Amit and I are sitting outside his room in the rehab ward at Sheba Medical Center, talking about life. Amit is only 20, an age when the sky above you is wide open. 20 is an age when you still feel you can do anything. When I was Amit’s age, I wanted to be an industrial engineer or a criminal lawyer or a psychologist or a mathematician. Everything around me seemed so exciting and thrilling. Life looked like a giant menu from which I could pick whatever I wanted. The only fear was that I might make the wrong choice.Amit is a lot less anxious than I was at his age, but just as hungry for life. Sometimes he sends me video clips over WhatsApp and I get to see him learning how to walk on his prosthetic leg, or watching a play, or hanging out on the set of the popular Israeli sitcom “Checkout,” where he’s working as an extra. We originally met because, after he was wounded, he decided he wanted to start writing, and he contacted me via WhatsApp and sent me a few short pieces he’d written. Each time he sent something, we would talk about it for a while, and sometimes I’d suggest he cut a line I didn’t think was working, or add something I thought was lacking.After a few weeks, Amit suggested we write a story together. I told him that I’ve been writing for many years and I don’t really know how to co-author a story, certainly not with someone 40 years younger than me whom I barely know. “It’s easy,” he said, “I’ll write a paragraph and send it to you on WhatsApp, and you write the next bit.” I wanted to explain that that’s not how it works, that short stories are serious business, not something you just punch out on WhatsApp while you’re waiting for the light to change or standing in line at the bank. Except that when Amit talked about co-writing a story, it didn’t sound like serious business even for a second. “So, what do you say?” he asked with a wink, “should I start?”

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Amit and Etgar 2024Kitzi

By Etgar Keret and Amit Bar

Amit: One clear night, Kitzi was waiting for his dinner. He’d been roaming the trash cans for three hours, he’d passed the old Iraqi guys playing backgammon, thinking they might throw him one of those Iraqi cookies, he’d walked all the way up Dizengoff Street, but there wasn’t a crumb to be found. Kitzi kept wandering around Tel Aviv until he reached 9 Yodfat Street, where he enjoyed some supermarket pizza someone had thrown out. While he filled his stomach on pizza squares, he heard the sobbing of a man getting closer.

Etgar: The man was short and hairy and reminded Kitzi of a chubby cat he’d once got into a fight with at Yarkon Park. But unlike that gangsta cat, who almost took off Kitzi’s ear, this guy was crying like crazy. Kitzi had never heard a living creature cry like that. “I guess,” he thought to himself, “this cat-human has been through something really terrible.” He rubbed up comfortingly against the man’s hairy shin, and the man immediately leaned over, with his face still damp, and started petting Kitzi.

Amit: Kitzi enjoyed the petting and purred in delight. The cat-human smiled when he saw Kitzi’s contentment: “At least I can give a cat some pleasure.” The man-cat walked out of the trash can enclosure and Kitzi followed him. When they got to the man-cat’s den, Kitzi noticed on the entryway that his name was Roi Maimon. Roi didn’t see Kitzi following him into the den. He got ready for bed, with Kitzi right behind him. It was late and they’d both had a long night, so they went to bed. Early in the morning, they were woken by a phone ringing.

Etgar: The man answered the phone in a sleepy voice. Kitzi couldn’t hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying, but judging by Roi’s brief answers, Roi was not happy about the call. “A donation for the needy?” he said in a slightly offended voice. “I’m the needy one here, lady. Maybe instead of schnorring money off me, you should make a U-turn and put together a donation for me? I can’t get a job, my girlfriend dumped me ages ago, and two weeks from now my landlord’s going to kick me out of my apartment. Here, I’ll give you my bank account details…” Roi tossed his phone onto the table. The woman who’d called must have hung up. “Poor guy, they’re going to evict him from his den,” thought Kitzi, “I have to find a way to help him.”

Amit: “Where do we start?” Kitzi pondered. Maybe we should have breakfast first. Roi ate a week-old boureka he had left over, and was alarmed to see Kitzi licking up the flakey crumbs he dropped on the floor. Roi decided to toss Kitzi the rest of his boureka, the bit that didn’t even have cheese in it. He walked outside and Kitzi followed him, investigating his moves, climbing all the way up a tree without even realizing he was doing it. Kitzi started meowing at Roi, who was listening to Avi Bitter songs on his earbuds, so Kitzi gave him a little scratch. Roi looked at Kitzi and thought: “Fuck this. I give you food and you attack me?” Just as he was cursing Kitzi, Talia turned up.

Etgar: Talia glared angrily at Roi: “The second I see you cursing that cat, I remember why I left you.” “Hey! I’m so glad you’re here!” Roi exclaimed. “When you said you’d never talk to me again, I thought it would be at least a few weeks till you came back—” “I haven’t come back,” Talia cut him off, “I just came to pick up my flash-drive, I left it at your place. I have some important papers for college on it.” She sighed. “If they weren’t so important, I’d skip the pleasure of seeing you again.”

Amit: “Okaaaaaay,” Roi grumbled and took Talia up to his den, where they both started looking for the flash drive. While they searched, Kitzi tried to figure out how he could get them back together. His belly was signaling hunger. On his way to the food room, he came across the flash drive. Kitzi meowed to alert the two of them, and they came to see. Then it occurred to Kitzi that if Talia took the flash drive, she’d go back to her home and nothing good would come of it. So, hoping to get something to eat and help Roi, he swallowed the flash drive.

Etgar: “I don’t believe it!” said Talia, “Your crazy cat ate my flash drive!” “He’s not my cat,” Roi mumbled. “So he’s not yours,” Talia fumed, “but he still ate my flash drive. With all my seminar papers about infertile couples in the 21st century.” “What?! The one with all that research about affairs among married tech workers? You put so much work into that!” Roi said. Talia started crying, and for a moment Kitzi felt guilty, but only for a moment, because right then Roi hugged Talia and apologized for everything. He really had behave liked a dumbass, he couldn’t explain why he’d got that bee in his bonnet, and all he was asking for now was another chance.

Amit: Kitzi felt very pleased with himself: Talia and Roi had fallen back in love thanks to him. “What does anyone need in this world except love?” he asked himself: “Nothing.” A few days later, Roi and Talia forgot about Kitzi, who went back to roaming the streets of Tel Aviv: a lonely cat, looking for meaning and love in the trash cans of the city.

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This piece was published in Hebrew in Yedioth Ahronoth on August 9, 2024

Translated by Jessica Cohen