Queer Ghost Stories Volume Six

Chapter 1 Ben had been eerily quiet throughout the subway ride. Jonathan expected his boyfriend to break down in tears the second they left the emergency vet's office, but he held it together even after signing the paperwork and covering the exorbitant cost of Bella's demise. He held it together as they walked to the station. “Should I have paid to get her ashes returned?” Ben asked. “In one of those fancy little vase things? Do you think she's gonna hate me because I didn't?” Jonathan wanted to say, “She can't hate you—she's dead,” but he didn't say that. Instead, he told Ben, “Those vases cost an arm and a leg. They're for rich people, not people like us.” “Rich people's pets,” Ben replied. “I stand corrected.” Ben didn't seem to be listening. He said, “The boxes were cheaper.” “Cheaper, but still expensive.” “I wish I had a backyard to bury her in. I wish one of us did.” Jonathan tried not to laugh. Where would they find a backyard in the city? Even if they moved in together, their combined incomes would maybe get them a two-bedroom unit in another apartment block. Jonathan didn't know anyone with a yard. Not anyone. “It's too bad we had to go to the emergency vet,” Jonathan sympathized. “That bill was like... wow. It's gonna set you back.” There were only two veterinarians in the entire city open on a holiday. They found that out after rushing around Ben's neighbourhood, then calling every vet they couldn't make it to on foot, and then finally realizing the emergency room for animals was the only way to go. Jonathan could have told Ben from the start that Bella was ready to shuffle off this mortal coil. How could he tell? Well, the fact that she was puking up what looked like coffee grounds was a telltale sign. Jonathan knew absolutely nothing about cats, but he knew nobody's vomit should look so dark. Bella was never Jonathan's biggest fan, and the feeling was mutual. He didn't dislike cats. It's not that. Cats were okay, some of them. The pretty ones had their appeal. He seemed to have developed a minor allergy, so that was one big reason he didn't pet Bella as much as he could have. The other reason sounds mean—maybe even catty: Bella didn't live up to her name. Not at all. Maybe she did when she was younger, but in her old age, which she had more than reached by the time Jonathan waltzed into Ben's life, Bella was a bit of a hag. Bella and Ben. They'd been an item for quite some time. Maybe she was his first love. Maybe not. But the first time Jonathan met the old girl, he'd been surprised by her forthright nature. Usually cats run and hide from people they don't know. They certainly run and hide from Jonathan. But Bella marched right up to the door as soon as they entered Ben's apartment and made her presence known. “Who is this?” Jonathan had asked, crouching down, just for show. He inched his hand toward the cat's nose so she could sniff, but instead she hissed and backed away before looking up at Ben in confusion. “Sorry,” Ben had replied, sheepishly. “That's Bella. She's not big on strangers.” “It's a good thing you are,” Jonathan flirted, before continuing the kiss that had started at the party. Where they'd met. Three hours ago. Sheepishly again, Ben tittered, “I never usually do this sort of thing. I swear, I—” Jonathan shut him up with another kiss. That's when he felt something sharp digging into his ankle. No, not something. A series of somethings. With a piercing cry, Jonathan jumped away from Ben. As he did, he realized the mangy cat had wrapped herself around his lower leg. Was she biting him? Certainly, she'd dug every one of her however-many nails into his skin. “Jesus Christ!” Jonathan screeched. “Get off!” He didn't kick her. He would never do a thing like that. Only, when a cat's got her claws embedded in his flesh, how can a guy help but fling her off? It's a reflex. Ben understood. He was very apologetic as he went for the bandaids and disinfectant. “She does that sometimes,” Ben explained. “Not often because, like I said, I don't bring guys home every night of the week, but on the rare occasions when I do...” “Your cat gets jealous?” Jonathan asked. Emerging from the bathroom with half the contents of the medicine cabinet in his arms, Ben led Jonathan into the bedroom and closed the door. He hadn't closed the curtains and it made Jonathan nervous when Ben turned on the light. That window was someone else's movie screen and they were the main attraction. Ben must have read Jonathan's mind, because he closed the drapes and said, “Sorry.” Though, the apology might have been about the stack of discarded outfits on the bed. “You should see my place,” Jonathan replied. “Yours is a palace in comparison.” Why palace? It was the only word that came to mind. Ben's place was not a palace. It was just another run-down apartment, same as Jonathan's. Same as everyone's. The big difference was that Ben's apartment boasted the mild aroma of pee. Cat pee. When Jonathan sat on the ratty chair by the bed, he found out why. Springing up in alarm, he cried, “What the—?” He didn't want to admit that his pants felt wet because, at first, he wasn't sure why they did. “Oh,” Ben said. “Did she... oh... on the...?” “Oh,” Jonathan echoed. He felt embarrassed and he didn't know why. All he wanted to do was clean his wounds and stick on some bandages. There was already blood running into his shoe. Ben said, “She goes on there sometimes. And sometimes on the bed. And sometimes on the couch. When I'm out of the house especially, but not always. I read on the internet they do it because they want to combine their scent with their owner's scent. But maybe she's just old. I haven't taken her to the vet in a while. It's so expensive, and her food and litter already cost so much.” “So it's pee?” Jonathan asked, flatly. “I sat in cat pee?” “I'm sorry!” Ben yelped. “See? This is why I don't bring guys home, usually. I just saw you at the thing and you seemed like maybe you might be interested and, frankly, it's been a while and I had the hardest week at work and I just thought—” Jonathan cut him off by kissing him again. His ankle throbbed, but he'd deal with it in good time. First off, he needed to console this guy by assuring Ben he wasn't about to leave. Jonathan wouldn't exactly call himself a ten, but he would barely call Ben a five. No, that was mean. In a certain light, Ben might even be considered a seven. But a low light. A very low light. At any rate, Ben was the kind of guy who needed a lot of reassurance. Jonathan often went home with guys like Ben. Or, he used to. Not anymore. Not now that Ben was his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who'd just lost a beloved elderly cat. A beloved elderly cat who had never liked Jonathan. One small piece of his heart rejoiced. The days of ankle punctures and pee stains were over. It was clear sailing ahead, clear sailing to the days of wine and roses.