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It was supposed to be a normal day in the Kirkby training ground.
Unfortunately for Klopp, no day in Kirkby training ground was ever normal. Something always happened, whether it was weird, unhinged, crazy, adorable, devastating, or something different.
On Thursday morning, Klopp could see this day panning out to be normal. They'd just earned a barely-scrape-past-the-opposition, boring 1-0 win at Anfield; but if Klopp had to choose, he'd take thirty-eight of these wins without hesitation. Thirty-eight boring 1-0 wins meant a clean sheet each match, three points, and an assured top spot in the table. And after yesterday's 1-0, Klopp just wanted to finish work early, kick back and relax for a couple of hours, and roast cheap, awful movies with the rest of the staff.
But as the boys warmed up for a light training session--there was no time for a recovery day with the Premier League's tight scheduling--Klopp noticed one thing that could completely upset any potential normalcy.
Alisson was missing.
“Claudio.” Klopp tried to remain calm as he walked towards where the goalkeeping coach stood. “Have you seen Ali anywhere?”
“No, not for the past hour or so. I thought he’d be with Bobby or something.” Taffarel held up something that made Klopp panic even more—Alisson's goalkeeper gloves. “I found these in the locker room. They were exactly where I saw them last time we played.”
Klopp dropped his clipboard, staring into space as he paced in small, tight circles around the pitch. “ Scheisse, scheisse, not good, not good at all. Oh God, when did I last check on them, breakfast? And now it’s ten in the morning, ach mein gott, if something happened to that kid I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Whoa, calm down bro!” Taffarel stood in front of Klopp, handing him the clipboard. “Breakfast finished at eight-thirty. Ali couldn’t have gone that far in one hour and thirty minutes, his car is still in the driveway.”
That didn’t serve to reassure Klopp, not one tiny little bit. “He’s speedy for a goalkeeper, and he can hide pretty well.”
“Well, I know that Ali’s perfectly safe.” Taffarel instantly regretted saying that. He had no proof to back it up; plus, what if Alisson was in danger?
Klopp didn’t buy it. “How do you know?”
“It’s the instinct that comes with being two years older.” Taffarel glanced at Robinson, who was turning cartwheels all over the training ground for absolutely no reason whatsoever. “Though being four years older than Trev didn’t help Robin whatsoever.”
Klopp continued pacing, completely ignoring the fact that one of his players was doing gymnastics without breaking a bone. “I’m still worried about him.”
Taffarel opened his mouth to say something when a muffled “oof” came from behind them. Taffarel and Klopp stared at the goalkeepers’ wall to find Alisson in a heap on the floor, in a rather peculiar position.
“What the heck?! Ali, oh thank goodness!” Klopp immediately got to work, helping the keeper to his feet and brushing off the dust. “What are you doing?!”
“I climbed over the wall. I kind of forgot the part where I had to get down, though.” Alisson took out something from behind his back—his gray training sweater. “You’re never going to believe what happened to me.”
Van Dijk spotted Alisson holding the bundled-up jacket in his hands, and he too became concerned. “Ali, what's wrong?”
Alisson didn't respond immediately. Instead, he carefully unbundled the gray jacket to reveal a very small, very wriggly calico kitten. “Look at this, guys! He's so fluffy, isn't he?”
“Oh. My. God!” Bajcetic pounced upon Alisson, trying to snatch the kitten from the jacket. “It is so cute , look at this cutie, everyone!”
“Alisson Becker.” Klopp ran a hand through his hair, which he could feel was graying by the minute. “Tell me you did not bring a stray cat to training.”
“I couldn't leave him out there in the rain! So I bundled him in the jacket and he came here.” Alisson cradled the kitten in one hand, gently scratching it between the ears. “Boss, can we keep him? He's so small and precious, there's no way he can even dream of causing harm.”
“I expected this question to come as soon as you showed it to me.” Klopp pointed to the kitten, all cozy in Alisson's hand. “First of all, it’s highly unlikely that the kitten's a male. Calico cats are almost always female.”
“Okay, she’s adorable.” Alisson brought the kitten closer to Klopp, letting the baby animal climb onto his shoulder. “So can we keep her boss? Please?”
Klopp allowed the kitten to run onto his hand, and it settled there. The kitten was unleashing the same baby eyes that Alisson was giving him.
Okay, now this was just getting ridiculous as well as overwhelmingly cute.
“We’ll put up a lost and found number online and ask around,” Klopp finally decided, handing the kitten back to Alisson. “If we find her owner, we have to give her back. But if there’s no owner…”
Alisson didn’t stick around to hear the last part. He took off with the kitten, shouting to the rest of the team to come and take a look at “their newest bundle of joy”.
Klopp shook his head with a fond smile. “Children, Claudio. The whole lot of them are children.”
“They’re practically your children,” Taffarel pointed out, watching the boys obsess over the kitten and fool around. “But yeah, you’re right.”
*
"We could name her Shallot," Thiago suggested, setting a saucer of milk on the kitchen floor near the stove. The kitten eagerly scampered towards it, almost tripping over her tiny paws. "I mean, look at those flecks of yellow in her eyes!”
“Shallot? Come on Thi, you can do better, man!” Tsimikas watched as the kitten sniffed the milk, not beginning to eat until she was sure it was safe. “She seems like a little smartie. What about Hypatia?”
Bajcetic frowned halfway through a mouthful of shrimp muffin. “What the heck is Hypatia?”
“Language, hombrecito, ” Thiago warned, still stirring the pot on the stove. “But I am curious, Kostas, what’s the meaning behind that name?”
“Hypatia was a Greek philosopher. She’s just as smart as the other guys, but the reason they don’t talk about her as much as they should is because she’s a woman.” Tsimikas grinned as the kitten decided she was finished eating, batting at the shoelaces of his Nike trainers. “And we can call this little furball Hypatia da God!”
“If you call the kitten Hypatia da God, it’s gonna be the first time we’ll ever see Ali slap someone.” Bajcetic picked up the calico, stroking her fur. “What about Juguetona? That means playful in Spanish.”
“Too long and not cute.” Thiago reached over the counter, scratching the kitten’s soft underbelly with one hand while whisking cream into his sauce with the other. “If you want a cute name, stick with Shallot or go to Ali for advice.”
*
“Maria?”
“No.”
“Sofia?”
“No.”
“Camila?”
“No!” Van Dijk paced around the gym, too deep in thought to exercise. “Come on Roberto, we need to find a name for the kitten, and fast.”
“Why so fast?” Firmino climbed down from the elliptical he’d been using. “I mean, it’s not like the kitten’s going to disappear.”
“Yeah, but if the boss sees us naming it, he’ll get attached and let us keep it. Plus, I know that calico has no owner. There wasn’t a tag, and I felt for one of those little identity chip thingamajigs and there was none.” Van Dijk turned to Firmino, hands on his hips. “Simply put, the boss could accidentally send the kitten back to the wrong owner. And Ali doesn’t need any more heartbreak—first, you leaving, now the kitten? Not. Happening.”
Firmino backed away from Van Dijk in alarm. The Dutchman, while he sometimes appeared cool and standoffish, was never this angry. “Listen, Virgil, I already told Ali why I’m leaving. It’s for the youngsters, I’m not like Philippe.”
It was evident from his demeanor that Van Dijk was frustrated and irked about something. The only question was, what was it? “I know that already, we all know that. We’ve told you, like, a hundred and twenty-one times.”
“Still doesn’t make me forget how much I missed him,” Firmino shot back. “I know Ali’s going to miss me, and I’ll miss him too. He’s my friend.”
“I’m your friend as well!” Van Dijk suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs. His frame loomed over Firmino, startling the forward. “Of course, Flaco and Ali are going to miss you, you three are literally brothers. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have other friends! For Cruyff's sake, other people care about you and are going to miss you!
"I may be calm as you like, but that doesn’t mean I’m not bleeding on the inside. I...” Van Dijk's voice grew thick and he had to stop for a moment, clearing his throat. "Every time we talk about you leaving we talk about how the Latino Reds won't be the same without you. The whole team needs you, Roberto, I need you here. I don't want to say goodbye like I had to say goodbye to Gini. Soon it'll be you, then maybe Cody, and then...do you even like me anymore?"
Firmino gasped, pulling Van Dijk into a tight hug. "Ay, caramelinho , of course I care! What twisted world would it be if I didn't? We might not be as close as you are with Cody and Joel or as I am with Flaco and Ali, but we're amigos . And I never leave my friends behind."
Van Dijk chuckled weakly, allowing himself to melt into Firmino's warm embrace. "Robinho?"
"Sim, caramelinho?"
Van Dijk pointed to the kitten, who'd randomly strayed into the gym room while chasing a ball of yarn. "I think we have a name for the kitten."
*
“Moneta?” Klopp watched the kitten mess around in his desk drawer, pushing around the box of dominoes. “Sounds cute. But why Moneta?”
“Well, Moneta is the Roman goddess of memory,” Firmino explained. “It was Virg’s idea.”
Van Dijk nodded, allowing the kitten to climb up his arm. “We realized that the only things keeping us and our former players together are love, will, and memory. And since Venus and Vis don’t work for the kitten, we thought that Moneta would be the right idea. To remind us to keep our bonds strong through the power of memory.”
The rest of the team enthusiastically chorused their agreement. That is, until Tsimikas spoke up.
“Moneta or not, she’s still not exactly ours, remember? We have to wait for the boss to confirm that she’s not anybody else’s cat.”
Alisson's smile disappeared as he remembered what Klopp had said. “Oh right.”
“Actually…” Klopp showed the boys his computer screen, clicking on his inbox. “This might surprise you, but the kitten does have an owner. But they aren’t from around here.”
Thiago’s jaw went slack as he tried to process what he’d just heard. “The kitten walked that far? But it’s been raining on and off for the past three days.”
“Moneta didn’t walk that far. She was delivered!” Klopp clicked on an email and projected it onto the big screen in front of his desk. It was from none other than Jesse Marsch.
Greetings man! My cat had five kittens a while ago and they’re ready to be adopted. I thought it was about time you guys got a family pet, so I sent you guys a little calico kitten in the mail. She should be by the mailbox by Thursday morning, so it’ll be a good present for when you beat Fulham.
I gave you the toughest little cookie in the litter so this way nobody can mess around with her. She likes to run away so she might as well not be in her box by the time she comes. Your bud, Jesse.
P.S.: Tell me what you name her 🐱
“Marsch sent Moneta to us! That explains why I found her hiding in a box this morning.” Alisson tied a soft red ribbon around Moneta’s neck as if it was a collar, cradling her in his arms as if the kitten was a human baby. “So can we keep her boss?”
Klopp closed his laptop, turning off the projector screen. “If Jesse sent her, I don’t see why not. Although there is one problem…”
“What’s that?” the entire team asked at the same time.
Klopp pointed to Ludger, who glared at Moneta from his cage. “Ludger doesn’t exactly like having animal companions.”