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A monologue from the play by Gregory Moss
Huey? Huey? Huey for God’s sake! Huey come here. Huey, I just — I just want to talk to you, Huey. Come here.
Huey, will you please come out from under there and just come over here and talk to me, you stupid cat?
(Sighs. Sits.) Coo-coo? Meow-meow? Kiss-kiss? (Beat.) You peed on my favorite skirt and I didn’t even get mad. Huey! I am so good to you!
I am like your best friend, Huey, in the world! You don’t even have anyone but me! But you know what? I don’t even want you, Huey. I don’t.
My mother made me take you when she got her new couch. I never wanted you. I don’t want a cat! (Beat.) I do want a cat.
— But I want a different cat, Huey! I want a cat that’s gonna play wth me and sit on my lap. That’s your job, Huey.
I want a cat that’s gonna take me out for picnics by the river and dinner at fancy restaurants and who’ll pay for me at the movies and hold the door to let me in.
I want a cat that’s handsome and tall with big hands and black hair and a black leather jacket and looks like Robert Mitchum but talks like Marlon Brando and who’ll walk through the door and make my mom have a fatal HEART ATTACK!
I wanna run through the house screaming and knocking everything down — tear the plastic covers off the furniture!
And jump on your motorcycle and take off across Texas and Arizona and drive all night every night nonstop with the hot desert wind coming through our hair and me and you we just — F*** like crazy rabbits without stopping!
We don’t even pull over, just keep going, me on your lap, pushing on the accelerator, the roads empty and the bike going faster and faster and the moon above smiling and nodding, cheering us on, telling us “HELL YES!”
(Beat.) That’s the kind of cat I want, Huey. And you don’t really do anything like that. Do you. Huey? (Beat.) Huey, if you are sh*tting or something, I will kill you. (Beat.)
I have a pretty red dress. I get my hair done. I take care of myself. I have a voice. I have a body. I can’t see any of it. I have nothing to do with them.
Sometimes, when I’m alone, I don’t even know if I am there. (Beat.) I think, if someone were to touch me — I would know then what I look like.
What my shape is. It would prove it. If he were to kiss me, then I would know I have lips.
If he whispered in my ear, I would know then, that I can hear. If he touched my skin, I would know then That I am here. (Pause.)
I clean up after you, and feed you, and you’re supposed to love me. That’s the agreement. You love me. (Beat.) You love me.