The Alphabet Project, Part 11: Kitten

Wendy was a strange girl. In our early days at school, when we were five years old, the teacher asked us all what we wanted to be when we grew up. The usual responses came: fireman, nurse, astronaut, bus driver, vet, fashion designer, king...

"I want to be a kitten," said Wendy.

We all laughed, a shrill eruption from all of us, the teacher struggling to regain control of the class.

"You can't be a kitten, Wendy," said Miss Gladstone. "You're not a cat. What do you really want to be?"

"A kitten," she repeated. She didn't seem to understand why we were laughing so much.

Over the years we decorated our books with wallpaper and pictures from magazines. Wendy naturally covered hers with pictures of cats. She carried a bag with a picture of a cat on the front, often few cats on her notebook, and every single time she was asked about the future she repeated her desire to be a kitten.

Wendy was weird.

We left school and all went our separate ways. Some friendships lasted, some died after a while, and some ended as we passed through the gates. As far as I was concerned Wendy fell into the latter category.

I didn't think of her until last week, when the email arrived.

"Hi Dan! Remember me?" it began. "Great to find you here on Facebook - you look great! Fancy meeting up for a drink and a chat about the old times back at school?"

I looked at her profile picture and unsurprisingly it was of a cat. She had no other pictures on her profile, so all I could do was imagine how she might look now, twenty five years after we had last seen each other. I imaged her living alone in a house overrun with cats, perhaps a little overweight, and felt slightly guilty.

"Sounds great!" I replied, then clicked send.

The day came. I didn't want to go. Still, I knew I couldn't not go, so with a heavy heart I got into my car and drove to the pub where we had arranged to meet.

When I arrived there was no sign of Wendy, so I went to the bar and bought a bottle of water as I was driving and some crisps as I was hungry. As I was half way through the bag I heard the door close behind me.

"Dan?"

I turned and smiled. "We- what the hell?"

She looked a little hurt, especially as everybody else in the pub had turned to look at who - perhaps that should be what - had just walked in.

Wendy had clearly had some work done over the years, her lips a little fuller and redefined. Her cheekbones had been reshaped and emphasised, her eyes also lifted at the sides into a more slanted appearance. She had also had some piercings between her nose and upper lip, maybe half a dozen, long, stiff wires attached, looking for all the world like -

"Are they whiskers?" I asked.

"Yes! Do you like them?" she grinned.

"Er, they're alright," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. I didn't know what else to say. She stepped closer and I noticed she was also wearing some strange contact lenses, a different colour, a different pupil. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Milk please," she said.

I turned to the bar. The man behind the counter stood, dumbfounded. We looked at each other. His mouth was open. I think mine was too.

"I don't think we've got milk," he said,

I turned to Wendy. She was licking the back of her hand. "They haven't got any milk. Is there something else?"

"Just water, thanks."

The man didn't need me to ask. I heard the sound of a bottle and a glass being placed on the bar.

I couldn't process this. Wendy had clearly gone completely mad and followed her dream of becoming a kitten. Was she insane? Would people think I was similarly mad for being with her?

I'm not proud of what happened next.

I paid for the water, giving the batman a healthy tip, then removed the cap from Wendy's bottle. I handed the glass and the bottle to her, then with a cry of "bottle top!" I threw the cap as far as I could towards the opposite end of the bar. As Wendy scampered in its pursuit, dropping the bottle and glass in the process, I fled to the car.

I blocked her as soon as I got home.

(C) 2014 Peter Lee. Written in a Urmston on Sunday 23rd February 2014.