A Friendly Game
by Gary Inbinder
“When I play with my cat, how do I know that she is not playing with me rather than I with her?” — Michel de Montaigne
Mr. Nemo stared at the chessboard displayed on his computer screen. His facial expression was inscrutable, the eyes vacant like those of a dead fish on ice.
Kafka the Cat entered the room; he padded over the carpet until he reached the foot of Nemo’s desk. The cat cocked his head; his inquisitive green eyes glanced up at his friend.
“Excuse me, Mr. Nemo,” the cat meowed. “Have you lost track of the time?”
“What?” Nemo shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He turned and gazed down at the feline. “Oh, it’s you, Kafka.”
“Were you expecting someone else? Marley’s ghost, perhaps? Anyway, it’s almost an hour past my dinner time. You may skip your evening meal, if you please, but one should never forget to feed his cat.”
“Pardon me, my friend. I’m justly rebuked.” Nemo got up with a slight grunt, straightened his aching back and flexed his sore neck and shoulders. “Follow me to the kitchen,” he said.
Instead of following the shambling old man, the cat scampered ahead. Having reached his destination, Kafka placed a paw on his dinner bowl and mewed impatiently. Nemo filled the bowl with Kafka’s favorite food and added a couple of kitty treats. Then, almost as an afterthought, Nemo popped his own dinner into the microwave and poured a glass of red wine, which he sipped distractedly, his mind still preoccupied with chess.
A few minutes passed; the microwave beeped. Nemo grabbed a potholder, opened the door and removed the hot, plastic tray. The meal consisted of chicken with peas, broccoli and almonds over wild rice. Nemo set his dinner onto a plate, placed the plate on a tray, gathered utensils and a napkin, refilled his half-empty glass, and shuffled off toward the living room.
Kafka stopped eating and glanced up in the direction of Nemo’s receding backside. The old man is distracted, he thought. Maybe I can help. Then he returned to the remains of his dinner.
* * *
Nemo ate his meal while seated upright in a leather recliner facing the TV, the tray balanced on his lap. He sipped from the glass in his left hand while changing channels with the remote in his right. The evening news showed scenes of burning buildings, overturned cars, smashed store windows, spray-painted walls, smoldering rubbish and other miscellaneous wreckage.
A mob of young people shot fireworks and hurled Molotov cocktails, bottles, bricks and other harmful objects at an advancing line of police in riot gear. The announcer described the scene as a mostly peaceful demonstration.
Nemo changed to another news network. The announcer was explaining why the sudden increase of illegal immigrant crossings at the southern border was the result of climate change and neither a “surge” nor a “crisis.”
Nemo switched to a history channel program about Hitler’s rise to power, then flipped to another about Stalin. The next channel had a discussion about gender dysphoria, the next a reality series about homeless families, the next was titled “How to Cook Meth for Fun and Profit,” the next “Hooking Up During the Pandemic,” the next a report about recent UFO sightings, the next about Apocalyptic prophecy. Nemo kept switching channels until he settled on a science program featuring spiral galaxies locked in a cosmic dance of death.
Kafka entered the living room. “Anything good on TV?” he meowed as he approached Nemo.
“Just the usual,” Nemo sighed.
The cat leaped onto a sofa that was separated from Nemo’s recliner by an end table. He climbed onto an armrest, then sauntered across the back of the sofa. In anticipation of Kafka’s customary route, Nemo leaned forward slightly and secured the items on his tray. Kafka continued on to the armrest next to the end table. Then, with an easy and graceful motion, the cat bounded onto the back of the recliner where he rested in a Sphinx-like posture, turning his head to peer over Nemo’s shoulder.
“Spiral Galaxies again?” Kafka meowed.
“Best thing on.” Nemo placed his tray on the end table, then eased back in his chair.
“What about Cat Invaders from Outer Space?”
“That’s $3.99 on demand. Besides, we’ve seen it umpteen times.”
“It’s a classic.”
“One can have too much of a good thing.”
“I believe we’ve seen Spiral Galaxies more times than we’ve watched Cat Invaders from Outer Space.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t have to pay extra for Spiral Galaxies.”
“True, but we know how it ends. Billions of years from now, our galaxy will collide with another and both will disappear into the eternal void.”
“Yes, but we also know how Cat Invaders from Outer Space ends, and four bucks is four bucks.”
Kafka was about to meow, “Don’t be such a tightwad,” when he recalled the probable source of his friend’s distracted mood. “This has something to do with your chess game, doesn’t it?”
“This? What ‘this’ are you talking about?”
“Your preoccupation. I know your moods, my friend. If it’s a chess problem that’s troubling you, perhaps I can help.”
Nemo thought a moment before answering, “Perhaps you can. What’s your current internet rating?”
“Just over 2600.”
Nemo’s eyes widened. “Whew! 2600? I knew you were strong, but not that strong. You must have creamed some tough opponents?”
“You’ve heard of Garabedian?”
“You mean the young, newly-made Grandmaster?”
“None other. Last week, I took him out in a Blitz match.”
Nemo smiled and shook his head. “Imagine that. A GM taken down by a cat. And a common, domestic shorthair at that.”
“Check your privilege,” Kafka snarled. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Sorry, Kafka. I would appreciate your analysis of the game.”
“Very well. What program were you playing?”
“PAL 666.”
“A strong program. What level?”
“Hard. The highest level.”
“That’s 2500 ELO.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I see,” Kafka meowed thoughtfully. A moment later he asked, “Were you playing white or black?”
“White; a king’s pawn opening. PAL played the Reversed Grob Borg/Basman defense.”
“Mew, mew, mew,” Kafka sniggered. “A tricky defense, but only effective against an inferior opponent. I assume you lost?”
“Why assume that?”
“Well, if you’d won, you wouldn’t be in such a rotten mood.”
“I’m not in a rotten mood, and I didn’t lose. The game ended in a draw.”
“Did you make a print out of the game?”
“Of course.”
“Very well. I’ll review it tomorrow and provide you with my analysis and some suggestions for beating PAL’s Reversed Grob.”
“Thanks, Kafka.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Nemo. Now, there’s something you can do for me in return.”
“Name it.”
“Play Cat Invaders from Outer Space, and don’t be such a whiny cheapskate about the four bucks.”
* * *
“A brilliant analysis, Kafka. That 29th move was the key that opened the lock on the endgame. I knew there must be a way to protect the passed pawn on the king side, but I just couldn’t work it out.”
“Thanks, Mr. Nemo. An interesting problem. I enjoyed solving it.” Kafka sat on Nemo’s lap, his forepaws on the desk, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.
“At least chess problems can be solved, unlike so many of life’s quandaries, which remain insoluble.”
The cat turned toward his friend. “Isn’t chess part of life?”
“Chess is a game, and games are indeed part of life. But they are a minor part. Most of us are beset with everyday worries. For example, the intractable problems we see on the evening news.”
Kafka yawned. “That’s why I like chess and Cat Invaders from Outer Space. In my world, intractable problems can be solved if you’re clever enough to discover the solution.”
Nemo smiled. He stroked the cat’s head. Kafka’s eyes narrowed; he purred and curled up in Nemo’s lap.
“Kafka, do you really believe your chess mastery and Cat Invaders’ feline authoritarianism can solve all of my world’s problems?”
Kafka stretched, rolled onto his back, extended and retracted his claws. Then, without answering, he yawned again, closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep.
Nemo lifted his friend gently, got up from the desk chair and carried Kafka across the room to a pillow-lined laundry basket that served as the cat’s bed. He placed Kafka on the pillows. “Have a nice nap, my friend.” Nemo turned off the lights and exited the room.
Kafka dreamed.
Copyright © 2021 by Gary Inbinder
