The Wishing Cat

We were happy for many years.

Irony Skyes lived in a two room apartment. One wall was made entirely of glass, and the room was always bathed in sunlight. I sat in the window most days, my arms propped against my knees and my head cocked to watch her with my good eye. I loved watching the way her curls shined like honey in the sun, how still she was when she was bent over her work, her needle working in and out of the fabric. She whispered to each stitch as if it were a child, and sometimes she was incredibly quiet, so focused that she forgot how to breathe for a long moment. But most of the time she talked to me, and those were the times I was happiest.

“Bastet was the goddess of the east. She had a beautiful woman's face with the body of a lioness, and she controlled the moon,” she told me around a mouthful of pins.

“You named me after a girl?” I asked, flicking the jeweled scarab on my collar absently. “A pretty girl at that?” I jumped down from my seat at the window, stalking slowly over to her. I pressed myself up against her, my full naked body against the length of her, and gently laid my head on her shoulder.
She wasn't flustered. She couldn't see me as a man.

“Bastet, back up a little. You're getting hair all over my work.” I sighed, backing away a few steps and resting my elbows on the table. “It is a white dress.” I threw a side glance at her. She rolled her eyes.
“Don't look so offended. Bastet was a fierce goddess, and her name was used to portray many a pharaoh’s vicious slaughters of his victims. Fierce and strong, just like you. There's nothing wrong with having a girl's name. Irony isn't even a real name.”

“Your name is beautiful,” I told her. “You're beautiful. So beautiful.” I leaned in closer to her. I could smell the sweet perfume of her skin, like lemongrass and honey.

“Bastet! I said back up, you dork!”

She would never see me as a man.

“Did you know the Egyptians murdered my people?” I asked her. “They didn't worship us. They treated us like slaves, forcing us to grant their wishes for power and wealth until we were all gone.”

“What do you think?” she asked, and stood, pressing the dress up against her and twirling to show it off. The sheer white organza and lightweight cotton floated around her, the golden inlay shimmering in the dying afternoon light.

“You look like an Egyptian queen,” I told her. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was quiet for a long moment, frowning at her reflection in the mirror, and then turned her head to the setting sun. It set her hair ablaze, a flame at the center of the room, but a shadow fell over her. She clutched the dress in her hands, caressing the fabric with her thumbs, but her shoulders slumped.

“You know, the Egyptians believed the god Khepera rolled the sun across the sky every evening, the way a scarab beetle rolls a ball of dung. Every day...” She stared down at the dress. “Bastet....” She threw the dress into the corner. I wanted to go to her, wrap my arms around her, kiss away her tears.

But she would never, ever see me as a man.

“I want to capture Khepera's rolling sun,” she whispered. “I want to trap the Egyptian sky in silk.” She slumped over, wrapping her arms around her knees, and began to cry. I went to her then, leaning up against her. She put her arms around me, teasing the hair behind my ears.

“Oh Bastet, I wish I could create a dress like that. A beautiful dress.” I closed my eyes for a long moment. A wish. Three wishes. Any wish for her.

“Tell me, Irony, what kind of man abuses his god?” I asked.
***

It was a full moon that night.

Those were the best times. When she was asleep I was free in my true form, able to move around the house at will, to talk, to sing, to look at my reflection in the mirror and see a man with one yellow eye and a scar running from his cheek to his hip bone.

At night I was grotesque, alone, and free. The moon was the only woman who would ever see me like this, as more than a cat.

I loved watching her sleep, my Irony Skyes. She slept with her shirt inched up over her stomach, her legs kicked out of the sheets. The moon turned her curls translucent, her exposed breasts pale and smooth. She hummed to herself in her sleep, broken melodies reminiscent of bubbling waters and hot sands. She was in Egypt even in her dreams.

I leaned over her, brushing her hair away from her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered.

“Do you know I'll die after three wishes?” I whispered to her. “And then there will be no more wishing cats.” She sighed, rolling towards me, her face only so far from mine. “I'll give them to you,” I told her. “I'll give you any wish you want. Even if just a dress will make you happy, I'll give it to you.”

“Bastet....” she whispered. My breath caught in my throat. I looked at her a long moment, my Irony Skyes, afraid she would wake up and I'd become a cat once more. The seconds passed like hours; I was afraid to move.

“I'll give you anything,” I whispered finally, and leaned down to kiss her as I pressed the scarab into her hand.
***

“I GOT IT!” Irony Skyes shrieked when she woke up. She flew up out of bed, her legs windmilling, her hair flying over her face. “I GOT IT! I GOT IT! I GOT IT!” She jumped out of bed and slipped on the sheets that had been kicked to the floor.

“BASTET!” she cried, rolling over and jumping to her feet. “I GOT IT!” I peaked one eye open at her lazily.

“Got what?” I asked. She practically threw herself out of the room. I could hear her crashing around in the other room, throwing open drawers and knocking things off of counters.

“I had this dream!” she shouted, and there was a loud clatter as something spilled out onto the floor. I stretched till my shoulders popped, yawning as I followed her. “Don't come in here!” she called. “I dropped all the pins!”

How graceful, my Irony Skyes.

I leaned against the door frame, yawned again, scratched a spot behind my ear. She didn't notice me, too busy throwing pattern paper, chalk, wax pencils, and tape measures across the room. I ducked to the side to avoid a box of buttons that came whizzing past my head. It hit the bedroom wall, scattering in a hail of multicolored plastic.

“You know, most girls would kill to see a naked man standing in their doorway,” I told her.

“Don't sound so disgruntled. I'll clean it up in a minute. Aha!” She sat up suddenly, but then paused, a look of confusion crossing her face. She held up the roll of fabric in her hands, testing it in the light. It was red silk, with strips of blue and gold fanned out like the rays of the sun.

“I don't remember buying this,” she whispered. Her face scrunched up. “It's....gorgeous.”

“I thought you would like it,” I said. I moved towards her, careful to avoid the pins scattered like mines across the floor. “It's one of a kind, just for you.” I leaned in closer, next to her ear. “Your Egyptian sun.”

“You agree, Bastet?” She stood, swirling the silk around her like a sheath. She scrutinized her appearance in the mirror, twisting one way, then the next, letting the fabric flare out and then fall around her. “This will make the most beautiful dress in the whole world!” she said in awe, and she threw herself into her chair. She didn't speak again, her nose too deep in her work.

Over the next few days a work of art was formed. I was witness to my own wish: slow, deliberate, crutial. I watched her vision take flight, first as a few determined lines on paper, pinned up around the room at every angle. Then as a puzzle laid out across the table, slowly working itself together, until finally what stood on the dress form was not a hacked up, thread bare piece of fabric but a ball gown fit for a queen.

Over the years I had learned to see what she saw in those final moments. She twirled around in the dress for me, my Egyptian silk on top, silhouetting her body but loose, free, revealing the layers and layers of sapphire and ocher and midnight tulle beneath it. And I truly saw it, her Egyptian sky in all its glory.

I savored every moment of it: her happiness, her smile, the way her eyes turned up with glee.

I flicked the scarab on my collar. It sounded duller than before, the thick ping of metal rather than the sharp tingle of glass.

Only two more wishes left.