A Special Relationship

I can tell it’s dawn without even opening my eyes. I might not be young any more, and my legs sometimes hurt, but I’m still sharp enough to hear the first call of an early bird. I roll onto my back – it feels so good lying in bed, next to her soft, warm body. Maybe I should wake her up and get her to fix my breakfast. I take a look at her with one of my eyes half open – have to say she looks almost untouched by the years, no wrinkles, no lines. Recently I’ve noticed a little loose skin under her chin, but with her hair let down to its full length, she could pass for being 28, the year when I first met her.

 

It was love at first sight.

 

It was an evening in March. I was only a young lad then. Actually it was her husband who took me to their flat. When the door opened, there she was, standing in the hallway, her long hair as black as my coat. She saw me, and her eyes lit up. She reached out to touch my cheek and my chin, her hand so soft and gentlet, with a sweet smell of perfume. Oh, that hand! My whole body almost melted at her touch, and how I tried not to let out a groan.

 

That was the beginning of our relationship. I became their flat mate. It was great fun sharing a place with her. We had lots of talks, usually with her talking and me listening. I think I must have been a great listener, because she really delighted in having my company. Sometimes we played chasing games and I always won. When I was tired I’d sleep in the lounge. I thought she was the happiest woman in the world until one night I heard her crying. To be more precise, I SENSED her crying, because she was lying in bed, with her head on the pillow, shedding tears in silence. I walked into her bedroom, stood there for a second wondering what I should do, then I got into her bed and put my face close to hers. She was very surprised. She looked at me for a long time and her tears stopped. She must have been really moved by my gesture.  Then she touched my head, my cheeks, my chin, my back, then my tummy. Oh, that hand, so soft and gentle. This time I couldn’t help but let out a deep noise from my chest.

 

I’m so proud of what I did that night. Later whenever she complained, "it’s not always about you, you know!", I’d always want to remind her of that night, although I always ended up saying nothing.

 

I know she really cared about me. Sometimes when I stayed out for too long, she’d come out looking for me. I could hear her voice projecting through darkness from far away. Sometimes I’d run back to her, sometimes I just ignored her because I got things to do and people to meet. I know she trusted me, because she never asked me where I’d been and what I’d been doing. Sometimes I didn’t get home until the wee hours in the morning. She could always hear my gentle calls from downstairs. No matter how sleepy she was, she’d always get up to open the door for me, get my supper out, then wait for me to join her in bed.

 

Oh, those were the days when life was so purfect. Then one day she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me, but I SENSED it. I wasn’t happy at all. What’s gonna happen to ME? What’s gonna happen to our relationship? And my worries were right. She seemed to need me less and less. She even stopped touching me; she no longer put her face close to mine. One day she sat down next to me and started talking about the baby. She raised her hand above my head, perhaps hesitating whether to touch me or not. God knows why – I snapped. My nails must have been very long. I left bloody scratches on her hand and face. Both of us were shocked. It was the first time I ever hit her. She burst into tears and went out. I think she must have told her husband, because he came in after that, looking furious, and threw me out of the room.

 

Even today I still deeply regret what I did to her, but I’ve never said sorry. Has she forgiven me? I think she has. Unsurprisingly, I’m no longer the most important one in her life. Sometimes she doesn’t even get to look at me once all day, her attention fully occupied by that pint-sized, running, yelling person that I try my best to avoid. But after that person goes to sleep and the household becomes quiet again, she always makes sure there’s my favourite tuna and crabmeat in gravy on my plate. She must be very happy that I don’t go out that often any more – my legs let me down a lot these days. She doesn’t talk to me as much as she used to, but she still rubs my tummy with her soft, gentle hand when I’m lying on the floor. Oh, that hand on my tummy…

 

It’s completely light outside now. I’m starved. She’s still sleeping, totally ignorant of time and my hunger. Slowly, I walk to her pillow and put my face to her ears. I give her a gentle push on the cheek and start purring.

 

"Ohhhh, go away, Cosmo," she said without opening her eyes, "It’s not always about you, you know!" she turns her body to face the other side and goes back to sleep.