“I’m glad to see you, Ted,” he says. “I thought you might not show up. There are more scratches on your hands and face, I see.”

“It’s my cat,” I say. “She’s going through a rough patch.” (Nails on my face, her screams as I put her in the crate.)

“So,” he says. “How are things?”

“I’m good,” I say. “The pills are good. Only, I run low real fast. I was thinking maybe I could have a prescription I could refill, instead of getting them from you.”

“We can talk about increasing the dosage. But I would rather you continue to get the pills from me. And you would have to pay to fill a prescription. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I guess not,” I say.

“Have you been keeping your feelings diary?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say politely. “All that is great. Your suggestions have been very helpful.”

“Has the diary helped you to identify some triggers?”

“Well,” I say. “I am very worried about my cat.”

“Your gay cat.”

“Yes. She shakes her head all the time, and she claws at her ears like there’s something in them. Nothing seems to help her.”

“So,” the bug man says, “that makes you feel powerless?”

“Yes,” I say. “I don’t want her to be in pain.”

“Is there any action you can take? Could you take her to the veterinarian, for instance?”

“Oh,” I say. “No. I don’t think they would understand her at the animal clinic. Not at all. She’s a very particular kind of cat.”

“Well,” he says. “You’ll never know if you don’t try, hmm?”

“Actually,” I say, “I have been wondering about something else.”

“Yes?” He looks expectant. I almost feel bad. He’s been waiting so long for me to give him something.

“Do you remember the TV show I was telling you about—with the mother and daughter?”

He nods. His pen is still. His eyes are flat blue circles, fixed on me.

“I am still watching it. The plot has been getting more complicated. The angry girl, you know, the one who keeps trying to kill her mother—well, it turns out she has another … nature, kind of?”

The bug man doesn’t stir. His eyes are fixed on me. “That can happen,” he says slowly. “It’s rare … and it doesn’t work like it does in the movies.”

“This movie wasn’t like those other movies,” I say.

“I thought you said it was a TV show.”

“That’s what I meant, a TV show. So in this show, sometimes the daughter is a young girl—but at certain times she seems completely … different.”

“As if another personality takes over?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Like there are two people inside her.” Two different species, actually, but I think I’ve told him enough.