Nude Men

she says, I want some heavy cream, I am not unclear as to how, precisely, she expressed herself. She did not say: I would love to have some heavy cream, or: Please, I haven’t had heavy cream in a long time. No, she said, I want some heavy cream. She seems to speak to me so clearly that I can’t very well not answer her, can I? It would be rude.
    I believe that most of the time I don’t talk to her out loud. I usually “think” to her, but I must admit I did catch myself a couple of times actually speaking to her in a clear voice, as though to a human friend.
    I do try to control myself. Often by not looking at her. But even when my back is turned to her, I can usually still “hear” her. She’s a very expressive cat. So magnetic. I suppose that explains it.
    I have a feeling she’d stop talking to me if my life ever became satisfactory.
    What’s that spoon you’re holding, Jeremy? repeats Minou.
    I had Jell-O for lunch. This is my Jell-O spoon. Aren’t you even going to leave your corner to say hello to me?
    I said hello.
    First of all, no, you did not say hello, you asked me how the weather was. Second of all, I want one of your usual warm welcomes, I say, walking toward her.
    No, she says, cringing farther into the corner.
    No? I stop a foot away from her.
    Please, Jeremy, 1 do not want to be touched today. I’m not in the mood.
    (Could this be her heat?) Nouniou, are you upset about something, I ask her, using one of my many pet names for her, variations of “Minou,” which come to me naturally when I feel particularly affectionate toward her: Ninou, Nounou, Niouniou, Nounette, Nouni, Nounina, my Ninoute. I crouch down in front of her.
    Ah! Not so close. Move back, she says.
    At that moment, the explanation of her behavior comes to me through my nostrils. Oh, Minou. I pick her up, lift her tail, and look at her backside. Her long, beautiful butt hair is covered in poop.
    Let me down, she says, wriggling her back legs.
    It’s the heavy cream I gave you as a treat for breakfast that gave you diarrhea, isn’t it?
    No, it is not the heavy cream. I like the heavy cream. You must continue giving me the heavy cream. It is fate that gave me diarrhea.
    This time I’m going to cut off your butt hair. I keep saying I’ll do it, but I never do, and then this always happens.
    I don’t want you to cut off my butt hair. It’ll be embarrassing to have a bald butt.
    I won’t shave it off, I’ll only trim it. It’s either that or no more heavy cream.
    I want the heavy cream.
    I know you do.
    I feel her tense up, because she knows what comes next: the bath.
    Jeremy, she says, I was thinking. Perhaps today we don’t need to do what we usually do at this point.
    I’m sorry, but we do. Believe me, it pisses me off at least as much as you. It’s a total drag.
    No, no, no, let me finish. I was thinking that we could just let it dry, and then I’ll clean it myself.
    No, that’s disgusting. I’m not going to let you clean it yourself; you could get sick.
    No I couldn’t. How do you think animals in nature do it?
    Animals in nature do not have long hair like yours. You are not a natural animal, you are an artificial one, created by humans. You have been bred.
    She looks at me with a traumatized expression, even though she knew these facts already. I feel sorry for her. To make her feel better, I add, You have pure blood. You are a Persian. I carry her to the bathroom sink.
    I am warning you, Jeremy: If you turn on that water I will never forgive you.
    Relax. We’ve done this many times before, and you know it never hurts you.
    I am warning you, Jeremy, do not turn on the water. I am warning you, do not—do not—do not... Ahhh! she shrieks.
    I have just turned on the water.
    During the bath, she doesn’t say much. She just swears at me occasionally. Her body is stiff and trembling. She hates the blow dryer almost more than the water; I don’t know why. The bath and the drying take two hours. Afterward she’s much calmer and holds no grudge against me.
    She says, Howr war your dar atr wokr?
    I’ve told you a hundred times not to purr while you’re talking. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.
    How was your day at work? she repeats.
    Interesting.
    Tell me aboutr itr, she says, unable to rid herself completely of her purring.
    I met a woman at lunch who’s a painter. She wants me to pose for her. I’ll go see her Saturday. Stop talking now and just purr, please.
    She obeys me. I pick her up and