XCII
It should be a happy occasion: they're leaving the vet with both a food and a water bowl, a litter box, a bag of cat litter, and numerous toys.
However, the entire drive back, Henry just focuses on getting them home as tears silently slide down Eleven's face and fall onto the cat's white fur.
When they arrive, the first thing she does is place the cat on the couch. Then, she puts everything in its place: the newly loaded sandbox in a corner of the living room, the food and water bowls in the kitchen… Eleven carries him—since he can hardly walk—to each sector as needed.
Henry watches her in silence.
"Can you think of a name…?" she finally asks, going back with the cat to the sofa.
His first impulse is to question her decision to name him: why should she, if he is going to live so little? However, he bites his tongue and shrugs. "I guess he'll like any name you think for him."
"Hm…" Eleven murmurs as she combs the healthy part of his back with her fingers. "Maybe we should have bought him a comb…"
She's right: he's a long-haired cat. And, although the veterinarian has cleaned him as much as possible—since his wound has not allowed for a decent bath—and she has gotten rid of the tangles in his fur, obviously the animal will be prone to these types of issues.
If he lives long enough, Henry doesn't say.
"As for his name… The other day we read a very interesting story in literature class…"
Henry raises his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't like that class."
"I like mathematics better, yes," she admits. "But this story… There was a black cat in it. It was called Pluto, like the planet."
Of course, he knows the story she's referring to. "Did you like that story?"
Eleven shrugs. "More like… I felt sorry for what happened with Pluto."
"But he got his revenge," Henry points out. "In the end."
She grimaces. "More than revenge, I would have wanted him to be happy." Henry has nothing to say about this. Eleven sighs. "But maybe it's not a good idea to give that name to a white cat…"
Something comes to mind, then: "What if you call him 'Poe'? Like the writer?"
"'Poe'…" Eleven repeats, testing it in her tongue.
The cat lets out a weak meow. However, it seems more like he intends to attract the attention of his new owner than to express any pain.
"Sorry, I'll continue petting you." Eleven laughs softly, resuming the caresses. "Poe… You like that name?"
The question is directed to the feline, whose only response is to close his eyes and emit a soft purr.
"He's shaking…"
Henry smiles at her comment. "He's purring," he corrects her.
"Purring…?"
"Cats purr when they are happy. Or when they are very sad, to cheer themselves up."
The corners of her lips curve downward. "Do you think…?"
"This? Oh, no." Henry shakes his head. "No way it's sadness; it's definitely happiness."
Eleven smiles and kneels on the ground, so she can face the animal, infinite tenderness in her eyes.
"Then, that will be your name." She rests her forehead against the cat's, who closes his eyes without ceasing his purring. "Poe…"