My covid-19 companions are a pair of cats. Brother and sister. In the past when I’ve had only one pet I always felt bad about them not having a playmate especially when I wasn’t around, so I got this pair.

Their foster mom told me they were highly bonded. Great! They’ll be happy together and I’ll have two furry friends to keep me company. Well, they’re furry and they certainly keep themselves company but in terms of being good company to me they, quite frankly, fall short.

They are excellent at getting in trouble. I hear a wild ruckus at night as they thunder across the hardwood floors upstairs and downstairs and all through the house. I hear a thump and wonder what I’ll find upended in the morning. It’s a miracle none of the lamps they’ve knocked over have broken…yet.

But they are quite beautiful, especially the brute I named Cosmo, short for Cosmos the flower. He’s kind of a big lug that I suspect might not be all that bright. I catch his sister hiding in wait behind doors then launching an attack as he inevitably saunters into the room blissfully unaware. She’s a trickster by necessity; he is almost double her weight.  

These last few months I’ve gained a new appreciation for these ingrates. Despite their deep abiding ambivalence to my very existence they do bring me some pleasure. Their preternatural athleticism astounds me and their antics entertain as they play with their toys, snag nuts out of bowls, root out dust bunnies and toss rubber bands into the air.

They are also wonderfully photogenic, posing sphinxlike or basking in the sun. I like to think it’s their way of making me happy, being willing models.

Painting: Surveillance © Lissa Banks 2020