Many moons ago, our faithful narrator was living in a quaint duplex apartment. Once, while walking by a neighbor's house, he noticed a black cat emerging from within. "Goodbye, Tarmac!" the cat's pleasantly yuppified female owner said, from the doorway. Tarmac had the happiest look on his face, and appeared ready for his day's exploratory adventure. The narrator of this story took note of the cat's funny name: "Tarmac," he said to himself. "Isn't that the black substance they use to pave streets?"

Many days later, said narrator left his front door wide open. It was a hot day, and the cooler was running full blast. Who should walk by but Tarmac. "Hey, Tarmac!" The cat was extremely friendly. The narrator let him come in the house to hang out. Tarmac pushed his head into the narrator's hand repeatedly. The narrator petted Tarmac. Time passed. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, maybe more. Tarmac still demanded affection. The narrator became tired of petting Tarmac. But what could he do? Tarmac had chosen him. It was too late. And thus began a whirlwind affair with a neighbor's cat.

As the summer heat wore on, the relationship with Tarmac became more and more intense. Like clockwork, Tarmac would come over every day and demand affection. The narrator sometimes gave Tarmac strips of Buddig brand lunch meat. Mmm!

Then, one day, things went sour. At this point, the narrator was always leaving the door open for Tarmac. But the narrator of this story never saw Tarmac come in. So he went off for a walk, locking the door behind him. Two hours later, upon arriving home, the narrator was greeted with that sweet ammonia smell that could only mean one thing: Tarmac was in the house! And it was now "his territory"! Oh no!

This affair must stop. The door must be left closed. Or so this narrator believed. But Tarmac was determined. There were windows that were cracked for the evaporative cooler, and Tarmac would find the crack and meow through the screen. The narrator would close the window on Tarmac's face, but Tarmac was smart: he'd just find the other window that was cracked (there was always one), and meow into that. The emotional agony was palpable. Tarmac felt the pain of rejection.

Days went by. Dead lizards, or parts of dead lizards, were found left upon the doorstep. The narrator once found a lizard body that had no head or tail, and which had a line of ants marching through the body. This could only be the work of Tarmac. A restraining order was served upon The Little Black Cat Who Would Not Go Away. But that just made Tarmac more determined than ever. He would have heavy petting again by any means necessary!

Tarmac continued his campaign of strategic window meowing. One day, the narrator could resist no longer -- he let Tarmac back into the house! It was like a scene from Vertigo: narrator petted cat, cat pushed head into hand of narrator, and the emotions circled around them while the Wagnerian strings rose to the heights.

This is where the story gets weird: Tarmac started exploring the bedrooms. Tarmac would disappear for long periods of time. And then, the narrator would detect a urine smell. When this urine smell was followed, it always led to the bathroom. Yet, strangely, it would go away after a while. What was Tarmac doing?

One day, Tarmac disappeared, and the narrator decided to try to discover what Tarmac was doing. He waited a minute, and then went to find Tarmac. Approaching the bathroom door, the narrator was startled by an astounding sight: There was Tarmac, sitting on the toilet, peeing! Yes, Tarmac was taking a whiz in the pot. Flabbergasted, the narrator watched in awe as Tarmac turned around and attempted to push down the handle with its paw. The flush handle, however, was not as easy as Tarmac was used to, so his paw merely slid off. But he felt satisfied, and let out a proud "Meow!"

The narrator was so impressed with Tarmac's peeing prowess, he vowed to let Tarmac come over any time. Extra strips of Buddig lunch meat would be served. But this glowing acceptance left Tarmac disillusioned. There was no longer any challenge. So Tarmac unceremoniously ended the affair.

Crushed, the narrator accepted this rejection, eating Budding lunch meats alone and staring longingly at the toilet handle. Once, while walking around outside, the narrator could have sworn he saw Tarmac entering another neighbor's house. A new affair, a new challenge, for the Super-Peeing Wonder Cat. "What am I, chopped liver?" thought the narrator, sadly.

Many weeks went by, without further sign of Tarmac. The narrator's curiosity got the best of him, and one day, while walking by the house of Tarmac's owners, he saw them in the front yard pulling weeds. "Say, don't you have a cat named Tarmac?" he asked. The pretty woman got a little choked up and responded, "We did, but he's dead. He got hit by a car." Holding back his emotions -- for he did not want the owner to know the whirlwind affair he'd had with Tarmac -- the narrator replied, "Oh, that's terrible. I'm very sorry." And then he walked on.

Copyright © Zak
July 24, 1998