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

boardwalk, then guided us to a nearby picnic table, telling us to wait just a second; he and Norma scampered toward the nests. I perched on my forelegs, tail swishing through the sand—inching closer and closer to get a better look. Olive reminded me with a soft hand on my shoulder that I was a cat, a predator, and I needed to give them space. What you may not know about sea turtles is that they’re incredibly fragile when they’re young and fresh from the nest, when their eyes are barely open and the only thought in their minds is sea, sea, sea. Sure, Olive understood that I wouldn’t hurt them, but the turtles would only smell the outer layer of me—so I stayed still.

Eventually, Q wandered back at a slower pace and told Olive, “I’ll hold these guys. You go on ahead. Help them get to the water.”

“How?” Olive asked. “I don’t want to mess up.”

“You won’t. Promise. All you do is keep ’em in line, make sure they don’t dart from the path—but don’t touch them. Watch out for seagulls. The turtles will do the rest.”

Obviously nervous, Olive nodded and then jogged over to Norma, who was on her knees in the sand, already guiding the hatchlings to the sea. And it was beautiful. I don’t use that term lightly—but it really was: the little turtles shuffling across the sand until they reached the shuddering waves. Their shells were so thin, their flippers no bigger than one of my toes. They must be terrified, I thought. They must be overwhelmed, like I was, at the beauty and newness of it all. Indeed, it occurred to me as I watched them—as they trailed inch by inch across the beach—that they were Earth. That they were beauty and terror, wonder and danger. Was it better to live this way? To really live, to experience everything, the good and the bad?

Above all, they had each other.

Q told me, as we were standing there, “They only leave the nest in groups.”

My heart swelled.

I have never felt more human than in that moment.

I have never felt earthlier than in that moment.

Q crouched to his knees, puffing out a breath. Something about his face told me that my good feeling wouldn’t last long.

And I was right.

Because these were the next words he spoke: “Leonard, my man . . . I think I know what you are.”

I thought I’d been stealthier. I thought I’d been more careful. What gave me away? The raincoat, the day with the penguins, the way I cleaned my belly—too awkward for a real cat?

“It was the computer,” Q said, answering my question without even realizing it. “I saw you with Olive once, after I’d dropped you off. Forgot my keys on the porch, and there you were in the kitchen, clacking away. Not many cats know how to touch-type.”

Moonlight pelted my back, my heart rippling like the tide. You might be able to imagine my panic at this point. No? Then let me elaborate. I felt completely exposed, entirely vulnerable, paws frozen in the sand. My tail hadn’t puffed that much since the night of the storm, but there it was, prickling hair by hair. Q’s eyes searched mine—not in a threatening way, not at all—but I was still unprepared for it. The correct etiquette escaped me.

Should I deny his words with a sharp hiss, or head-bonk him lightly on the nose, signaling that yes, yes, it was true?

“Whoa there, don’t stress out,” he told me, echoing what I’d once said to Olive: I am an alien do not be scared. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Promise. I’ve always believed in aliens—never been afraid. Ever heard of Roswell? Now that’s some cool stuff. The deep sea, too. Plenty of aliens in the deep sea, I’m sure of it. Humans don’t know even half of what’s out there.”

Stanley, perhaps smelling my worry, licked the crest of my skull, licking and licking and licking until I wasn’t entirely sure that I had any fur left. I’m sorry to say that it did nothing to help the anxiety. In fact, dog saliva was now dripping into my eyes.

“You’re still Leonard,” Q said. “Me figuring it out doesn’t change a thing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s none of my business. I just wanted to say that you can come to me, if you ever need help. Earth can be a scary place for a—”

“Oh,” Olive said, pulling up short. I hadn’t seen her approach, hadn’t even heard her footsteps in the sand. “What’s going on?”

She asked the question, but she knew. Maybe she could tell by the look on my face, the way my eyelids were fluttering. To punctuate the moment, Stanley barked once—loud and piercing.

Q stood, sand stuck to his knees. “Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “I was just letting the cat out of the bag.”

I assumed that was a human expression, but I didn’t understand it. My head was swimming. There were no backpacks anywhere, not that I could see.

“Sorry,” Q said, “bad joke.” Besides Olive, the closest human was easily ten yards away, well out of earshot, but Q still softened his voice to continue. “I figured it out. Not that I was really trying to figure it out—but the answer was there. To me, anyway. Leonard isn’t like any cat I’ve ever met. Because he’s not really a cat, is he?”

Olive shook her head, perhaps unable to push any words from her human mouth. “No,” she said finally. “No, he’s not.”

Q nodded. “Okay, then.”

“You believe me?”

“I believe both of you.”

“And you don’t think it’s all in my head?”

“’Course not,” Q said, taken aback. “I saw those penguins with my own eyes. What kind of cat could get them to bow?”

Above us, a seagull squawked, and I nearly jumped from my fur. Not because I was afraid—but because I was concentrating extremely hard. I was listening to the conversation, where it was heading. Logically, I knew