Fear Itself

For three days, my father had received little to no attention from me. It wasn’t out of rebellion, and it was to be rude or childish or even to get my way. The news that I wasn’t going to be able to see the fireworks in person had crushed me more than I could possibly describe. For nearly eighteen years, I stayed up later than my bed time just to draw my curtains so I could see the fireworks light up the sky in the middle of October. They were my favorite part of the autumn every year. I could often hear the music coming from the gardens just on the other side of the gate, the sounds of popular musicians and artists playing their latest hit singles was perfect entertainment, and I got a week of it.

The Autumn Festival happened every October, usually the third week in. The Festival was always something I’d dreamed of seeing one day (mostly just the fireworks, but the atmosphere of it all just seemed marvelous). It was a ten day stretch of fun: shopping, carnival games, and live entertainment by the world’s most popular artists. It was one of the only times both sides of town ever got together, and I used to wish with all my heart as a child that I could go one day. Instead, I was forced to kneel on the window sill and stare up at the sky in awe every year, dreaming of the day that I could finally see them with my own eyes, not through a thick wall of glass.

My father had crushed my heart; he practically ripped it out of my chest and stomped on it. I couldn’t keep my sadness contained. It wasn’t even blatant sadness as much as it was just a sudden apathy. I didn’t care about much anymore: not dinner, not my books, not anything. I spent my days drawing or staring at the ceiling. I just didn’t want to do anything; what was the point, anyway? I wasn’t allowed to do anything that I actually wanted to do, so why do anything at all? I lost interest in my books, in my ukelele, in everything.

It was on the third day that I found myself laying on my rug with a Simon and Garfunkel record spinning in it’s player, situated right beside my head. My blonde hair was sprawled against the lavender fabric beneath me. My eyes stared blankly up at my smooth, white ceiling, and I mouthed along with the music echoing through my room. Existence just seemed so dreary, so for a moment, I folded both arms over my body, like how books had described dead bodies posed within their caskets at funerals. Maybe I was dressed in my finest clothes and a pearl necklace (that I didn’t currently own). I didn’t really want to think of my funeral. Even if I had one, there was nobody in my life to invite to such an affair.

A knock sounded on my bedroom door, and I realized that it was later in the evening than I had realized. “Go away,” I shouted over the music. “I’m practicing for my funeral.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tali,” my father scolded briefly. There was a pause, and I noted a change in his voice from stern to sort of pleasant, a little uplifting even. “I’m sorry about the other day. I really don’t like to see you this upset.” Blah, blah, blah, I mouthed to myself, rolling my eyes. I was thankful he was waiting for me to allow him entrance. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have felt so inclined to cop an attitude. “I’ve brought you something I really think you’re going to like. I know you very excited about the fireworks, and I want to make it up to you.”

I sighed under my breath and very reluctantly switched my record player off. “Okay,” I replied. “Come in.” I heard the door start to creak open, but I was still laying upside down which prevented me from seeing everything all that clearly. “Is it books?” I asked, craning my neck a bit, trying to tilt my head back to stare up at my father’s figure, but when he finally turned, cradled in arms was something better than books because books weren’t nearly as cute as tiny, mewling kitten. My eyes widened, and my mouth opened into a shocked grin before I rolled over and scrambled up to my feet. “Oh my goodness!” I squealed, rushing over to my father, suddenly vibrant and full of life again.

My father laughed. “I take it you like him,” he commented, a smirk on his face.

“Like him?” I asked, laughing. “I love him! He’s so cute!” I beamed with excitement as my father handed the tiny animal to me. I took him in my hands and scratched his head with my index finger. “Thank you,” I said with the utmost sincerity, looking up to father with an apologetic smile. He placed a hand on my hand and mussed my hair a bit.

“You’re welcome, Tali,” he replied with a smile. “But be careful with him, he’s only eight weeks old, so he’s very small and very fragile,” my father explained, watching me as I doted on my brand new pet, who I had fallen in love with the second I looked into his big, jade green eyes. He squirmed a bit in my hands a mewed. I settled for cradling the creature in my arms, which contented him quite a bit, considering he seemed to doze off to sleep immediately.

“I know. I’ll be careful, I swear,” I replied in a rushed voice. “What kind of cat is he? Does he have a name?” I asked, expecting a prompt answer. I hoped he wasn’t already named. I always wanted something to name. Preferably a pet to a child at this stage in my life, though to say I didn’t want children eventually would have been a blatant lie. For long time, I think the whole wanting children thing came merely because I wanted something give all my love and affection to; I had a lot of love and affection to spare, as this kitten would soon find out.

“The woman at the shelter told me that he is an Egyptian Mau. What’s really neat about this breed is that they descend directly from wild cats, and many millennia ago, they were worshiped and revered among the Egyptians. They even were buried alongside Pharaohs as mummies,” he explained to me. The cat meowed again; his eyes squinted shut as I felt his claws digging into the fabric of my yellow cardigan. “And he doesn’t have a name yet. That’s your job, Tali,” my father told me with a smile.

I looked down at this adorable, little fur ball, and I smiled lovingly. He must have been less a foot long with a soft, smokey silver coat and tiny black spots all over. I gently stroked his coat with my left hand, cradling him in the crook of my right elbow. “I think I’ll name him Ralph,” I concluded, still staring down at my pet.

“Ralph?” my fathered laughed.

“Yes, Ralph Waldo,” I explained, looking up to my father and smiling.

My father only laughed harder. “Like the philosopher, of course. How silly of me.” A grin graced his face, and it actually warmed my heart to see my father so genuinely happy. I smiled softly at him and nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted,” he teased. “His toys and the litter box are downstairs, so you can come get them if you want, and for my sanity, Tali, please do not lock him in your room by mistake,” he stressed.

I nodded and smiled with understanding. “Okay, Dad,” I replied with a quiet chuckle.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” he added before leaving my room.

Almost immediately, I laid on my bed with my new kitten, my new best friend, dear little Ralph. I watched him as he tried out his new surrounding, clawing at my lilac comforter. Clearly, he had never seen a bed before. He looked at me and mewed; I giggled and ran two fingers over his tiny head. He craned his neck and arched his back to match the motion of my fingers, uttering a tiny squeak as he flopped down on the bed. His tail whipped around in the air and on the comforter a bit; he looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for me to pay attention to him.

I laughed and scooted up on the bed. “No worries, Ralph,” I reassured him. “I have plenty of time to devote to you. About twenty-four hours a day, to be exact.” He mewed in response, and I smiled. Ralph may not have been able to speak English, but I finally had a companion who was going to answer me when I spoke. Ralph was going to run around and play with me; he was sweet and affectionate, and he certainly loved being around me already. I saw nothing but bright futures for me and this kitten. The prospect of having some company for once was the best thing I’d experienced in months now, and I began to wonder my father hadn’t bought me a pet years ago.

He had known how lonely I was, how isolated life must have been. A pet could have changed my childhood for the better, even if it was just like, a lizard or a boring old goldfish. Nevertheless, Ralph was here now, and I could honestly say that for the first time in eighteen years, I wasn’t going to wake up to an empty house. I smiled at the thought, and I picked the kitten up and laid him down on my stomach. I rested my head against my pillow as Ralph felt his way around my abdomen. His tiny feet pattered against me, marching in a circle before he plopped down, curled up in a ball on my tummy. The kitten dozed off to sleep once again. I could see his tiny chest rising and falling. Warmth radiated from his fur, and he purred loudly.

“Well, Ralph,” I mused. “I think we’re going to get along quite nicely, don’t you?”