behind. Even when our stomachs were full, the craving never left completely.
I offered you my handkerchief to tidy up your blood-smeared face, but you only jutted out your chin for me to do it myself. Such a little prince.
A mellow mood settled over you as your eyes shone brighter and you sighed contentedly.
“Care for a pet, cucciolo?”
I held out my hand, and you leaned toward me so I could comb my fingers through your thick hair, then sidled up next to me and purred. We sat like that for a while, with you lying in the grass as I gently stroked your head and back. Your eyes dipped as though you might have fallen asleep for a spell. I hoped you might feel secure enough to open up to me, since pushing only made you more intractable. Some things never changed.
“What does cucciolo mean?” you asked softly. You’d propped yourself up on your elbows and peered at me over your shoulder with a cowlick of hair obscuring your eyes.
“It means puppy in Italian.”
I remembered the first time I’d ever called you that. It was the way you’d looked at me, like an eager puppy. Now, I stared at your large, inquisitive eyes. So many memories between us. It was a risk for you to remember and a risk for you to forget.
“Would you rather me call you gattino?” I asked. “It means kitten.”
You bit at your lower lip, breaking the skin so that you could sample your own blood. It was a self-soothing habit, similar to sucking one’s thumb. The cut would heal quickly enough that I needn’t worry too much.
“No, I like the way cucciolo sounds when you say it.”
My heart expanded, and I wondered if some part of you might already recall threads of the past, like a string of notes you’d thought was forgotten until you heard them again, two lives overlapping like melodies sung in perfect harmony.
“Why are you a cat now, my darling?”
You rolled over onto your back and shielded your eyes from the sunlight filtering in through the flamboyant tree above us. I gave you my sunglasses to make you more comfortable.
“I don’t want to be a boy anymore. I’m not like the other boys at my school.”
That was certainly true. None of them were godlings.
“What are the boys at your school like?”
“They’re big and fast and sweaty. And they play sports.”
“You fence and practice Aikido. Those are sports.”
“Doesn’t count. It has to be a sport with a ball, and even if I did play, they still wouldn’t let me sit with them. They make me sit with the girls.” You crossed your arms over your chest, then turned away from me to hide your hurt feelings.
I recalled your cat funerals and birthday celebrations. From what I’d observed of your social sphere, most of your closest companions were girls, but I’d assumed it was by choice.
“Why won’t they let you sit with them?”
“Because they hate me.”
How anyone could feel that way toward you baffled me, but I supposed I couldn’t be objective in that regard. In light of your admission, deciding to be a cat made perfect sense. As if knowing you needed comfort, your subjects came and arranged themselves around you. Spooky lay sprawled across your waist like a blanket. Or a shield.
“My cats love me,” you said to a chorus of purrs. Their furry bodies overlapped so that it was difficult to tell them apart.
“I love you. And your Papa and Daddy love you.”
“And Mater,” you added, sneaking a furtive glance at me. Perhaps I hadn’t hidden my contempt toward her as well as I’d intended.
“Yes, Mater too.”
“But I want the boys to like me,” you moaned extravagantly. You rolled onto your back and arranged Spooky so that she was stretched lengthwise on your stomach and chest. Her yellow eyes studied you as her whiskers twitched. The animal was so docile in your arms, as if the two of you communicated in your own language.
“I want Carter to like me. He’s the meanest of them all.”
“Is he mean to you?” I asked, careful to keep my displeasure out of my voice.
“Oh, yes,” you said with a trill of excitement. “He pushes me and calls me names and one time, he sat on top of me until I could barely breathe.” Your hands clasped around your throat in mock strangulation.
“Did he really?” My temper flared as blood rushed to my fingertips and thundered in my ears.