‘Kitty,’ he called. ‘Here, kitty.’ If the cat comes back, he thought, then everything will be fine. But it didn’t come. He searched the yard, and all his anger was chased away by something overwhelming and unknown for which he didn’t have the words. He looked between the trees in the snow-covered grass; he was searching for a little cat which brought a load of trouble and no joy; it didn’t make any sense. He was a man who always had been led by reason, and who had advanced step by step because of this. He had never had urges to do meaningless things. He had married a pretty girl from a good family; in a few years he would be a manager, and then they might be able to allow themselves to have a child. Grete could stop working – ‘Here, Kitty, Kitty’ – he pleaded for his life and didn’t know why. He was afraid. He was moving in unknown territory; he didn’t recognize the woman who was standing in his kitchen anymore, demanding he return with a mangy, untrained cat. He wanted her the way she was before, when he could talk to her about everyday things. He would hold her in his arms and feel the pride of ownership again. Maybe he could buy her with that cat.

It was sitting in a corner of the shed, hissing as he approached. ‘Kitty,’ he whispered gently. ‘Don’t be afraid. Come inside to your Mama, come on now.’

It slipped between his legs and jumped in through the open kitchen door all by itself. She had it in her arms when he came in. Tears were falling on its fur. She kissed it on the head, on the paws, and gave it long smacking kisses on its ears. He could see her body trembling. ‘Grete,’ he said, frightened. Suddenly she let go of the creature, as if she had been awoken from a deep sleep. Then she stared at her hands, which had just been caressing the cat so lovingly. She lifted her head and took a wobbly step toward her husband. Then she stopped and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I guess I’d better finish making dinner.’

He felt something in his mind soften, and he wanted to go and put his arm around her shoulder, to be close to her in some way. Maybe she expected it; maybe she needed it. But then it occurred to him that the neighbors had probably seen him lying on the ground and crawling around between the bushes, meowing.

He straightened his tie and walked back into the living room. The cat followed, its eyes riveted to him. And though he didn’t show it, he was aware of its presence all the time.

My Wife Doesn’t Dance