Avery and the Cats

I adopted Bertie long before Jack came into my life. Although I’d always wanted a pet, my parents would never allow me to have one. Not that I was surprised, because this was often the case during my childhood—“No, Avery, you can’t play the violin. Take up your older brother’s hand-me-down guitar”—but I digress. In retrospect, getting a cat may have been a passive aggressive way for me to stick it to my parents, with whom I was still living with at the time.

It’s often said that you don’t choose your pets. They choose you. I visited an animal adoption agency and was taken into a room filled with cats. All seemed preoccupied except for Bertie, who made a beeline for me. For the next 15 minutes he didn’t leave my side.  He was a beautiful blond tabby—I think I previously mentioned my family’s blond German fetish—and was named after one of my favorite childhood characters. I adopted him immediately.

Fast forward to my bachelor’s loft in the West Loop, Jack (who’d by then moved in) and I’d decided that, with both of us working so many hours, Bertie needed a playmate. Off we were again to the animal adoption agency. In we went into that same room filled with cats.

As we stood and watched the preoccupied cats play, one cat in particular took an interest in us.  In fact, he marched directly over and lay across my feet. I couldn’t get rid of him. His name was Bouncer and he was ours. Since that day—Jack’s birthday—Bertie and Bouncer have gotten along famously.

For this very reason, I couldn’t possibly take Jack seriously when he told me that he wanted custody of Bouncer. He was very sore about my stance, stating that Bouncer had been a birthday gift and using vile and offensive terms like “Indian giver.” Regardless, I held my ground. Separating the cats would be cruel. Furthermore, there was no way in H-E double hockey sticks I was going to relinquish Bertie. Bertie had been with me long before Jack came into the picture and, as it seemed, would continue to be with me long after Jack took his final bows.

Finally, Jack changed the subject. We agreed to reconvene the following morning after my shift at the hospital. He’d taken the day off. We’d separate our belongings and he’d leave for Berwyn (I can barely say the word without heaving). That was the end of the cat conversation. So I thought. Little did I know, Jack was still very upset about the ordeal. He would end up taking revenge in the cruelest way imaginable.