Cat in the Rain

It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The sea broke in a long line in the rain, and slipped back down the beach to come up and break again in a long line in the rain. The motorcars were gone from the square by the war monument. Across the square in the doorway of the café, a waiter stood looking out at the empty square.

The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside, right under their window, a cat was crouched under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so compact that she would not be dripped on.

"I’m going down and get that kitty," the American wife said.

"I’ll do it," her husband offered from the bed.

"No, I’ll get it. The poor kitty’s out trying to keep dry under a table."

The husband went on reading, lying propped up with two pillows at the foot of the bed.

"Don’t get wet," he said.

The wife went downstairs and the hotel owner stood up and bowed to her as she passed the office. His desk was at the far end of the office. He was an old man and very tall.

"Il piove," the wife said. She liked the hotelkeeper.

"Si, si, Signora, brutto tempo. It is very bad weather."

He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. The wife liked him. She liked the deadly serious way he received any complaints. She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper. She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.

Liking him, she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber cape was crossing the empty square to the café. The cat would be around to the right. Perhaps she could go along under the eaves. As she stood in the doorway an umbrella opened behind her. It was the maid who looked after their room.

"You must not get wet," she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel-keeper had sent her.

With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she was under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat was gone. She was suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her.

"Ha perduto qualque cosa, Signora?"

"There was a cat," said the American girl.

"A cat?"

"Si, il gatto."

"A cat?" the maid laughed. "A cat in the rain?"

"Yes," she said, "under the table." Then, "Oh, I wanted it so much. I wanted a cat." She didn’t know why she was feeling so sad and disappointed. She had wanted the little cat, so she could hold it on her lap and stroke it. If she got a cat she might start feeling better. The maid continued to hold the umbrella.

She turned and walked back into the hotel. The padrone stood up and bowed to her as she passed the office. He was still there. He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. He was an old man and very tall.

"Something to bring you comfort in the rain," he might have said, but she wasn’t sure if he had spoken. She went upstairs to the room. George was reading again.

"Did you get the cat?" he asked, looking up from his book.

"It was gone."

"Wonder where it went to," he said, returning to his reading.

She sat down on the bed, looking out of the window. She looked out at the rain, the emptiness of the square, and the long line of the sea. There was nothing to see, really, only the bleakness of the rainy day, only the weight of the boredom that had settled on her.

"I don’t know why I wanted that cat so much," she said, watching the water splash on the window glass. "I just feel so... I don’t know... I’m so tired of everything."

George glanced up. "You’ve been taking it too easy."

She didn’t respond. The rain, the somberness outside, mirrored the dim feelings swirling inside her, feelings that she couldn’t even fully describe. The longing for the cat had been a fleeting moment of excitement, of something to care about in this otherwise dull holiday.

She thought about the maid, the way the woman had smiled. The thought of the cat slipping away somewhere to find shelter made her feel even more lost. A sense of loss, not of the cat exactly, but of something intangible, filled her.

"I wish I had a cat," she repeated softly. "I want something to care for."

George made a noncommittal sound from behind his book.

"Don’t you think it would be good to have something warm and soft to hold onto?"

Her husband didn’t answer. He turned a page.

She stood up and walked to the mirror. She looked at herself in the glass, her short hair that she had thought would look so stylish, so sleek. But today, it just felt wrong. She didn’t feel sleek or stylish. She felt small, disappointed, trapped by her own decisions. Looking at herself, a sudden thought occurred to her.

"I want to grow my hair out again."

George looked up from his book. "What’s wrong with it the way it is?"

"I’m tired of it. I want to grow it out, be like I was before. I miss my long hair. It used to feel... different. I miss it."

George shrugged. "You look fine. I like it short."

"But I don’t feel fine." She touched her hair, then turned back to look out of the window again.

She crossed the room and sat on a chair near the window. "I feel as if I have nothing to do. Nothing to live for. I’m just bored, George. It’s like I’m disappearing, bit by bit."

George made a sound of acknowledgement without lifting his eyes from the pages of his book.

"I don’t know why we came here," she said, more to herself than to him. "It just rains, and everything feels so empty."

George didn’t answer. The rain continued, drumming steadily on the roof.

She shifted in her chair, looking out at the puddles forming in the square, the slow, steady fall of the rain, and the feeling of inertia that seemed to pervade everything. She felt the weight of it pressing down on her, filling her mind with thoughts of everything she had hoped for and missed. She could still feel the absence of the cat.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

George looked up. "That must be room service."

She stood and went to the door. The maid stood there, holding something in her arms. It was the little cat, dripping wet but wide-eyed and frightened. The maid smiled and handed it over.

"The padrone said you wanted it," the maid said.

She took the cat from the maid’s arms, holding the wet, shivering creature close. She felt its heartbeat against her chest, and for the first time all day, she smiled.

"Thank you," she whispered, as the maid left. She walked over to her chair and sat down with the cat on her lap, stroking its wet fur and whispering soothing words. The feeling of loneliness and emptiness slowly started to fade, if only for a moment.

George glanced at her. "Well, you got your cat."

"Yes," she replied softly, her fingers continuing to stroke the cat’s soft fur. "Yes, I did."

They sat in silence for a while. George read his book, occasionally glancing up at his wife as she cuddled the cat. Outside, the rain continued to fall, but the steady beat of it against the window now seemed less oppressive, less lonely.

For the first time in a long while, she felt a bit of warmth inside her, a small flicker of something like contentment, as she sat there with the cat curled up in her lap.

But that feeling didn’t last long. Soon, her mind wandered again to other things, other dissatisfactions. The rain didn’t stop. The sense of longing, of discontentment returned. She looked over at George, who was now engrossed in his book, oblivious to her growing restlessness.

"I wish we could go somewhere else," she said. "Someplace where it isn’t raining all the time."

"We’re here for the holiday," George replied, not looking up. "You wanted to come here."

"I know," she admitted. "But now I’m tired of it. I’m tired of everything."

"You’re tired of everything," he said lightly. "Why don’t you try reading something? It might take your mind off things."

She frowned. "I don’t want to read. I want to do something. I feel so restless, like I’m stuck."

George sighed. "You’re overthinking everything."

She stroked the cat absently, her thoughts distant. Her restlessness was growing, not just from the rain, but from everything—the marriage, the monotony, the feeling of having nothing to look forward to.

"I think I need something else," she said aloud, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by it.

"Like what?" George asked, finally setting his book down and looking at her with a mixture of concern and mild annoyance.

"I don’t know," she sighed. "Something different. A change."

"You’ve got a cat now," George said. "Isn’t that enough of a change for today?"

"It’s not the cat

," she said quietly. "It’s everything. I just want something to feel... real again. I want to feel excited about something."

George shrugged. "I think you’re just bored."

She looked at him for a moment, and then back at the cat, which had settled into her lap, purring softly. Maybe he was right, she thought. Maybe it was just boredom. But it felt like more than that. It felt deeper, like something inside her was shifting, and she couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard she tried.

And the rain continued to fall, softly and steadily, as it had all day long.