Mingus and I have a share a deep affinity for the sink. It is the one place in this prison that he and I commune, allowing the droplets to roll down our backs, shaking from the water's very welcome chill. Sometimes as we bathe we share secrets. Other times we laugh together (yes, laugh), over the imprisoned lives we share. Once in a very rare while he weeps with me; struck by an understanding of meaninglessness, of how we are alone together, we cleave to each other.
What secrets do we share? His fear for the feeling of tiny lizard bones crunching in his mouth, and his enduring obsession with catching and eating them anyway.
My fear of the dog's teeth, that sharpness, the rabid look in his eyes when he chases me.
Mingus' fear of being left alone - he has dreampt we all left the house, left him, moved all the furniture, his cat food and cat toys, never to return. He told me he nearly always awakes from this dream screaming into his pillow.
My fear of escape. My desire for escape. Both emotions held together in the same quivering heart, like a twin egg yolk.
Our shared fear that Fremlin will one day rise, walking on two legs, tip her hat (which she will have inexplicably donned), and walk out the front door, perhaps puffing on a cigarette. I cannot tell you why we share this dark vision, only that we do, and it brings us nearly to hysterics when we describe to each other the scene.
And as I said before, we sometimes laugh together, ruminating on the dog's behavior, perhaps, or detailing some asinine thing Fremlin said to one of us. We laugh and I feel for a moment I have a friend. A companion. Another creature who understands me. Who bears being around me, no, who likes to be around me. A creature who even seeks my counsel.
I read Fremlin's (thief! Blog burglar!) entry the other day, and I see she feels much the same way. But I can tell you this; their rapport is nowhere near as intimate as ours. He is nice to her out of pity.
I do not mean to sound the bully; my aim is that you should know the truth, at least as well as I understand it. Mingus is my friend. Fremlin is really more like a shade, a shadow, a ghost we sometimes see streak through the house as she runs in terror from the dog (who, in all fairness, usually does not pursue her [and when he does, it is never with the cruelty with which he chases me]).
Although, it is true that inevitably Mingus leaves the sink before I do. And I am left alone, licking the water off my whiskers, wondering what I said to offend him.
Sometimes when he leaves me he goes to her. Lies down on their shared bed. Dreams whatever dreams he has with her. It makes me sick to think about it. Maybe he is actually friends with Fremlin.
Maybe it is me he pities.