Leonard (My Life as a Cat) by Carlie Sorosiak (best memoirs of all time .txt) 📗

porch, swatting away the mosquitoes; my ears were picking up the sound of marsh grass dancing gently in the summer breeze; and Olive kept checking over her shoulder. When we were in the kitchen—alone except for Stanley—she brought out the computer and set it on the table. The keys lit up.

“Do you think you can speak to all animals?” Olive asked quietly. “Like Doctor Dolittle?”

I hopped onto the table and quietly pressed the keys. q talked to fish. who is do little.

“Oh,” Olive said. “Q was pretending. And Doctor Dolittle is in a movie. He can talk to animals like you. It’s just, it’s amazing. More than amazing. Have you talked to Stanley?”

At the sound of his name, Stanley began panting contentedly, the side of his tongue drifting from his mouth. His lips were black on the outside and pink underneath. The birds, he told me again, eyes flickering.

stanley says much, I typed.

Olive perched on the edge of a chair. “What does he—”

“Got Chinese,” Norma said, thumping into the kitchen, takeout bags in hand. She stopped short by the fridge, eyebrow raising at the computer—then at us. “What’s all this?”

“Nothing,” Olive said quickly, slamming the laptop shut.

“Because it looked like—”

“Mmm, eggrolls. Do you want to watch some TV? I think there’s a new movie on Channel Seven, and we should . . . Yeah, let’s watch that.”

It took a long time for my heart rate to settle back down. They began viewing a program about whales, and I curled into the corner of the couch, wondering how long it would take for Olive to tell Norma about Yellowstone. How would she say the words?

“So, how’s it working with Q?” Norma asked. “He’s a good buddy of mine, but you can . . .” She cleared her throat. “You can always tag along with me and the sea lions.”

“Thanks,” Olive said, biting into an eggroll. I could tell she was distracted. She chewed and chewed. “Um, are you going anywhere this summer?”

Norma frowned, resting her fork by the rice. “Come again?”

“Like . . . are you going on any trips?”

“Don’t plan to,” she said, shaking her head. “But my truck’s out of the shop—and my sidecar’s almost fixed up, too, if you want to hitch a ride somewhere local. Hilton Head? Kiawah Island? We could . . . visit some of my old fishing spots, maybe? Only local, though—I think we’ve got a good thing going on here. Wouldn’t want to mess up the routine.”

Olive opened her mouth several times to respond, but she didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. It hit me then, in a way that I was unprepared for: the burden I’d placed on her. How much I was asking.

And how little I was giving in return.

I had wanted to become a ranger, in large part, to help humans. Back on my home planet, I’d seen an image broadcast to the hive by a previous visitor to Earth: a picture of an old, tattered photo ripped from a 1940s magazine. In it was a man with rugged brown shorts and a hat that shielded him from the sun. He was guiding a group of humans—somewhat heroically—through a wildflower meadow. Immediately, I could imagine myself in that role: Introducing people to the wonders of the natural world. Running my fingers over the tops of marigolds. Explaining pollination as the petals tickled my skin.

Had I lost sight of this? Stay undetected, stay alive—that was my focus since my arrival on Earth. I needed to travel home, back to my community and the infinite calmness of safety. But things were shifting. Shouldn’t I do something for Olive in return?

I just couldn’t think what.

Norma ate the rest of the eggrolls, then threw out the paper plates after Stanley vacuumed up the last bits of rice, lick by lick, with his enormous tongue. It was a brisk night, cooler than most, and the four of us lumbered to the beach, Olive dangling a flashlight in her hand. Moonlight pulsed over the sidewalk.

“You know about ghost crabs?” Norma said, searching the sand. “Got those funny little eyes.”

“And they can change color to match their surroundings,” Olive said, trudging up the boardwalk steps. “They eat sea turtle eggs, too.”

“That’s right. We had to protect the turtle nests much more than normal this year.”

“When do they hatch? The turtles?”

“Soon,” Norma said. “We just checked on them yesterday, and I’d say about a week. It’ll be here before you know it.”

Olive switched on her flashlight—the beam racing across the boardwalk—and suddenly I was chasing it, pouncing with excessive force, scrambling to catch the thin film of light. Did I think I would actually catch it? Perhaps part of me did. Stanley, on the other hand, was more interested in the seagulls that—every so often—dived into the grasses alongside us. I asked him to join in the yellow-light hunt (I would have felt less silly with company), but he just couldn’t be bothered.

When we reached the beach, Olive slipped deeper and deeper into the dark. I followed her, of course—largely because we are friends, but also because, well, I was attached to a leash and had little choice in the matter. Norma and Stanley lagged behind as Olive and I tiptoed closer and closer to the waves. The sand was gritty underneath my paws, becoming wetter by the second, and I let out a solemn but pressing meow, asking Olive: Can we stop here?

Somehow she understood me, turning back to bend to my level. When we were eye to eye, I placed my paws on her knees and extended my face toward hers. “You know,” she said very quietly, so only I could hear, “standing in the ocean is pretty human. You don’t have to go in far at all, and I’ll be right here, but you should experience it. I was thinking that I could give you human lessons, while I figure out how to tell Norma about Yellowstone.”

Human lessons? The idea was intriguing.