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A Love Just Like You
by R.P. Infantino

    At age forty-two, Patty Baron had not found the love of her life. With her girlfriends all married, "or at least in relationships where their men don’t spend all day watching sports and don’t smell too bad," she'd say, Patty Baron’s most meaningful consort was Mr. David. For those who knew Patty, Mr. David was her beloved orange cat whom Patty felt was always smiling at her. She would tell Mr. David of her day’s events, recite poetry to him, mope on about her disappointing relationships, and the feeling of emptiness in her heart. Mr. David would smile back with compassion–or so Patty felt.
   “Do you think it’s too late for me, Mr. David? Will I ever find my prince? Will the glass slipper forever give me blisters?”
   "Mrr, mrr, mrr," purred Mr. David. In his furry smile, Patty Baron felt hope.
   “Yes, I agree with you, Mr. David. It is worth holding out for my prince rather than to accept toads. And I have had enough warts in my life to last a lifetime. I can’t swing a dead cat–sorry Mr. David–without hitting a croaker. I’m so tired of it all. Tired of the ravenous wolves prowling about looking for innocent prey. Where are the men who are readers of poetry? Heck, how about a man who can read? Where is my Emerson? My Shelley? My Browning? All I meet are guys who read the funnies? If only I lived in Victorian times when men were not afraid to express themselves fully and completely.
   “Take away love and our earth is a tomb, wrote Browning. Is he kidding? My life is a tomb. There is no remedy for love but to love more, quote Thoreau. Love more? How about once? I think a life without love a sinful condition, van Gogh mused. Sinful? More like lonely.
   “Mr. David, don’t you think a lonely life is one without love? I knew you would. I can always count on you. Your companionship, your understanding, and your beguiling smile–albeit a furry one. Why can’t I meet a love just like you, Mr. David? Minus the fuzzy face, of course. It figures that the one true love in my life happens to be a cat. Don’t look at me like that, Mr. David. You’re a beautiful, marvelous, stupendulous cat–I need to invent words, I love you so much–but a cat nonetheless.
   “Even you have a love, Mr. David–beyond me, of course. Oh, don’t give me that look. I can see right past your What me? smile. Every day, I see you slither through the hole in the fence to cavort with that pure white Persian number next door–that peroxide pussycat. Oh, puh-leeze Mr. David, you can’t fool me. After you return from your feline hanky-panky, your smile has changed to one of pure ecstasy. You may only have one Cheshire cat smile, but there are many meanings behind them. See? Just like that one, it’s different than the one before it.
   “That’s all right, Mr. David. I'm very happy for you. Everyone needs love in their lives. Just be careful, that bleached-out tabby will break your heart sure as the sun will rise. Anyway, I know you’ll always come home to your Miss Patty. So have your fun, you devil, just be sure you’re back in my arms.
   “Oh, Mr. David, snuggle with me and let me sleep with thoughts of you and your human counterpart. Now hold me and let me drift off. Yes, I know you can’t hold me, Mr. David, I was speaking figuratively. Just you being here is enough. Yech! Stop it, Mr. David, your tongue is like sandpaper. Just lie here with me and–let me–let me sleep–sleep–sleep off to unconsc–”
   Patty Baron fell off to another world, a slumberous world filled with kindly knights, white horses, princely masked balls, flowing gowns, and Mr. David’s namesake: the statue of David in full flesh and blood. Unfortunately, she awoke to a blaring BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP of the alarm clock.
   “Oh, darn it. Why do I dream the most wonderful dreams, only to be awakened to my dreary life?" Mr. David rubbed his orange, furry head against her arm. “Time to get ready for my day, Mr. D.”
   Patty Baron loved her work. She ran the Any Animal Inn, a pet hotel. And any animal was the operative word: cats (of course), dogs, pigs, snakes, birds, you name it, she housed it. Unfortunately, it is one of the reasons she rarely met anyone; her clientele were mostly married couples off on vacation. Otherwise, her days were gloriously spent reading poetry to every animal. Her days were magical. Her nights, not so.
   Patty Baron walked home from work one day, dead-tired but thrilled “A hard day doing what you love is wonderfully exhausting” she always said. She felt renewed knowing she’d be greeted enthusiastically by her incomparable Mr. David. "Unconditional love," she thought. "What could be better? Well, if I found the same in a man, that would be nice. But a love is a love is a love. Be thankful I have one incredible love than none at all.”
   Her good feeling would be short-lived, however. As she rounded the corner onto her street, a crowd of people gathered by the front of her apartment. She noticed an ambulance, the police, and a mangled car. Oh, I hope no one is hurt, she thought. She walked pensively toward the scene. Her neighbor and best friend Elaine rushed to her.
   “Oh, Patty,” Elaine said with grief written in her voice. A dread came over Patty. Something has happened, she thought. Something terrible has happened.
   “What is it, Elaine? What’s wrong?”
   Elaine hugged her, but Patty did not return the affection, her arms hanging limp to her side.
   “Please, Elaine, tell me. What is it?”
   “I know how you felt about your cat. I know you loved him very much.”
   At that instant, at the words felt and loved–both past tense–Patty Baron knew she would not make it through the next few minutes. The light in her eyes began to fade to a dim gray, as if the color were drained from everything. This black and white world was followed by deep darkness in which just a pin dot remained in the direct center. When the pin dot faded, it was as if the sun had stopped shining. There was only black. Black and a mumble of voices which, too, faded to nothingness. Her knees gave way, and Patty Baron was gone.
   She awoke many hours later in a hospital bed. Her eyes adjusted to the starkness of the room. She saw many faces but couldn't make out their names. Elaine was the first person by her side.
   "Patty, how are you feeling?"
   "Elaine, is that you?"
   "Yes, dear. It's me. Are you all right? Should I ring for the doctor?"
   "No, no Elaine. I'm feeling fine. A little woozy, that's all. What happened?"
   "You fainted, dear. I tried to catch you. You hit your head on the sidewalk. Nothing serious, no concussion or anything like that."
   I don't remember any of it. How long have I been here?"
   "A few hours. Dr. Jacobson said it's a minor bump. That's all."
   "Well that's good news. I remember an accident. Was I involved in that?"
   "No, no dear. You weren't involved at all. It was some driver who swerved off the road into a tree trying to avoid hitting– "
   Patty's memory to returned in bits and pieces. The driver tried to avoid hitting Mr. David. Her eyes filled, with one lone tear dripping slowly out the corner of her eye. Another followed in the same path as the first, then another.
   "I'm so sorry about Mr. David. He was chasing Cleo, that white Persian cat next door to you and they both ran across the street the moment the car drove by."
   "They're both–gone?"
   "Yes, honey. The driver's fine. I'm so sorry for your loss. I don't know what else to say. It's like losing a child. I know, we lost our collie who we adored madly. He was as much part of our family as our two boys. We had a funeral and everything. Your vet has Mr. David for when you're ready to say goodbye."
   "Thank you, Elaine. You're so sweet."
   "If there's anything you need, just let me know. Your neighbors and friends are here. If you need some time, I'll tell them to come back later."
   "No, no. I can see them now. I want to thank them for coming."

   Many days passed and Patty's life began to return to normal. She buried Mr. David in the back yard; her neighbor did the same with Cleo in theirs. Patty immersed herself in her work. The innate love of the animals brought her out of her depression. After work, she'd arrive to an empty home– empty of companionship, empty of love. Patty kept herself busy with cleaning, reading, cooking, sewing and any busy work to keep her mind occupied, to make her forget about Mr. David, if that was at all possible.
   One day, there was a knock on the door. Patty wiped her hands on her apron as she opened the door. There stood a man with smooth red hair, a big scruffy beard, and a smile so wide, you could count each of his teeth.
   "Hello," she said. "May I help you?"
   "Hello, Miss Patty," the man said, still grinning.
   Patty narrowed her eyes.
   "Do I know you?" she asked.
   "Yes," and his grin widened.
   Patty stared at him intensely trying to determine how she knew him. Her mind could not piece it together.
   "Are you family?" she asked.
   "You could say that."
   Patty did not feel frightened of the man. In fact, she felt extremely comfortable.
   "Who are you?"
   "I'm David."
   Patty worked her memory. David from work, she thought? David down the street? David at the supermarket?
   "David?"
   "Yes."
   "David who?"
   "Listen to your heart, Miss Patty."
   Patty dug deep. Her heart was at peace.
   "I'm David, Miss Patty. Mr. David."
   She began to feel weak.
   "It's–it's not possible. Not my Mr. David. It can't be so."
   "You love poetry. You wonder why you can't meet men like those of Victorian times."
   Patty's knees quivered.
   "You'd read me Keats and Browning and Byron. Love is an insatiate thirst of enjoying a greedily desired object."
   "Why–that's Montaigne. I was just reading him aloud last week."
   "Give all to love; obey the heart."
   "That's Emerson. I–I just bought a book by him recently."
   "Love, a spiritual coupling of two souls."
   "Jonson. I was just reading it to Mr.– "
   "Mr. David, Patty? I'm Mr. David. I've come home."
   He reached out his hand and held hers. At that moment of realization, Patty's vision went dark and she fell into his arms. When she finally awoke, she was lying on the couch with David at her side, a wet cloth on her forehead. Her eyes opened to a red-bearded smiling face.
   "Mr. David. is it really you? Am I dreaming? How can this be?"
   "Yes, Miss Patty, it's really me. No, you're not dreaming. And I don't know how this can be. I just know in the heart within my heart, it is true. What does your heart tell you?"
   "My heart is beating too fast to tell. But–I feel–I feel comfortable. I've sat with you–with Mr. David–on this couch many times before. This feels safe, it feels right."
   "It feels like home."
   "It does. It does feel like home. But how? It's not possible."
   "Remember how you'd leave the radio on when you left for work in the mornings?"
   "Yes, I didn't want you–didn't want Mr. David–to be lonely."
   "I know, and I always appreciated that. I did miss you so. Anyway, one day a science program aired discussing atoms and how they are continuously being recycled. When a living being, human or animal, dies and is buried, its atoms are recycled or reincorporated into plants that are then eaten by animals and humans. Maybe, and it's a big maybe, my atoms were regenerated into the me that is before you now."
   "Oh, David, if this is true, if you are my beloved Mr. David reincarnated before me, then this is what I've always dreamed of–to have a love just like you. And now I do."
   "It does feel good. Like being with your long-lost friend."
   "Best friends."
   "Forever."
   "Forever."

   They spent the next few days together on the couch, talking, laughing, snuggling, like they had done many times before. They reminisced of things they had done and spoke of things they planned to do.
   "Remember that time," Patty said, "when you hacked up a hairball the size of a grape?"
   "It's my nature." He smiled, as always.
   "That was so gross."
   They laughed as he continued.
   "How about the time you left for work and forgot to leave me food?"
   "Oh my god. I felt so bad. When I came back, the place was a wreck."
   "Hey, I was looking for food."
   "Can you ever forgive me?"
   "Of course, Miss Patty. Do you forgive me the hairball?"
   "Welll..." She smiled, as did he. "Of course."
   Even though his red beard itched her face, they nuzzled often.
   "Does my tongue still feel like sandpaper, Miss Patty?
   "I'm not sure. Kiss me again."
   He did.
   "Well?"
   "I'm still not sure. Try again."
   They kissed.
   "Does it?"
   "Uhm, once more."
   He looked at her as if she were trying to get something over on him. She was. They both smiled and laughed out loud.
   "You know," Patty said, "we're like the great loves of all time: Romeo and Juliet, Damon and Pythias – "
   "Antony and Cleopa – "
   "Do not say that name."
   "Sorry. How about Apollo and Daphne?"
   "Better."
   They giggled and she scratched his beard under his chin. He went into another world.
   "You always liked when I did that."
   "Still do," he said tilting his head back.
   "Do you know, after you–after you, uhm–left, I was thinking of getting another pet to replace you."
   David straightened his head and stared into her eyes.
   "Well, not to replace you, but I was so lonely, I needed someone. I wasn't going to get another cat–you're irreplaceable, Mr. David."
   "Very good. Continue." He smiled.
   "I didn't want another cat to fall in love with only to lose him to some hussy feline, like that Persian peroxide bimbo you were carousing with."
   "It's my nature," he said wryly.
   "And forget about dogs. They're worse wolves than men. One sniff and they fall head over paws."
   "You're funny," he said as he snickered.
   "I finally discovered the perfect pet who would love me and wouldn't run off."
   "A snake?"
   "Yuk, no."
   "A snail?"
   "No, not affectionate enough. A canary."
   David's eyes lit up.
   "Calm down," she said, "and wipe the drool from your furry chin." They both laughed. "A canary’s song is so beautiful, and because it's caged, I know it's going nowhere."
   "Good choice, Miss Patty. But now that I've come home?"
   "Now that you've come back to me, I don't need no steenkin' bird. I've got my one and only. Oh, Mr. David, hold me."
   "Now I can."
   They held each other like the next day would be their last.
   Unfortunately, the next day would indeed be their last.

   The following morning, Patty awoke to an empty apartment. Mr. David was nowhere to be seen. She thought nothing of it–she was so happy–and began preparation for work. Suddenly, she heard a knock at the door. Who could it be at this early hour, she thought? She opened the door to see David.
   "David. Where were you?" He stared at her with his usual grin, but, as she always saw through his ever-changing grins before, she knew this meant something more–something ominous. "What is it?" she asked. "Are you all right?"
   He said nothing.
   Patty looked over his shoulder to the sidewalk behind him. There stood a platinum blonde woman dressed all in white. Patty looked back at David. He grinned an unhappy grin.
   "You're leaving, aren't you?"
   "I must go."
   "Why? Why David? Why?"
   Her eyes filled quickly. She tried hard not to let a tear fall.
   "It's my nature."
   At those words, Patty closed her eyes. The tears, having nowhere to go, poured effortlessly. Everything went dark. His words repeated themselves in her ears: "I must go. It's my nature." The words became a mumble which faded to nothingness. Her knees gave way and Patty Baron fell to unconsciousness.
   When she finally opened her eyes, she was in a hospital bed. It seemed the same as the one she was in the week before. Her eyes adjusted to the starkness of the room. She saw many faces, it seemed the same faces as before. And, of course, there was Elaine. She could always count on Elaine to be there for her.
   "Patty, how are you feeling?"
   "I'm a little woozy. Oh, Elaine, I'm so sorry to put you through this again."
   Elaine looked quizzical.
   "Are you feeling better, dear? Should I ring for the doctor?"
   "No, no Elaine. I'm feeling fine. Just a bit dazed, that's all. Did I hit my head again? I feel a lump at the back. I seem to be having these blackout spells lately."
   "You fainted, dear. You hit your head on the sidewalk. Nothing serious, no concussion or anything like that."
   "The sidewalk? How did I get there? I was in my apartment when David showed up. Unless I went out to give that minx Cleo a piece of my mind."
   "Uhm, I'm going to get Doctor Jacobson."
   Now it was Patty who looked confused.
   "Elaine, you couldn't have known. I didn't tell anyone. I was in such bliss. David came back. He was a man. My Mr. David. We talked, we laughed, we made plans for the future. Until that Cleo came back, too. It's their atoms. They both regenerated. He was going to leave me for her."
   "Patty, please. Lie back down. There was a car accident. Mr. David–your cat–and the Persian cat next door were both struck and killed. When I told you about it, you passed out and hit your head on the sidewalk."
   "No, no. You're forgetting. I woke up a few hours later. All my friends were here. The doctor said I was all right to leave. I went home and Mr. David came back–as a man. I fell in love with him all over again."
   "Honey, you went unconscious at the accident site. You woke up for the first time just now. You've been out almost two days. We thought we lost you."
   "No, it's–it's not possible. It can't be so. David was real. I'm telling you. I touched him, I held him, I kissed him."
   "Patty, look at your chart. You checked in two days ago. You never left."
   "No, he was as real to me as you are standing right there. He came back to me. How can I prove to you what I feel in my heart to be he absolute truth?"
   Patty closed her eyes.
   "Patty, Dr. Jacobson discovered a skipped beat in your heart. It's nothing to be concerned about. Many people have it and live long, full lives."
   "A problem with my heart? I could have told him that. It feels as if it's not beating at all. Shakespeare said it best, Mine eyes are full of tears, My heart of grief.
    When the doctor arrived, he gave her a mild sedative. It began to take effect. Many thoughts rushed through her head.
   "I didn't go home?"
   "No, dear. You've been here. I've been with you the entire time.
   "David–Mr. David–never came back?" Elaine looked at her with much sympathy. "It was all–it never–oh, Elaine. I'm so embarrassed."
   "Don't be, dear. You hurt your head. It's normal. We're all here for you. The doctor said you'll be all right."
   "All right with what? My life?"
   Life without my beloved Mr. David, she thought. Life as it was? Life alone. She closed her eyes.
   "Patty, dear, you have so much going for you. You're my oldest and dearest friend. I would do anything for you. There are so many who love you unconditionally. All your friends are here. Think of what you have, not of what you're missing."
   "Maybe," Patty said as she drifted into drugged unconsciousness, "maybe–" She stopped, barely awake. Patty's mind wandered in and out. To her, it was only minutes of unconsciousness, to Elaine hours had passed. Elaine noticed Patty's closed eyes in constant motion; she was rehashing the events in her mind. Even Patty's facial expressions showed movement, struggle, agony. Her eyes opened briefly, then closed. Elaine let her be knowing she needed the rest.
   When Patty's eyes opened, she focused outside the window on the dark clouds approaching as she finished the sentence she had started hours before.
   "Maybe–it will be better, Elaine. It–it can't get worse." Elaine held her hand and listened closely. "I know–I know what I’ll do. I'll–I'll get out more. Tomorrow is always–always better, isn't it? I'll go to the pet store. That's it, the pet store. I'll get–yes, I'll get a canary. Wouldn't that be nice, Elaine? The canary's song–it's so–so beautiful. A song of hope." Elaine squeezed Patty's hand and smiled. "What was it that–that dear Emily Dickenson said? Oh, yes–Hope is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul–And sings the tune without the words–And never stops–at all. Oh, Elaine. I can't wait–can't wait for tomorrow. It will be better–won't it?"
   Outside, clean, fresh rain washed down the window pane.

   After a few days of tests at the hospital, the doctor approved Patty's release. She eventually returned to her usual day's events: her work with the animals, house chores, simply getting back to her normal existence.
   One day while home, the phone rang. Patty placed the book she was reading on the couch and lifted the receiver.
   "Hello?" she said.
   "Hello, Patty," a man's voice said. Patty was silent for a second, unsure of who was on the other end. "Is this Patty Baron?"
   "Yes, yes it is. Who is this please?"
   "This is David."
   Patty lowered her head into her hand. "Oh no," she thought, "not again. Please, Lord, not again."
   "Hello? the man repeated.
   "Yes, yes I'm still here. Are you really David?" The man chuckled.
   "Yes, of course I'm David. From the hospital. David Jacobson, the doctor who treated you."
   "Ohhh, of course. I'm sorry Dr. Jacobson. I was just thinking of other things when you called. Is everything all right?"
   "Yes, I was just checking up on you. How are you feeling?"
   "Much better, thank you. I've been taking my medication daily as you prescribed. Everything's fine."
   "Very good. All right then. Well, I guess, uh, well, one more thing."
   "Yes, Dr. Jacobson?"
   "Please, call me David." Patty grinned. "Well, I just wanted to know, I mean, I was wondering–"
   "Yes, what is it?"
   "Well, I mean, I'm so bad at this. Do you think, uh, would you like to go out for dinner some time?" David let out a breath. Patty smiled a Cheshire cat smile.
   "Why, yes. Yes, that would be nice," Patty said.
   "Is tomorrow all right? It's my only night off."
   "Yes, tomorrow will be fine."
   "Whew, great. I'll pick you up around six?"
   "Six it is."
   "Wonderful. I'll see you then, Patty."
   "All right, thank you Mr. David, uh, I mean Dr. David. I'm sorry. David." Patty covered her smile with her hand. They both hung up.
   "Hmmm," Patty thought aloud, "it seems my canary has arrived. I guess tomorrow will be a better day."

"Hope is the Thing with Feathers" copyright by the estate of Emily Dickinson.

Copyright © 2024 by R.P. Infantino