From Winamop.com

Left Behind
by KJ Hannah Greenberg

 

 

How could you’ve been abandoned? I knelt toward the small, grey-striped kitten huddled against the long glass panes fronting Niagara Falls State Park’s Visitor Center. The temperature was already dropping as the sky was transforming from pale turquoise to orange red.

The wee moggy had likely been left behind as it wore a collar but had no food nor carrier. As if reading my mind, an elderly lady, similar age to my mother, nodded at me from a proximate bench. Yet, when I found my voice and tried to ask her about the young cat, she abruptly shook her head, stood, and walked away.

I picked up the little one, who purred. I placed her between my jacket and shirt. She purred louder and then fell asleep

I regarded my watch. Mather was uncharacteristically late. It had been his idea to fly to New York and then to drive to the Falls. I suspected that he finally meant to propose, hence had chosen this idyllic setting.

Nonetheless, during our car trip, he had been abnormally quiet. I assumed  he was preoccupied with his forthcoming doctoral exams. He meant to be a rhetoric professor and would be orally tested in the history of rhetoric, famous Twenty-First Century orators, and competing moral theories of discourse. By the time that we had reached Scranton, I had offered to take the steering wheel and he had not resisted. He just muttered something about “priorities” and something else about “being conflicted.”

Nearly five hours later, we had arrived at our hotel, where we had reserved two rooms; we were still chaste. I suggested that we rest before finding the Visitor Center. I needed a nap.

Before drifting off, I set my watch’s alarm. As well, I tried to connect to my mother to announce  our safe arrival but couldn’t link to her email. Sighing, I promised myself I’d try later, when, additionally, I’d show her a picture of my sparkly ring.

The tiny puss stirred. I regarded it through the opening of my jacket. I called Mather’s cell phone number. Oddly, my call went to voicemail.

When almost all of the light had drained from the sky, I walked back to the motel. Mather’s car was gone. Inside, the front desk clarified that he had paid for one room and had left.

I fashioned a makeshift litter pan from my room’s tissue box and from shreds of a newspaper left in the lobby. Survivor, as I had dubbed the pocket-sized kitty, knew how to use it. We shared a delivery of chicken breasts, which we  washed down with water.

In the morning, I’d buy a carrier at a local pet store and a train ticket to New York City, from where we’d fly back to Pittsburgh. My roommate would be surprised that I had returned with a mouser not a diamond, but she’d been lobbying for a pet. I’d been lobbying for a husband.

 

 

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