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HE LIKES MY OTHER CAT, TOO

“ L et me take you to see your cat,” Timmy says, smiling at me.

“Would you mind?” I feel my eyes grow large at the prospect of seeing my baby.

He kisses me on my forehead. “I’d seriously love to.”

We hop into his truck, and it’s so fun driving with Timmy, different from what I’m used to. He cranks the stereo and plays all sorts of songs I’ve never heard before, exposing me to new music, as well as some songs I do know. It feels so free.

One of my joys has always been driving around listening to music—I love music in general—and it’s with a bit of shock that, when I think about it, I realize I didn’t really listen to music for the past six years or so. My ex only liked to listen to music he made himself, and he’d seem offended when I’d listen to anything else.

He was also adamant about not listening to music while driving—again, unless it was his own—so I gave up that joy, and I’d really not given it much thought until now.

But Timmy is like my own personal DJ, playing everything from classic rap to the latest EDM and house, pop, R&B, even reggae and local Sunset Cay jams. I feel like my mind is being re-expanded.

As we drive, Timmy leans back casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gesturing as he talks and occasionally landing on my thigh, bouncing from topic to topic as the songs change. He has a way of describing things that almost feels like he’s pulling them out of a dream, mixing memories with imagination, past with present. The way he talks, it’s like everything is happening now, and I keep having to mentally rewind and sort through what he means.

“You know the kids, they get me to do this all the time,” he laughs, gesturing at the radio. “‘Turn it up, louder, louder!’ they’ll demand. And they’re all in the back, screaming like it’s some kind of dance club.”

“Oh, right… the kids?” I reply, trying to follow along. “Which kids are you talking about, again..?”

“Oh, back at Darren’s place. I live in the room next door to him. And my ex’s kids. They’re always listening to music, skateboarding around the yard. I swear my daughter’s going to be like that.”

I frown slightly, sorting through his mix of words. Does he mean… kids he might have one day? Or actual kids that exist now? “Wait, your daughter? You mean… if you have a daughter?”

“Yes, exactly.” He glances over and winks. “I just know she’d be skateboarding, a tomboy.”

I nod, catching up slowly. “Got it, a hypothetical future daughter.” A little puzzle piece falls into place, although not quite snugly.

He smiles. “Yep!”

“Oh,” I say. “So you don’t have kids?”

“No, no,” he says quickly.

I get it now, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“And you live with Matty. You don’t still live with Darren. That was a while ago, right?”

“Exactly!” He flashes a grin, like I’ve solved some sort of mystery. “It was Darren’s ex’s house. We all lived there. And then I lived at my ex’s place, and her kid lived there and his friends would be over all the time. And then I moved out to Matty’s a couple of months before you got here.”

It’s starting to feel like a language all his own, a peculiar mix of nostalgia and daydreams .

Timmy’s stories flow around us like a stream, and I’m content to wade in it, letting his disjointed words wash over me. When he talks, there’s no need for anything to be clear or linear. It’s all part of the ride, part of the way he experiences life—a little chaotic, a little random, with memories and dreams just blending in together.

“Ever been swimming with the dolphins?” he asks, changing subjects entirely.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to,” I reply.

“Ah, that’s too bad. We’ll fix that,” he says, his own train of thought seemingly back in some ocean memory. “I’ve been a few times. What about surfing with a dog on the surfboard?”

I laugh. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Darren’s a champ at that. You’ll have to see it one day.”

I grin, picturing it in my head. “Sounds like a good time,” I reply, and he just beams, his eyes on the road but his mind clearly back in that memory.

Timmy’s words weave a world that doesn’t necessarily make sense or line up neatly, but it’s carefree, just like him. I won’t overanalyze it, although I’ll clearly need to seek clarity from time to time. It’s Timmy’s unique version of reality, one that’s endlessly colorful and unpredictable, even if a little confusing.

“I’m so glad that you’re not from like… the middle of America,” he says randomly. “That you have some knowledge of beach culture. That you can like… pronounce things here, native words. That you understand the meaning of how things work over here. I couldn’t bear to start from scratch with some basic Becky from Utah,” he laughs.

And I smile back. It really does seem serendipitous. He’s so patient with me when it comes to new words, taking the time to explain them and give examples of how things work in practice. But I do feel like I’m starting with a higher baseline than most, solely because of my own upbringing on an island with a similar culture to Sunset Cay. I never expected to find this in a partner, and it’s uniquely refreshing.

We pull up to the quarantine facility and I’m nervous. The whole paperwork situation is a bit confusing. I have money orders, but I don’t know if they’re for the right amount. And I’m just worried there’s going to be some technicality where I can’t see my sweet baby Sabre. I miss him, his cuddles and his purrs.

At least I know the quarantine facility is nice—it’s just how the lady at the airport described, a little indoor-outdoor type situation where he can see mongoose run past, and of course he has other cats as neighbors, although they’re partitioned off so they can’t actually see each other.

We laugh when we get to Sabre’s ‘unit’, I guess you could call it.

Because right there, on the sign, it says:

Sabre. *Caution*.

“I wonder where he gets that from,” Timmy laughs, poking me on the arm.

“That’s my cat,” I laugh, proudly. He’s always been feisty with authority figures. And with me. “Sabre! You have visitors!” I call out, and he lets out a little meow in response and runs to the door.

“I’m going to make him feel comfortable around me super quick,” Timmy says. “Watch.”

He lies flat on his back, arms by his side, and I sit on the floor next to him.

Sabre circles him, sniffing and inspecting him from every angle.

“This is how we train dogs,” Timmy explains. “I’m doing this on his terms, making it clear I’m no threat.”

“Wow,” I say, impressed. “I’ve never seen this before. That’s so cool!”

Sabre hops up on his little bench and tucks his paws under himself. He watches Timmy, casually observing him. But he’s comfortable enough to be resting around him .

“See? He’s already starting to get comfortable with me,” says Timmy.

I smile. It’s important to me that Sabre feels comfortable around Timmy. After making him go on yet another flight and relocate once again, I feel like making sure he’s secure in his own place is the least I can do.

After a moment, Timmy gets up and sits on the bench near me so that he’s positioned slightly above me.

“Suck my cock. Quick!” urges Timmy.

“What?” My eyes grow wide. “Right now? Are there cameras?”

We both crane our necks, but don’t see anything.

“Nope!” he says. “Go! Go!”

I shrug and laugh. “Okay then.” I feel reckless and excited. Sure, I’ve had sex outside before, but I’ve sure as hell never sucked a dick in an animal quarantine facility.

He whips down his pants and flops out his cock. It’s semi-hard, and I quickly put it in my mouth and begin to lick and suck. He moans in pleasure.

I feel like we’re getting away with something delicious and naughty. It’s exhilarating.

After a while, I remove his cock from my mouth and I giggle.

“Okay,” he says and puts it back in his pants, grinning. “I can’t believe you just did that,” he laughs.

“Me neither,” I grin. “But it was fun.”

“God, I love you,” he says, mussing my hair from where he’s sitting above me.

I smile at him. “I love you, too.”

Five minutes later

Timmy is regaling me with a random story. “When I was naked, running around the doctor’s backyard.”

“Which doctor’s backyard were you running around naked? ”

He looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uh, nobody.”

Suddenly, it clicks. “Wait, you’re telling me about running around naked in the backyard of the doctor you were dating ? Why would I want to hear about that?” It’s an unnecessary story, not particularly interesting, and I don’t understand why he needed to share this with me. Is that how they were when they were together, running around naked all the time like a bunch of naturists? Fucking all the time? I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

“Fuck you,” he growls, his eyes growing dark.

“Wait, I was just trying to understand?—”

But he doesn’t stop. He storms out of the quarantine cage, and I close the door quickly before Sabre can follow him.

I sit with Sabre and give him cuddles and treats, trying not to cry, not really understanding what just happened.

When he returns about fifteen minutes later, he’s on the phone.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice low. “I know.” He hangs up.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“Darren, not that it’s any of your business,” he growls.

Then his voice softens.

“Look, I’m sorry I got upset,” he says. “Can we just go?”

“I’m sorry I did, too,” I say. “I know you’ve dated people before me. I just didn’t understand why you didn’t tell me that’s who you were talking about. And why you were telling me this naked story. And yes, let’s just go.” I sigh.

I give Sabre one last cuddle before we leave. “I’ll be back to visit you soon,” I say. “I promise.”

When we leave and hop into the truck, Timmy brings out the creepy Margaux doll that he’s started carrying around everywhere. He hangs it from a fishing lure that dangles from the rear-view mirror.

“That’s a bit creepy!” I say. “It looks like it’s literally hanging from a noose.”

“That’s why it’s funny,” Timmy laughs. “And it looks like you. ”

He cranks the stereo on the way back, directing me to play this or that on Spotify.

“Damn, you’re a bit of a shit DJ,” he teases me, as I fumble to find the right songs a couple of times. His phone is set up quite differently from mine, and he has a different version of Spotify, so it’s just easier to find things on my own phone.

“Stop,” I laugh, but it’s shallow, and I feel heat rising to my face. “I’m doing my best.” I know he’s only teasing me, but his comment makes me feel just a little bit embarrassed.

I think he can tell, because he takes my hand and glances over at me. “It’s okay, Margaux. Your DJ skills aren’t why I think you’re so amazing. Everything about you is amazing, except for how long it takes you to find songs.”

We drive back to town, and Timmy takes the creepy Margaux doll from its makeshift noose, and he shoves it upside down in his board shorts. I laugh as he walks down the boardwalk with a tiny doll replica of me sticking out of his pants. You can just see a bit of the bright red hair, along with its legs and boots on full display.

It’s ridiculous.

He’s ridiculous.

And I’m having so much fun.