Lily yawns and stretches awake from her afternoon snooze and struggles to get down from my lap. I place her gently on the floor by my feet; she looks bothered by something, and I’m about to carry her to home base (“Home base!”) to reorient her when she scrambles up my leg and starts humping. This hasn’t really happened before—maybe once or twice in the manic hysteria of puppyhood, but that seemed less sexual and more a function of uncontainable joie de vivre. This, however, is uncomfortable in its single-mindedness of reproductive purpose.
“Lily, stop that.”
I’M! HUMPING! YOUR! LEG!
She grabs my leg tighter with her front paws, doubling down on her thrusting.
“Lily. No! You’re female!” Meredith would murder me for bringing gender into this. Why can’t girls—dammit—women be sexual thrusters? I have to shake my sister’s voice from my head as I pry Lily off my leg. It’s hard at this angle to pull her free, but I get my hands around her chest and yank. Finally Lily’s front paws release like Velcro and I lift her back up in my lap.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Lily shakes her head and her ears flap and she licks her chops. “What was what about?” She is as bewildered as I am.
The octopus opens an eye and says, “That was embarrassing.”
“No one is talking to you.” I say it as dismissively as possible, hoping he’ll go dormant again.
Lily turns three times and then plunks down in my lap with a sigh.
Puppies sighing.
“She can’t help herself anymore. It’s Freudian.”
“Freudian?”
“Sigmund Freud? He was known as the founding father of . . .”
“I know who Sigmund Freud is!” I realize now how obnoxious I sounded when I tried to explain to Jenny who Hermann Rorschach was. “We share the same birthday.” I don’t know why I say that last part, why I engage the octopus in further conversation, but it’s true and I just blurt it out.
“Tauruses,” the octopus says with a shrug.
My phone rings. I can hear it but I can’t see it. “Why do you know who he is, is a better question.”
I spot my phone peeking out from under an accent pillow on the couch and I answer it just as the octopus says, “It’s true that most octopuses are Jungians.”
I can’t take it anymore. “You’re so full of shit!” And then, into the phone, “Hello?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” It’s my mother.
“No.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I can tell my mother is not satisfied with my response and my evasiveness will obstruct any real conversation.
“Religious people at my door. Jehovah’s Witnesses.” This seems more satisfying, although I probably would never have the courage to tell a Jehovah’s Witness they were full of shit. I heard a rumor that Prince, a known member of the religion, has been spotted going door-to-door in my neighborhood to discuss the faith. I can’t chance yelling at Prince.
“You should live in the country. They never come out this far.”
Lily looks up at me expectantly, so I place red ball on the floor by her feet. “Why are you calling?” I realize how rude it sounds as soon as it’s out of my mouth.
My mother sighs. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was wondering if you were okay.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Just busy.” That much is not a lie.
“Did you hear Meredith’s news?”
“Pregnant?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?”
“She’s a good mother,” I say. Red ball glides under the couch and I get down on my knees to retrieve it. Lily, tail wagging, is facing the opposite wall.
“What does that mean? Meredith is a good mother.” I can tell by her tone she thinks maybe I’m implying that she was not.
“What does it mean? It means she’s a good mother. That’s all. She’s a good mother, you’re a good mother. Everyone is a good mother.”
“Well, not everyone.” It sits uncomfortably in the air as we both know her own mother was not. I wonder how often she was chasing her own mother’s affection while I was chasing hers. I picture us both running on a circular track with no beginning and no end. “You used to call me on your dog walks. About this time of day. And then you stopped.”
I watch Lily sniff around for red ball, even though I placed it right in front of her face. “We don’t go on as many walks anymore.”
“Why?”
The octopus looks up at me, grinning. “Yeah. Why?” he repeats.
I clench my fist and take a step forward, drawing back for the punch. “You stay out of this.”
“Excuse me?” my mother says.
“Not you. Not you,” I assure her. I want to kill the octopus, now more than ever.
“Ted, is there someone else there?”
“Lily went blind, Mom.”
“What?”
“She lost her eyesight.” The explanation sounds dumb to me, like maybe she just misplaced it.
“How?”