Saturday, 18 December 2004 | Feigned communication

"What does your cat have? Is she contagious?" The woman was sitting next to a tower of pet carriers, all of which belonged to her. She had been spread out over fifty percent of the benches, but consolidated her things when I walked up, making room for me in the corner.

It was crowded, and the other pet owners were all feeling chatty, talking about their pets like proud, involved parents. The arrangement of the benches and the lack of space forced us to sit in a circle, as if we were members of a support group.

"My cat's diabetic too. How long has yours been diabetic?" she continued. I looked up again, aware that I might appear cold, since I was paying more attention to my book than I did the circle. "Do you mind me asking you questions?"

I probably wasn't convincing, but I assured her I didn't mind, and I gave her answers that were more thorough than necessary just to prove it. I let her push the pile of carriers into my space until the corner of one of them was jammed into my thigh. I pretended not to notice her unbuttoning her shirt, removing her left breast, and mashing the face of her screaming child to her chest. I looked for a change in her voice or her expression, waiting for her to at least pause between words, but she continued as if nothing had happened, as if no one had literally attached himself to her. It was as if she wasn't even aware of it.

As she spoke, I nodded and fake-smiled and participated, returning to my book only when I thought it was not impolite to do so. She listed some drugs I should try out on my cat and gave me the URL of a forum she visits. I made eye contact with her, and repeated the significant words, but I knew that I wasn't absorbing the information. For some reason, however, it was important to me that she believed I was.

I was glad when the girl with the Marmaduke dog began talking again, shifting the attention away from me. I returned to my book.

...

The vet, admittedly confused by Jane's recent neurotic episodes, checked her out again and pronounced, "There is nothing wrong with this cat!" I assume he meant nothing wrong, apart from her being overweight, clumsy, diabetic, and more expensive than a Brooklyn apartment. Good news, in any case.