Regret has been after me to take him to China for the last week.

“They eat dog there?” It started when he ambushed me in the hallway after work a week ago, before I’d even kicked off my shoes. He’s almost like a normal cat in many ways. He’ll hide there, in the hallway behind the curtains, with only his twitching tail exposed. If he wasn’t smoking all the damn time he’d maybe pull off the ambush now and then.
As it is, the only frightening about his ambushes is the very real possibility that he’ll set the curtains on fire.
“They eat dogs? Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“There are many, many things you don’t know about.”
“What kinds of things? Never mind. Let’s stay focused,” he said, drawing on his cigarette again. He blew out a perfect smoke ring that hovered in the air between us a few seconds. We both watched as it dissolved.
“Dogs,” I said, heading for my bedroom.
“EATING dogs,” he said, following me into my my bathroom and flicking the expired cigarette into the sink, which he knows pisses me off.
“We aren’t going to China.” I said, trying to get out in front of him.
“Can’t we just go to Chinese restaurant?”
“No. They can’t serve it in the states. It isn’t humane.”
“Your definition of that word is different than mine. Have you ever meet a dog? They don’t factor into humane.”
“Any yet,” I said, “there it is.”
“We need to go to China.”
“The entire idea is ridiculous.”
“You mean to tell me,” he said, “You mean to tell me that given the chance, you wouldn’t eat the flesh of your enemy? That if someone killed that marketing VP, the one one you’re always complaining about, if they killed him, cooked him up, and brought some in for lunch one day, that you wouldn’t eat it? You wouldn’t even try a bite? A nibble?”
“No.”
“That’s where you and I are different,” he said, batting my toothbrush off the counter.
“You’re a fucking talking cat,” I say. “That’s where you and I are different.”
“And until you’re willing to eat your enemies, until then you’ll never amount to anything. Look at you, look at this place. It’s Friday night and you’re talking to your cat.”
I picked him up by the scruff of the neck and threw him out of the bathroom.

We spent the rest of the night playing cards. At around 4 in morning he paused, raking the cards towards him, and looked at the clock.
“Somewhere in China, a restaurant serving dog is opening.”
“Fuck off and go fish.”