The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [27]
But tonight I had no patience for this cat. I had enough on my hands already with dinner for guests.
“Go!” I whispered, bulging my eyes at his serpentine irises. As if conceding, Dracula sauntered into the living room.
I poked my head into the room. Richard and Sam were sitting on the threadbare love seat, swathed in dim orange light. Ben was seated in a wicker armchair, and the three were engaged in a conversation I couldn’t quite make out above the splattering oil. But I didn’t see Dracula anywhere.
“Can I help with anything?” Sam asked me.
“Nope, everything’s under control.” I smiled. I lowered the stove’s heat to a simmer and partially covered the pan to cook off some of the liquid.
“Smells good, whatever it is,” said Richard.
It did smell good. I wondered whether they were all hungry. I wanted to kick myself for not coming up with something to serve as an appetizer. It had all seemed so simple: Cook up a big pot of something, spread it on the table, and eat. That at least was the way Erin and I had enjoyed our dinners before. When you’re cooking, you often get to taste as you go along, having scraps and other little “chef’s treats.” This time, only I had that privilege.
I suddenly remembered that I needed to get the rice started. I pulled out my old rinky-dink rice steamer from a cabinet; it made a cacophony of clangs as it hit every other pot on its way. I quickly filled it with my approximation for four servings of rice, topped it with some water, and flicked on the cooK switch. A few moments later, I thought it better to play it safe and prepare at least enough rice for six. The steamer coughed up a faint cloud of vapor when I lifted the lid. Holding the bag of rice in one hand, I quickly poured another stream of grains into the bowl, filled the upturned lid of the steamer with some water from the faucet, and clanged it down shut.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
An all-too-familiar pinching sensation warmed three spots on my shin and ankle. I looked down just in time to see Dracula slink away, having sunk his claws into me three times in the mere blink of an eye. I was wearing jeans, but still, without those boots, I could feel my skin welling up with little droplets of blood. The cat was now looking quite cozy, sprawled out on the living room floor as if expecting a nuzzle in return.
“How do you live with that thing?” Richard asked. “I should have brought Amazing over tonight.” Amazing, a pit bull terrier, was Richard and Sam’s dog.
I scratched my leg.
“Why don’t you come over here and stop cooking for a moment,” said Ben.
“All right.” I glanced at the partially covered pan on the stove; the brown sauce was gently bubbling, and the pan emitted a steady puff of steam from one side.
“So how’s your blog going?” Sam asked.
“Oh, it’s going. Right now, I’m just trying to get a handle on all the technical stuff,” I told them, truthfully
“Your brother helps with all that, doesn’t he?”
“Yep. So it’s just a matter of tracking him down on the phone and asking him to fix stuff.” I saw that everyone in the room had a drink in their hands but me. I got up to get another beer from the kitchen. Dracula took that as his cue to reenter the living room.
“Don’t come any closer,” Richard warned. He was waving the cat away with one baggy-panted leg.
“Good kitty,” said Ben. No one was convinced.
Dracula slinked into one corner, eyeing each of us dartingly His predator instinct settled on Sam, and he began to move in on his next target.
“Okay, you can come closer ... if you want to be nice...” Sam offered her hand to the cat, who immediately struck at it.
“Ow!” She frowned at her finger, with its newly acquired claw streaks.
“Maybe it’s time he lost his privileges?” Ben suggested.
I nodded in agreement. We’d have to shut him up in Erin’s room. I went into the bathroom to search for the Band-Aids. When I came back to the living room, the cat was nowhere to be found.
“He went under