2 Guys

I’m not exactly what one would call a "man’s man." That is to say: I don’t generally hang out with other guys. I’m not opposed to “a night out with the guys,“ but I generally don’t see the point. When my wife’s not around and I have nothing else to do, I generally prefer to be solitary. (You can get a lot more writing done that way . . .) but marrying my wife has meant quite often being around at least one guy. He and I started hanging out when my wife and I started dating. Over time, I guess I've probably been around him more than any other guy in the past couple of years. We’ve come to tolerate each oth quite effectively. We’re both pretty solitary.

I could hear him wheezing even before he came into the room. I politely avoided the subject of his asthma the way he politely avoided the subject of mine. Some things don’t need to be spoken between guys. Some things bear some level of explanation, though . . . even if they’re patently obvious.

“It’s an ice pack, what does it look like?”

“Meow,”

“Because there’s sinus pressure in my inner ear. It kinda hurts.”

“Meow.”

“I already saw a doctor. I’m just waiting for the ear to clear-up.”

“Meow”

We had reached a silence. Whenever we talk, I politely avoid mentioning that he’s a cat and he politely avoids mentioning that I’m not. (Some things are better left unsaid.) He hopped onto the foot of the bed and curled-up at my feet. I fell asleep . . .

Being a cat, he sometimes enters my dreams. It’s a bit weird, but I’ve gotten used to it. In the dream, we headed down to Axel’s for a beer. This was obviously a dream: I never go to Axel’s and I don’t recall ever going out drinking with my wife’s male cat.

We walked into the hole-in-the-wall dive and ordered a couple of Guinnesses. There was a silent moment as the bartender brought out a glass for me and a dish for him. We sat down at neighboring bar stools and looked around. The place was dead. We glanced up at the television over the bar. The Brewers were playing. This was not a source of conversation, as neither of us follow sports.

“Finally passed that meaningless test at the Day Job.” I said idly.

“Meow,” he replied casually. He leaned-in to lap Guinness from a small glass dish with the Miller Light logo on it which rested on the bar in front of him.

“I know, I know . . . I need to find better work. The only reason they can get away with half the stuff they do is because they’re the only ones who do what they do.”

“Meow.”

And so on . . . We staggered back to the apartment just in time for me to wake-up from the dream. My ear was just a little better. The cat was still at the foot of the bed. . .

Ryan was born and raised in Milwaukee, but never fully understood how wonderfully cool a city it is until she started working with Vital. Now she's an art scene devotee, and she's loving every minute of it.