When Tim Met Tim (Fiction)

Tim didn't worry about coincidences because it's not something cats are interested in. Tim concerned himself with opportunities. However, Tim did wonder about coincidences and serendipity because those are things that humans wonder and worry about. Tim hadn't met Tim, not yet.

Tim C. (Tim the Cat) had been searching for a good territory that he could share for over a year, ever since his humans had left him behind. He had scrounged for food, dodged rocks and cars, and trust was becoming a distant memory. More importantly, the nights were getting colder, and he didn't have any reliable food sources or enough hiding spots for bad weather.

The scent marks around this house were old and fading, but they said this was a good place for food and care. Tim had his doubts. He had watched this human for a few days and saw no signs that he would be welcomed. Just why had this territory been empty for so long anyway? There was more area to explore, but Tim would circle back before deciding whether to claim the territory or keep moving.

Through the window, Tim H. (Tim the Human) caught a glimpse of a cat going around the corner, and for a moment he felt a flicker of interest. No. No more relationships, human or cat. The break up with Chelsea after three years cut deeply, but at least Tim had his writing. When she left, he wrote more than ever, stories and articles, and he now had enough of a reputation that people contacted him, no more scrounging for work. Trust was just a memory, and he wasn't falling for it again.

In those three years, Tim had lost the habit of being social, and most of his conversations were with clerks at the supermarket and with long-time furry companion, Stars. With the turnover rate at the market, he never got to know the clerks, but he and Stars had been together for 18 years, since before high school. The oddly shaped spots that gave Stars his name had altered with time, but the relationship had only deepened. There was probably an ism or phobia for what Tim was going through, and maybe eventually he would research and write about it. Not now, not while that loss was so fresh, not while the memories came back so often.

Tim had been a little worried when there seemed to be something odd about how Stars was breathing, but it didn't seem serious, and if anything, Stars purred more loudly than ever. Tim didn't even think about how cats use purring to help heal, not even when the breathing got worse, bad enough to break through Tim's depression and get them to the vet.

The vet had known the problem as soon as she walked in and saw the breathing pattern. She even had a name for it, even though Tim couldn't remember it a moment later when she explained that Stars almost certainly had a large abdominal tumor and probably a rupture. An exam confirmed the diagnosis as best as could be done without a biopsy, which Stars would be unlikely to survive even if it could have helped. Good options were gone, and only the hard ones were left.

In the waiting room, the receptionist turned on the Quiet Lamp. The dogs and cats didn't notice, but each human said a silent thanks that this time the lamp wasn't lit for them, for their fur-kin. Their time would come, but it wasn't this time. When Tim left, the carrier was empty, but the small, white, oblong box was full. The vet had used Stars' favorite blanket to make a pillow.

That had been a month ago, and Tim still found writing harder. He had turned down several offers. When Tim's parents had that car wreck, friends understood, told him that it would take time. A few even brought food. Now, those friends told him that it was just a cat.

Couldn't they understand that just because cats aren't human, that doesn't mean that they aren't people? Tim had shared more with Stars than he ever had with his parents, and he certainly argued with him less. How do you share your grief when the only one who always seemed to understand is the one that you're grieving?

Sooner or later, Tim would get back to writing, but he would live at a distance, no relationships, no risk, just good food and good stories, things he could trust and control. Cats he could trust, and people he might be able to control if he wanted to, but neither could be both trusted and controlled, so they were now non-starters.

That included the scruffball tabby that had been showing up lately. That most definitely included the scruffball...even if the weather was getting a bit chilly.

It got colder.

When Tim went out to get the mail, the edge to the wind took him by surprise, so he took the junk mail as far as the kitchen trash, and started some coffee. Hot caffeine would take care of thoughts of that wind. As he switched on the coffee maker, Tim looked out the window to where Stars' body rested under the new sod. It was probably against more than one city regulation, but Tim didn't care. Maybe he should have done the cremation, maybe he could have done it in time, but at the moment the decision had to be made, he just couldn't.

Stars would go back to the earth more slowly, just as Tim would learn to cope slowly. In that way, they would still share....wait a minute. That tabby was hanging around the grave. If he started digging, Tim's temper might find its limit. He might, no, the tabby was just nibbling the grass and staring at the window.

Tim thought about the cupboard full of food that he still hadn't donated to the shelter. Crap, he might as well let the bugger have one good meal out of it. After dumping a can of food into Stars' old dish, Tim went out the back door slowly, but the cat still backed away. Tim leaned over and put the dish down as far as he could reach without stepping closer.

"Come on furball. Just don't get used to this."

Tim Cat listened. The voice was neither friendly nor angry, just a mix of other sounds. Tim didn't know the words for hurt and lonely, but this voice echoed his own past year somehow. He said, "My name is Tim, not Furball," but Tim Human only heard, "Growlt" before going inside. After glancing to make sure the cat was eating, Tim took his coffee back to sit at the computer and try to write. No emotional involvement. That was the key, the plan. There would definitely be no naming.

The next day was just as cold, and when Tim saw the cat, he prepared another can of food. As soon as he heard the back door opening, Tim C. raised one front paw. He wasn't sure just when or where he had learned this particular trick, but it did seem to get more food.

"Don't try that trick on me bugger cat. I'm not a beginner. You can have food until it runs out, but I suggest you just move on. This inn is closed."

Tim H. put the food down and walked away, noticing that the cat approached the food with no sign of a limp, just as expected. There must be a Grand Bugger Cat all the strays learned from because so many had learned that trick. Tim almost smiled before returning to the computer, where he had written nothing for quite some time.

Two days was enough to turn this into a daily routine that lasted most of the week, but Tuesday brought an all-day drizzle and no cat. Tim put some food on the porch under the eave, but it remained untouched.

Wednesday brought drizzle but also some breaks in between, and through the window Tim saw a more than usually bedraggled cat. There was a slight limp that looked real this time Double bugger. Tim took the a bowl of food along with a bag of treats, and went into the garage where several bags of litter were among the assorted physical traces of Stars presence and passing. He tossed litter into a pan and a rug onto the floor before going out the rear door of the garage.

"Okay you wet bugger. Come into the garage long enough to get dry. I don't want you getting sick and making me feel guilty, but you still need to move on before winter gets here." Tim still wasn't sure if the cat was a feral Daryl or just a timid tabby, but instead of putting the bowl down, he just held it low and trilled the way he had called Stars to come and eat. The cat showed interest but didn't move forward. That was better than backward, at least.

Tim H. took a step back and trilled again before putting the bowl on the floor of the garage and going to sit on the step leading into the house. A few moments later, he saw a wet face peering around the door frame. The face gradually turned into a whole cat as he moved toward the bowl with frequent looks in Tim's direction.

The garage wasn't like his old home, but Tim C. recognized what it meant, warm, safe, maybe. This wasn't like his first humans, wasn't like the humans he had encountered since. This was different, and that made Tim uncomfortable and curious. More than that, he was cold and hungry. He entered and began to eat.

As he finished the food, Tim C. began thinking about what came next, sit here and bathe or go outside and bathe. Staying was a big risk, maybe too big. Then he heard a crinkle, a familiar crinkle, a crinkle he could remember even after more than a year. Someone just opened a bag of treats.

"So, you know that sound?"

Tim tossed a treat about halfway to the cat, who paused only briefly before trotting over, taking one sniff, and scarfing the treat as if the bowl of food had never happened. Tim H. shook the treat back as he held down an open hand, revealing a palm full of treats before dropping a couple of treats at his feet.

The pause was longer, and it was a slow walk rather than a trot, but the cat came, paused, looked at Tim, and ate. This time, Tim held down an empty hand, back toward the cat, fingers slightly curled, unchallenging. Tim C. looked at the hand, thought about the rocks and cars he had dodged, humans who had hurt him, humans who and left. Then he rubbed his cheek against the hand.

The hand moved just a little, just enough to add a rub of its own against Tim's cheek and a little under the chin. This human knew the spots. Tim flopped onto the floor and rubbed his cheek on Tim's shoes, and the hand came down to stroke Tim's nose and head, just a couple of fingers.

"Sure looks like you've had a home along the way, and considering you seem to be missing a little something under your tail, you've seen a vet at least once. How do you feel about laps?"

Tim leaned back a little to make a larger lap and patted his leg. Before the second pat, the lap was filled with a wet, smelly cat.

"Well, great bugger all, I guess if you're going to break my heart, we may as well get started by drying you off."

After a lot of toweling and treats, Tim H signed, took out his phone, and called the vet for an appointment. A little later, two Tims sat at the computer, one in the lap of the other, head curled over a hand.

"Well, Bugger, looks like the inn is open again, and I think maybe I haven't been as good to you guys as I thought. I think Stars would have liked more company, so we'll run the inn differently this time if you like. We got lots of room."

The cat looked up and said, "My name is Bugger," but Tim heard, "Meowlt."

"Here's looking at you, kid." Bugger said, "Maol," but Tim heard, "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship." He'd watched "Casablanca" a lot lately.

Freeing his hands for a while, Tim reached to the keyboard. With no thought about where he might sell it, Tim began his next article, typing:

"The Bee Gees asked, "How can you mend a broken heart?" Luckily for me, Bugger knew the answer."