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.

Avery Recites a Mantra… or Two

Jack and I stood face-to-face in front of the refrigerator. I froze. When I was young, my uncle in Milwaukee would take me and my cousins on camping trips. Before we ventured out into the wild, he would always remind us how to behave should we encounter a large predator.

“Remember,” Uncle Heinrich (the women—and 10% of the men—in my family are really into German guys. More about that later) would say. “Stand completely still. Sudden movements could lead to an unfortunate situation.”

Although we never had to put that lesson into practice, I’ve never forgotten it. Perhaps I was channeling it that morning. Perhaps if I stood completely still, Jack wouldn’t notice me. He’d graze right past me, through the kitchen and into the abyss (or suburbs) from whence he came.

No such luck.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said to me. I figured the safest thing to do was to answer his question with another question.

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I spent last night at a friend’s, and  took the day off so we could continue our conversation. Figured you’d have cooled off by know.”

I stifled the string of expletives that languished on my tongue. Now was not the time to begin another fight. What was that saying that Whitley Gilbert on “A Different World”, used to repeat? “Relax, relate, release.”

“I’ve spoken with my father,” Jack continued. “I’m moving in with him and Stan.”

I haven’t told you this, but, by this point, Jack’s father Rodney and his domestic partner Stan has long moved from Irving Park to a quaint little bungalow in—are you ready for this—Berwyn. Jack was leaving me, the cats and our fabulous condominium with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Navy Pier to live with two middle-aged wannabe Village People in BERWYN? I needed a drink.

He continued his telling me his plans as I headed for the bar. He’d been thinking a lot about the fact that we’d signed a contract on the apartment (Good to know!). He’d decided that we should speak to our landlord. Maybe he’d let us out of the contract if we could find another buyer (Get real!). If not, Jack’s okay with buy the place and living as—you’ll need to sit down for this—roommates.

Relax, relate, release.

“I’ll take care of it, Jack.” Those five words had become my mantra. You might even say it was the slogan of our relationship. I’ve taken care of everything since the beginning, so there’s no reason I should stop now that were almost at the finish line. No one likes a quitter.

I reached for the telephone and began dialing the landlord. How would I possibly explain this predicament to him?