Love Catharsis

Something buzzed and flickered in the fold of the gray blankets. Mary’s cell phone? Did she leave it on the couch? Simon clawed the blanket and found the forgotten electronic device. Of course, it was a text message from Vergenuis.

Vergenius: Good night, Mon Amour. I’m excited to see Broadway’s Cats with you tomorrow. I will meet you there at 11:30. Say Hello to Simon. Bonne Nuit.

How dare Vergenuis mention his name, call Mary “my love,” and invite her to see a play on Saturday? And Mary? Why? She lied when she said he was the only one, her knight in shining armor, her soulmate, and her family. She’d found a substitute for him, betraying him, first for dinner and now for a play.

He stood on his slender hind legs. His spine went stiff as anger took hold of him. The cell phone bled light with Virginius’s message up front and Simon’s picture on the back as a screensaver. He would always be behind, number two on her list of priorities, the poor, neglected house cat.

A primal urge to destroy something and a vengeful desire filled his tensed little body.

Simon pushed the phone from the couch. The short fall onto the soft carpet didn’t do much. He hit the phone once more, sliding the piece of blue plastic across the kitchen tiles. A wicked idea was born in his foggy mind.

They didn’t call his breed “intelligent” for nothing. The hardest part was pulling off the side of the rubber case and getting a good grip on his teeth. The back of the phone had a white sticker of a black cat’s paw. Black as his heart.

Carrying the cell phone by the peeled case in his mouth, Simon headed to the barstool at the kitchen counter. He failed the first three attempts—not an easy task to jump up with the heavy device awkwardly sticking out of his mouth. The fourth attempt was successful, and, not losing momentum, he proceeded to the granite kitchen counter.

His heart pounded from the effort. Perhaps, Mary was right about the diet.

But Mary, of all people. She didn’t add any veggies to his bowl today—she didn’t care about him, his diet, or his emotional state. She hurt him with lies. Common sense left when Mary took an interest in another male.

Simon dropped the cell phone into the sink. He wished he could turn on the disposal, but the switch was on the side of the counter and out of his reach. Water would be enough. He placed his right paw on the water handle and waited.

A few minutes later, Mary, holding Simon’s brush in one hand in silk pajamas, showed up at the kitchen door.

"I need to tell you about my plans for tomorrow—" she didn’t finish the sentence as she stopped to take in the situation.

“Simon, don’t.” Her voice quivered. “Please.”

He gave her a heartless stare. He didn’t have words to express himself, but his actions would teach her a lesson. Revenge was a dish best served without cucumbers. He looked straight at her scared face, his green eyes full of determination and broken dreams.

He lifted his paw. Hot water rushed over Mary’s cell phone, dousing it completely.

Like an actress in a slow-motion movie, Mary gasped and ran to save it, but she was only human and moved too slowly. She tripped in her long pajama pants and landed on the tile floor on her knees. She snatched the phone from the sink, but it was too late.

Holding the destroyed phone, she rocked herself back and forth. Then, through sobs and tears, Simon heard her mumbling.

“I don’t remember his number. I don’t remember Cassy’s number. I don’t remember anybody’s number. What am I supposed to do?”

That’s precisely what he hoped for. Nobody remembers anything these days, relying only on their electronic devices. In their hectic lives, humans delegated their brains to the memory capacity of smartphone applications. Friends’ addresses, work deadlines, doctors’ appointments, and families’ birthdays—all surrendered to clouds and servers.