Carlos A. Avitia-Velazquez

The Favorite Cat

There once was a man who lost his favorite cat.
He searched and searched, but to no avail: his beloved cat was nowhere to be found.

“Woe is me!” he cried at the end of another fruitless search one day, “There is no use, the search is futile; my beloved cat is gone—he is no longer!”

At that moment, he heard a tapping on the door leading out of his room (he had not thought of
looking past there before).

Tap, tap, tap.

He opened the door—Lo and behold, it was his cat! “Where have you been, my dearest cat!” the
man shouted, lifting the feline into a loving embrace. “I was here all along, my master,” the cat
replied solemnly, “all you had to do was believe.”

Then the man awoke. His favorite cat lay sleeping at his feet.

He was still hungover.



“You’re fired.”

He handed back the paper in silence.

“Take what you can today; you can come back tomorrow before noon if there’s anything else left, but I would advise against it.”

So that’s it, he thought, turning to his desk. Slowly, mechanically, he began to gather up the various trinkets he had scattered around his office cubicle over the last two years. He could not bring himself to look at the man standing before him—the man with the fake tan and plastic youth, the silk tie and gold watch. The man he had hoped to be better than one day.


He looked up.

“This isn’t the job for you anyway. You know that.”

He did now.

“Take care.”

Then the man, the president of his division, paused awkwardly for moment. He added
quietly: “son.”

And with that, he turned abruptly, walking briskly back to his gleaming corner office.