Like the Cat That Got the Cream


Arts & Culture, Our Daily Correspondent



The girl and the boy stood in the doorway of the crosstown bus as we crossed the park. She was dressed all in black, her lank hair streaked with crimson, eyes circled with heavy kohl, wrists crisscrossed with black rubber bracelets. Her backpack bore an “Emily the Strange” badge.

Her companion, plump and pale, in an oversized trench coat, turned toward her with a coy tilt of his head.

“Mee-ow,” he purred, extending and then curling his fingers one by one in what was clearly intended to be a cat-like manner.

His companion did not respond.

“Mee-ow,” he said more loudly.

“I’m so fucked on this test. Let’s get some pizza,” she said impatiently, pulling the stop bell.

There was a brief silence. Then,

“Purrrr-fect,” said the boy.

She ignored him.

They got off at the next stop, after a very slow old lady.