The porter’s loud knocking startled me out of my sound sleep and thankfully, interrupted a dream about trying to find the toilet; I had to pee.
I rolled towards the side of the bunk and heard an angry, “Meow!” A cat jumped down to the lower bunk. A cat? What the hell?!
The porter’s knocking got louder accompanied by a staccato stream of Italian that I understood to mean, “Open the damned door!”
I jumped down from my bunk, and holding my drooping pajamas at the waist, stumbled to the door and opened it. There was the porter, red faced, hands up, palms out, “Signore, vuoi la prima colazione, oppure no.”
“Breakfast, signore. You want?”
“Oh, yes. Please.”
“Sì, per due?”
“Uh, yeah, for two.”
He turned and stalked away, and I closed the door and looked around the compartment. Jenny wasn’t there. Probably in the loo, I thought. Had she brought in the cat? How the hell else had it gotten in? I checked the bottom bunk, but it wasn’t there. I looked up above. Not on the top bunk either.
“Is he gone?”
“Jenny? Where are you?” I said, looking around the ridiculously small compartment.
“Here,” she said, as the cat slinked from under the covers hanging down from the bottom bunk.
“Where?” I said, looking around the ridiculously small compartment.
“Right here, you nincompoop,” the cat said. The cat? The cat said?
“And be careful the next time you’re rolling over in bed. You almost rolled right on top of me,” the cat said.
I stared at the cat. I rubbed my eyes. I stared at the cat. “Jenny?” I said.