œAnd the cat?”
    This took me unawares.
Must all animals have a name?
I was standing next to a bookshelf full of novels, and my eyes lit on
The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea
.
    â€œMishima,” I said.
    The cat gave a loud meow, as if it was happy to be named after a Japanese writer who committed suicide by hara-kiri.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    I spelled out the name, realizing that I was now faced with a logistical problem. How was I going to take the cat to the vet? It had proved to be very good at disappearing, and I had no wish to chase it around the streets. I explained my problem to the woman on the other end of the phone.
    â€œYou’ll need a transporter box.”
    â€œA . . . transporter box? What is that?”
    Mishima seemed to be relishing the situation. The rate of tail flicks per minute had risen considerably.
    The woman informed me that it was an authorized container for carrying animals. She suggested I should come to the veterinary center to buy one and then bring the cat back in it.
    â€œThat’s too much running around,” I