The Cafe of the Two Cats
The Stories

The Cafe of the Two Cats

They were not really people that night. That was the deal at Cafe L'Œil.
In that cafe, at that corner table that wobbles no matter what you put under it, you leave your human face at the door.

She got there first. Black dress, red lips, hair pinned up after work. She ordered two coffees even though she was alone - one for her, one for whoever would finally sit down. She had the yellow eye of a cat who stays out too late, the kind that sees everything in the dark.

He arrived late, as violinists always do. Tuxedo, bow tie, but he didn't play on the stage. He pulled his chair right up to her tiny table, so close their knees touched, and put the violin to his chest - not his shoulder, his chest - like his heart needed help beating.

He didn't say hello. He played.

And the cafe went quiet. Not because the music was loud, but because it was so private. It was the song they'd both heard in a dream once but could never remember in the morning.

You see their skin is made of newspaper? That's because before that night they were just headlines to each other. Strangers made of old stories, busy days, receipts, to-do lists. As he played, all that paper started to peel and mix - his blue turning into her yellow, her teal bleeding into his black suit.

The waiters knew not to come near. Two cats had recognized each other in a room full of humans. They had the same eyes. Green and yellow, wide open, slit in the middle - the eyes you only get when you finally feel completely seen, and a little bit hunted.

He never finished the song. He lowered the bow, and the tip of it just touched her coffee cup, making a tiny ting.

She smiled. Her paw - because by then they were almost completely cats - reached for his.

They didn't leave together. Cats never do. He went left, she went right, out into the pink night. But they both left one coffee untouched, still warm, on the little round tables.

And if you go to that cafe now, if you sit long enough at the wobbly table, sometimes the waiter will still bring you two coffees instead of one. Just in case.

— Sarino Tesandori