“A Chat with Zoey”

It had been a bad day.

Maybe it was because I got yelled at by customers earlier that day, or because I ran out of medicine three days before. Or maybe it was because I was low on funds and could only afford to eat hot dogs minus the bun, or because I was extremely lonely (and had been for several years). I like to think it was all of the above, but the customers were the icing on the cake.

No matter what the reason, I decided it was time to end it all.

I know what you’re probably saying to yourself: “Ted, none of what you just mentioned is reason enough to commit suicide.” And you’re right. It isn’t. Deep down, I knew that even then. Thing is, I just didn’t care. I was tired, mentally and physically. Suicide seemed like the only option.

So, there I was, sitting in my favorite chair, eyes closed, with a razor blade pressed so hard into the inside of my wrist, I’m surprised it wasn’t already bleeding. I was about to slice, when I heard a meow.

Dammit, the cat.

I opened my eyes. There was Zoey, my black short-haired cat, looking up at me, as if to say, What are you doing?

I looked at her with tears in my eyes, and whispered, “You wouldn’t understand.” I slowly moved the razor blade away from my wrist. There was a deep indentation where the blade had been. Now the tears were streaming. Still looking at Zoey, I said, “Sometimes, I wish you could talk.”

I closed my eyes again, and put the razor blade to my wrist.

“Stop.”

I opened my eyes again. Besides Zoey, I’m the only one who lives here. A quick glance around confirmed it. The voice I heard, however, was clear as day, and definitely female.

“Well,” I said. “That was weird.” I looked down at Zoey, who hadn’t stopped staring at me. The tears were still streaming down my face, but I was able to get out, “I don’t suppose that was you, huh?”

“Actually, Ted, it was,” is what came out of her mouth instead of another meow. I jumped up out of the chair. The razor blade dropped from my hand, and hit the tiled floor.

“Are you okay?” she asked. I realized that my hand was now covering my mouth, to keep me from screaming. I slowly moved it away.

“You’re… talking,” I said, not believing my own ears.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

She hopped up on the coffee table. I hate when she does that. “So,” she said, “let’s talk.”

“I can’t talk to a cat. That’s crazy.”

“I think you just don’t like me talking back. You talk to me all the time: ‘Get down from there!’ ‘Stop scratching my chair!’

“I guess so,” I said. “But I say nice things too.”

“You do,” she replied. “You call me your sweet girl.”

I realized then that I had stopped crying. I sat back down in the chair, and wiped my face with the bottom of my shirt.

“That was classy,” said Zoey.

“Yeah, I know.”

There was silence for what seemed like forever, but was probably a little less than a minute. I was beginning to think I had imagined the whole thing, then she spoke again.

“What if I assume I more... relatable form?” She hopped off the coffee table (finally).

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Instead of answering, she strolled over to the kitchen area (I live in a tiny apartment, so the living room merges into the kitchen, with no walls between them.) I stood, and watched her closely.

Suddenly, she stretched.

I don’t mean like the normal cat stretch. It started that way, but her body kept extending and elongating. She was getting bigger, too. Then her paws turned to hands and feet, and her hair and tail faded away. She closed her eyes. Her nose twitched and turned until it became a human nose, and her whiskers descended into her now hairless face.

My formerly black short-haired cat was now a petite young woman, maybe mid-twenties, with short black hair on top of her head. She looked like a pixie or fairy from a child’s storybook. She had the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

And she was naked.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I stated the obvious: “You’re naked.”

She was still on her hands and knees. She looked up at me me and said, “Duh!” She stood up. She had a perturbed look on her new face. “Well, are you going to stare, or are you gonna get me some clothes?”

I nodded, and said, “Oh, yes! Of course!” I hurried into my bedroom, got a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the closet, and hurried back. “Here you go. Do you need socks?”

“No thanks,” she said, as she took the clothes. “These will be just fine.” I noticed her getting the perturbed look again. I must have been staring, because she said, “Do you mind? Turn away, please.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I turned my head away. This is just too strange, I thought. Why is this happening?

“All right,” said Zoey. I turned around. She was wearing one of my favorite Superman “S” symbol t-shirts.

I was still at a loss as to what to say, so I went into Host Mode. “Can I get you anything to eat, or drink?”

Zoey smiled. “I’ve seen what you eat, so ‘no thanks’ to that. But I would like to try a Coke. I see you drink them all the time, and I’m curious as to what it tastes like.”

“Sure, sure.” I went to the fridge, and crabbed a can of Coke. I pulled the tab open, and handed her the can. “Here you go.”

She took it. “Thanks.” She held the can up to her nose, and sniffed. Then she took a long drink. After she finished, she smiled. “Better than I imagined.” She set it on the coffee table. Then she sat down on the couch. I didn’t move at first, but then I followed her over, and sat down on the other side of the couch. She repositioned herself, so she could face me. “Well, Ted, I’m here for you to talk to. So... talk.”

“I’m not sure where to begin,” I said.

“How about why you thought it would be a good idea to take your own life.”

“I guess that would be a good place to start. Well, basically, I’m just tired of it all.”

“What do you mean?” asked Zoey.

“All of it. Getting up, going to work, dealing with strangers’ problems day in and day out when I have so many problems of my own.”

“Like what?”

“Well, let’s see: I can barely make rent, and I hardly ever have enough money to feed myself. Bills get paid late. Always scrapping up money for gas. I don’t get to do anything fun. It’s getting old.”

Zoey smiled. “You take good care of me.”

“I try my best.”

She leaned forward. “So... it’s money problems and work that make you suicidal?”

“No, there’s more to it than that,” I sighed.

“What, then?”

“I’m tired of being lonely. Everyone around me seem to be in relationships, and I’m all alone. It’s hard to deal with sometimes.”

“Uh-huh,” said Zoey. “So, let me see if I got this straight. You want to die because you hate your job, you’re struggling to make ends meet, and you’re really lonely.”

“And I hate myself.”

Zoey looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because, honestly, I can be a real jerk. The thoughts I have in my head about people can be really mean, or sexist, and sometimes - I can’t believe I’m saying this - racist. I’m not surprised that I don’t have many friends, or that I’m not in a romantic relationship. I don’t think I deserve either.”

“Wow,” Zoey said. She got up from the couch, and paced back and forth for a minute. Then she sat back down. She took my hand in hers. “Look, Ted. Maybe I don’t know you that well because I’m not around you all day, but you seem like a decent person to me. I think if you tried, you could get a better hold of your thoughts. It’ll take some work, but you can do it. And I’m sorry you’re having such a rough time. I know you haven’t taken your medicine in a few days because you ran out. Do you not have the money to pay for more?”

I shook my head.

“You just have to be strong. I know you can do it.”

I stood up. That made me angry. “You don’t know anything! You’re just a figment, or an hallucination, or something!” I ran to my bedroom, and slammed the door. This is ridiculous, I thought. I must really be losing it. I opened the door, expecting to see Zoey back in cat form, kneading my sweatpants with her paws.

Nope. Still a girl on the couch.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“No. You’re still here.”

“Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe.”

“So,” I said, “If I can convince you I won’t kill myself, you’ll turn back into a cat?”

“Yep.”

I sat back down on the couch, looked her in the eye, and said, “Then fix me.”

Zoey laughed lightly. “It’s not quite that easy, but okay.” She brushed off her arms, then put her hands in the air, like an illusionist. She then suddenly thrust her hands in my direction. It surprised me, so I reacted by pulling back a little. “There,” she said. “You’re all fixed.”

“Really?” I asked.

“No.” Then she smiled at me.

“Huh?”

“If it were that easy to ‘fix’ someone, Ted, the world would be a perfect place. But it’s not that easy, and the world is far from perfect. And, unfortunately, I don’t have the perfect quote or song lyric to help you get through each day. Sometimes, you’ve just got to get out of bed in the morning, go to the bathroom mirror, look yourself in the eye, and say, ‘I made it this far. I got through the night. That means I can get through the day.’ Then you smile, put your hand up to there mirror, and say, ‘I got this’.”

“Then what?” I asked. This sounded a little New Age-y to me.

Zoey lightly punched me on the shoulder. “Then you you take a hot shower, put your damn clothes on, and go to work. You take your medicine when you’re supposed to. You take one day at a time, Ted. You don’t like your job? try to find ways to make it better. If that doesn’t work, get a new job. Don’t have many friends? Do a web search on social events you can attend, and force yourself to go to them. Strike up a conversation. You make a friend… or something more.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Zoey shook her head. “Oh, it’s won’t be easy. Life is hard. That’s why it’s called life. Suicide is easy compared to living, by a mile. You know, even though you don’t think so, you do have people who care about you. What would they think when they found out you killed yourself? It’s not all about you, Ted. Besides, you have a cat that adores you.” She smiled. “But know this: if I find you dead, I’ll start eating you.”

I chuckled. “Okay, I’ll try harder.”

Zoey scrunched up her face. “I don’t believe you.”

“What do you want me to say?”

She took my hand into hers. “Remember what that puppet said in the space movie: ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’”

I nodded. “Right.”

“Get some exercise. Drink more water. Go out more. These aren’t necessarily easy things to do, but they’ll help.” She paused. “Oh, yeah. Don’t forget to breathe.”

“Okay.”

Zoey tightened her grip on my hand, just a bit. “I love you, Ted. Promise you’ll stay alive for me, okay?”

I smiled at her. “I promise to stay alive. I will do more with my life. I’ll educate myself in self-improvement.”

“Don’t go overboard with that last thing. Don’t go all Deepak Chopra on me, now.”

“How do you know who Deepak Chopra is?”

“A question for another time. I better get back to being a cat. I’ve been wanting too scratch something for the last five minutes.”

“Okay,” I said. “Any last bit of advice?”

Zoey now held both my hands in hers. “Yes,” she said. “And this is from the bottom of my heart.” She took a breath. “Give me wet food every once in a while, will ya?”

I laughed. “Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks, Ted.” Zoey released my hands, then stood up. She walked to the middle of the living room, and smiled at me. “Take care.” Then she began shrinking back into a cat. Before I could say anything, there was a pile of clothes with a tail sticking out. Zoey, now a cat again, crawled out from under the clothes, looked at me briefly, then ran off.

I noticed the razor blade still on the floor. I picked it up, stared at it for a bit, and wondered, What was I thinking? Did what happened actually happen? I decided that it was best not to analyze what just occurred too much. I wrapped the razor blade in a paper towel, and threw it away. Then I walked over to where the T-shirt and sweats were, picked them up, took them into the bedroom, and put them in the hamper.

Then I went to bed, content that the next day would be all right.

And it was.

The End