#25 – Sophia’s Cat (Monologue) – Martha Patterson


(a successful movie star in her early 30’s talking to her old rock star boyfriend at his townhouse in New York City – she picks up a magazine from the coffee table and fans herself with it.)

I AM a little harried.  A cab driver just gave me a very hard time on the ride up from the Village.  I’m overheated from the strain of the argument we had, and I’m trying not to resent the fact that he charged me too much money for the fare.  He was a foreigner.  I suppose it’s needless to explain.

(putting the magazine back on the table)

But anyway.  On to more pleasant things.  Nick, do you know I had the strangest experience today in the apartment I was renting?  It’s on 4th Street, in the West Village, and I’m keeping my cat with me.  I brought him out with me from Hollywood, I always bring him with me, and today, would you believe it, I opened the door to the laundry room, and he wanted me to follow him out there.  To the back room, where people keep suitcases and empty cardboard boxes and things.  My cat wanted me to follow him, he brought me to a spot on the floor he wanted to show me, and there was a black heart painted right there on the floor.  Somebody dripped paint there, and they left a large black heart about a foot tall and a foot wide painted right there.  And seeing this heart was amazing, because I think it must have happened a while ago, someone dripping paint onto the floor.  I think my cat wanted to remind me of something.  That there is such a thing as some kind of loyalty to one’s fellow creatures, despite whatever danger and fall-to-ground we might experience in our lives, there are people we have known who suffer and still think about us, as we think about them, and there is something precious in owning that knowledge, no matter how close we come to death or destruction, and that it will always be there, our loyalty and faith that other people we once loved still do think of us and feel pain about this thing we call living, even though we sometimes imagine they don’t know what’s going on in our lives anymore or care about us.  They really do still wonder and care.

~ Martha Patterson, Boston, Massachusetts

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