“So I think I need to get a cat.”

You were shooting for about half an hour already (mostly bricks but what the hell anyway) and the first thing you ever said to her was that you need to get a cat.

“What the –”

She stopped shooting and placed her basketball on the concrete. Her eyebrows met and her forehead creased; she walked over to where you were lazily dribbling your ball.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You don’t even like cats.” She paused and wrinkled her nose for a while before, “Matter of fact, you hate cats, why on earth do you think you need to get one?”

Thump-thump-thump went your ball bouncing on the solid ground. You took two steps before taking off for a nice lay-in. Basketball is a nice activity, no scratch that, it’s a great activity. For some unfathomable reason, it helps you think and focus.

“Whaaa–hyyyy?!”

“Oh, you know,” you ran after the errant ball that bounced off the rim when she tried to shoot from downtown. “Just because.”

“Ain’t gonna accept that answer, missy.”

“Am I off the hook if I say it’s just for fun?”

“Whatever, dude,” she said before shooting from the corner pocket. Swish the ball went in. Since when did she have such a nice jumper? It was fundamentally beautiful to watch. You wished you had that nice form when shooting, too.

“I think I’m gonna be alone for the rest of my life,” you said before trying that annoying reverse lay-up. You’ve been trying that for ages but you didn’t have enough arm power or force or whatever to actually execute that move. The ball bounced away and it didn’t even touch the rim. “So I think I need to get a cat.”

“Oh for Chrissakes –”

“I know, I know, shit about being alone is just, well, shit.”

“Why a cat?” she rolled her eyes in a manner that looked like what you said was just the most preposterous thing ever said on the planet. “You’ve been way too bothered with that whole Schrodinger thing. Stop it with the nerdiness already. Pause. “Get a dog instead, dogs are way much cooler. Get that chow-chow you’ve always wanted.”

“Why do you always have to contradict whatever I wanna do?”

“Just because.” She set her feet well on the court, bent her knees, and did a nifty jumper. Nice. “Don’t get a cat.”

“It’s where I’m going anyway, I mean, that point,” you just shrugged, all wind seemed to have been taken out of you. “Bitter. And alone. Bitter and alone. With that darn stupid cat.”

“No, you don’t know that,” she tsk-ed and you know you are not going to win this argument. “You, of all people, should know that you don’t know that. You ain’t got a way to predict the future.”

You shook your head and thought of a biting retort or at least some decent answer to that. To no avail. Guess you were stumped huh? So, instead, you ran to the area beyond the three-point arc and threw up a prayer.

It swooshed in.

“Look, you’re not someone who expects that much really,” she said as she plunked down on the nearby bench. “I say you throw a shot from half-court and just let it be. If it goes in, halleluiah! If not, well, move on, get it over and done with, life is short, there are many fishes in the sea blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.” She picked up her bottled water and startled guzzling in while she watched you dribble around and shoot. “We don’t know, maybe for once, you set your feet right, bend your knees right, and throw a perfect projectile to the net, maybe, maybe the shot’ll go in. Hooray!”

You looked at her and raised your eyebrow as you normally would. ‘Hmmm,” you said to yourself. ‘Why not?”

You ran way behind the half-court line and squared your shoulders. This might go in, right? 50-50%, right? You gripped the ball with both hands and expelled a huge volume of air from your lungs. ‘Ready or not, here we go …”

You were jogging towards the half-court line to heave out the long shot when you heard her from the sidelines, “I wasn’t speaking literally, you idiot!”

You released the ball and just as you imagined, that blasted round orange thing actually followed the perfect path towards that coveted basket. It actually looked like it was gonna …

Swoosh!

“I know,” you told her as the smile slowly grew on your face. “I just needed to see if I could do that.” You laughed a little at how preposterous your thinking was. “Man, that was awesome, wasn’t it? Shit like that don’t happen much.”

“Got it on video, you ninny,” she grinned back as well, waving her celphone at your face. “Now, no more talk of cats or any other animals you might wanna adopt soon.”

“But …”

“3 seconds left, you’re down 2, you get the ball way beyond half-court, you either throw that prayer or wait for someone from the opposing team to foul you, if they’re even on penalty, she shrugged. “Tell me which is the more sensible choice. Of course the half-court shot.”

“You didn’t even let me answer!”

“Oh, shush you, you know I’m right with what I’m telling you to do,” she stood up and got her ball. “Take a risk, hotshot, at least once in your life, take a risk. It might be worth it.”

“Hmmm,” is all you answered. “Hmmmm.”

That seemed like a plausible action. Hmmmm. Maybe you’d try that eh? Maybe a half-court shot would be the way to go.

“What?” she urged on. “Try it. It won’t kill you.”

“Hahaha,” you laughed dryly. “I dunno.” A shrug, a raised eyebrow, and a smirk later, you said, “maybe.”

“So getting a cat would be out of the question eh?” she beamed a smile at you, thankful that her motivational skills came through. “And besides, way to go enforce the stereotype. I mean, come on, single old lady with a cat? Tsss. Typical.”

“I already said maybe, stop it already.”

“Right, right,” she nodded. “So … how about a game?”

“Alright, whatever, bring it on!”

“Confidence, hah,” she threw her ball to the side and smirked at you. “It looks good on ya.”

“I knooooow,” you smirked back. “Now shut up and play ball.”

You threw the ball to her for a hold, got it back, and you two started the game on. Not a few minutes passed and you already forgot about getting a cat. And being alone. And getting said cat to ease the feeling of being alone.

And besides, why would you even think of getting a cat? Like she said, cats creep the hell out of you anyway.

—

The above crapola is a conversation between me and myself. It’s a perfect example of my personality being split into its two contradicting states. It’s always interesting (and a little disturbing) how I manage to talk with my super-ego (or is it my id, I’m not sure).

—

To those who understand what I’m talking about:

What do you think would be the best and/or creative way to make alog the box to see if the cat is alive or no — if there is even a cat there in the first place?

Answers, people, I need answers.

—

Somehow I don’t feel that much bad anymore.

Writing is therapeutic. But then again, so is punching the wall.

Hee.