Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said

by Philip K. Dick

A small section of wall creaked meagerly open and a cat, black and white and very young, entered the room. At once Kathy gathered him up, her face shining. “Dinman’s philosophy,” Jason said. “The mandatory cat.” He was familiar with the viewpoint; he had in fact introduced Dinman to the TV audience on one of his fall specials. “No, I just love him,” Kathy said, eyes bright as she carried the cat over to him for his inspection. “But you do believe,” he said, as he patted the cat’s little head, “that owning an animal increases a person’s empathic—” “Screw that,” Kathy said, clutching the cat to her throat as if she were a five-year-old with its first animal. Its school project: the communal guinea pig. “This is Domenico,” she said. “Named after Domenico Scarlatti?” he asked. “No, after Domenico’s Market, down the street; we passed it on our way here. When I’m at the Minor Apartment—this room—I shop there. Is Domenico Scarlatti a musician? I think I’ve heard of him.”