Cat Story
By aspidistra
- 467 reads
Cat Story
It was sometime late October, when my embattled and beleaguered wife,
Jane finally left me. I came home perhaps a couple of days after the
last fearful argument and the debauch that followed. Next to the
unruffled bed, lay crumpled sheets of A4 paper emblazoned with the
bitter watermarks of spilt tears. The letter explained it all. My
persistent selfishness, constant boozing, womanising and arrogance were
all listed. My wrongs, misdemeanours, my faults illustrated by the
shaky sentences of a lover spurned. Episodes recounted that had left
unhealed scars, un-tendered and raw by my lack of concern for her
emotional needs. Over time a bitter fallout had accumulated in our
partnership like toxins, their fruit of poison spores now ready to
burst from the diseased corpse of our desolated intimacy.
It was, the simple neglect of her needs and erosion of consideration
that I'd shown after the first year of our marriage, that was the root
cause. It was like I was infected with a retrovirus that had disabled
the immune system of commitment, of care, of love for my part of the
marriage, as time went on.
I reflected with perfunctory sorrow; my infidelities, my drinking and
mindless disregard for her feelings had been terrible - I'd put the
poor girl through psychological torture. In our frequent arguments I'd
always gone for the weakest spot, finding where it really hurt her most
and then amplifying the pain with my callous, calculated remarks.
Deliberately incisively wounding her, diminishing her faltering sense
of worth.
"Evil bastard", I thought of myself. Worse, I couldn't really
understand why I'd behaved such a cruel way, aside from being possessed
with a perversity of spirit.
Jane, bless her had just been unfortunate to have entered into my world
of egocentric excesses I told myself. The mood swings and tempers, the
rants and resentments that exerted themselves on the fabric our daily
lives. In consideration though, she was to blame as well, after all I
didn't ask her to fall in love with me, did I. It was her folly, her
fault that she had believed in such ridiculous notions like 'true
love,' in faithfulness and responsibility - I'd tried to tell her
painful realities in vain. The poor girl depended on me; with blind
naivet? she hoped, so foolishly that things would improve. But no, I
was right yet again -justified, our parting no more than a fitting
conclusion to my premise.
"You not only destroyed what we had - but destroyed me," she had
written. Remorse and regret momentarily coursed through me. As I poured
myself a scotch, a tear welled in my left eye and dribbled pathetically
down my cheek.
So it's over I resolved. Too bad, but things had gone on 'too bad' for
'too long'. My sadness soon displaced by a perverse glee in my
solitude. More time alone to indulge in my own abandon, a wicked voice
from within me revelled in my newfound status as a single man. I was
soon to find comfort with my King Edward cigars and a bottle of single
malt. Now satisfied, I could indulge myself once again with impunity
without her nagging tongue, forever scolding. Alone, alone and free - I
satisfyingly reassured myself.
Alone I was not to be for long though. Drifting off into soporific
slumber in my armchair, Sinatra lulling me from the CD player, I was
awoken by a terrific crash from the bedroom. Alerted, I ran in to see
the dressing table mirror smashed and side window gaping open. Amongst
the glass and broken pottery from the table - two fiercely luminous
green eyes stared out from the back of the dresser. My senses spun as I
was assaulted by the screech of feline salutation -"Miaooooowwwwwwww."
I felt giddy, my heart missing a beat as I was seized by the dread of
surprise - my mind unfurling and trying to make rational of the
irrational.
It was that fateful afternoon that the exclusively black cat named -
'Puddy' as a ridiculous nametag betrayed, made its entrance into my
life. Cuddly moniker aside the beast had an almost ethereal presence.
With its fierce emerald eyes resonating eerie intensity and black
outline of exquisite proportions, it was certainly 'otherworldly.' It
is said that the ancient Egyptians ascribed to the cat a god like
status and 'Puddy' with his sleek graces and his regal manifestation
was the living illustration that this was not misplaced.
Following the revelation of its entrance, the cat lunged towards me and
I picked it up and placed it upon my lap. Perhaps it had simply wanted
a friend. Now that Jane had gone it would be company for me. As I
stroked it, I calmed down and 'Puddy' began to purr. After preening and
cleaning itself with its bright pink sandpaper textured tongue it
acquiesced into slumber. Whilst it slept, I finished off the bottle of
single malt, perplexed by the arrival of this uninvited guest.
'Puddy' was soon to make itself at home in my apartment. It found a
linen basket in which to curl and sleep in and soon began clawing and
gnawing away at various items of designer furniture to my annoyance.
However, it soon settled down though and after a few days I found
myself feeling some fondness for the creature. A week or so passed and
after the chaos of the break up with Jane I decided to get back to
work.
I had a lot of assignments to complete and work for various magazines
in the offing. The last year of my doomed marriage had been spent
drowning in a sea of alcohol and I had to get back on track now the
primary excuse for my excesses had departed. I began banging out words
on my word processor and researching topics for my work, but my
concentration it seemed was not what it used to be. Whether it was
writers block I could not say but 'Puddy' didn't help matters at all -
leaping and lurching upon me at almost every inopportune occasion and
frustrating my creative efforts. One occasion whilst drunk, I found
myself almost striking the creature with the back of my hand. This
situation couldn't go on. I had begun to tire of its persistent
attentions and was concerned that I might harm the poor beast. Consumed
with guilt as I had always considered myself an animal lover I made
enquiries in the local neighbourhood on whether anybody had lost a
feline of Puddy's description.
BLACK CAT FOUND LAST WEEK TUESDAY - TIMID &; GOOD NATURED - but
exceptionally difficult to catch. ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF 'PUDDY'. - I
completed the Lost Pets form in Starling News.
Alas! These were met with no response and my uninvited houseguest
began to leave its mark more and more on my humble abode - becoming a
fixture. As the weeks passed, much to my relief things improved though.
My concentration returned and 'Puddy' became less of an annoyance. Life
was becoming more ordered in contrast to the last few years of chaos
that had categorised the end my unfortunate relationship with
Jane.
Puddy filled the void that Jane had left more than amply. Happy times
were here again! Weekly shops to Tesco's were laboured with the
mandatory trips of the Pet &; Household aisles. My bags brimming
with Kat-A-Chunk, Puss-E-Glut - for shiny eye and tail, Binki -Po
litter for Puddy's toiletry requirements and other such products aimed
for the likes of my new four-legged friend filled my trolley.
Time passed on and I noticed that I felt more confident and relaxed
than I had for many years. Free from the constraints of marriage, of
convention and for the most responsibility (with the exception of
ensuring that Puddy was fed) I ruminated that a renaissance of the
reckless hedonism that had characterised my early twenties was about to
dawn. Victoria Haines, the stunningly attractive editor of a magazine I
frequently contributed to, invited me out to lunch at 'Coaster's', a
trendy fashionable restaurant in the West end, and this I hoped was to
be followed by a mandatory night of clubbing and recreational drugs
bingeing.
I wore my most fitting number by Paul Smith and took especial care in
grooming myself for our planned night of debauchery. As I proudly
admired myself in front of the bathroom mirror, 'Puddy' slinked past
me.
"Well, then Puddy - who's the sleekest cat in the house tonight?" I
uttered to my childish amusement. I was feeling good and as Victoria
was a renowned predatory female, I hoped that if our relationship
blossomed it would further my career. She possessed all the contacts
and networking skills that an aspiring writer like myself could wish
for. Selfish as always, I knew what I wanted and how to get it this
time - and the night was surely set for success.
We arrived at Coasters just after eight; fine wines were supped with
glee and a host of culinary delicacies were feasted on.
I glanced over the joint, it was full of pretentious arty types who
minced, pranced and posed around the bar with the arrogance of
satisfied greed. Definitely my type of place! After the meal, I
politely picked up the tab and ushered the lovely Victoria into a taxi,
destination my flat with immoral intent. I smiled to her as we veered
away from the concrete confluences of the city and onto suburbia,
recollecting with glee how I had cunningly procured some cocaine from
the doorman at the restaurant, to see us into oblivious night.
We arrived back at my place in good spirits. Victoria was having a
great time and was keen to get started on the coke - the revelry was
soon to begin! Success once more had come easily for me! I reflected
with assurance on our discussion in the restaurant, I'd surely get more
work than I could wish for. Euphoria dawned - astounded by my luck,
good fortune and the power of my not so insignificant charms.
I entered the kitchen and realised that something was wrong. Was it a
temporary derangement of the senses - what was that rancid overpowering
smell? I glanced over at Victoria and clocked her grimace; it was
evident that the smell was only too real and not some nasal
hallucination. Victoria sat down on a chair - I tried to stop her as I
realised with rising trepidation what had occurred. She had just seated
herself on an impracticable large spooled pile of cat turd. Puddy it
seems in my absence had decided to defecate and urinate all over the
apartment. My guest soon realising her faux pas, foolishly wiped her
slacks - shit smearing all over them. A ball of vomit projected from
her mouth. So shocked she could barely speak. Revulsion, disgust and
disbelief simultaneously wrecked through her body. I tried to apologise
in vain, "I'm tt-terribly.." but I couldn't manage to get the words out
of my mouth in time - what could I have said? Within moments she had
fled and left me alone with the stinky, sticky dilemma.
Dejected and thoroughly pissed off - I decided to accost the beast, but
alas Puddy had opted for a night on the tiles. I searched high and low
but to no avail. Seeking solace I decided to take comfort with help of
my Columbian nose powder. Damn, where was it? In the earlier confusion
I must have dropped it. I then saw the folded paper wrap on the floor.
Relief! - but I picked it up only to be hit by the pungent reek of cat
piss. The cocaine now transformed into the foul yellow paste of
cat-piss hydrochloride. I'd only dropped the wrap into one of Puddy's
sticky pools!
Next morning calm and sober, I put it down to experience; I suppose
Puddy wuddy had been ill, perhaps. I frantically tried to phone
Victoria to apologise, but the messages were left unanswered. Two days
later a large envelope arrived containing the latest submissions I'd
made to Victoria and a letter.
I tentatively read the note -
"Dear Bill - Thank you, for your recent submission. However we regret
to inform you that we feel that we are not a suitable publisher for
you.
We will not consider any further work from yourself and suggest you
find another outlet that is more compatible with your style,
Yours
Victoria Hancock
Editor"
Pissed off - I was crazed. All because of that dratted cat! This was a
terrible blow to my confidence, but hey - I was a fighter, I would use
all my other contacts and get ship shape again. This was just
trivial!
I worked with a fury all that week, on projects as diverse as
restaurant reviews, several book criticisms intended for the Times
Educational Supplement and a polemical essay for a quasi-Marxist youth
magazine. Puddy with some astuteness had sensed my wrath and
disappeared for a few days, only returning when my mood had stabilised.
By now though I was beginning to regret my resentment of the beast.
After all it hadn't been deliberate on the part of the poor pussy
wussykins had it? - It couldn't possibly have been? It was just one of
those unfortunate incidents that can occur. Well why, why, wuddy about
it, Puddy?
Back to my writing - I toiled and toiled on my work but to no avail.
Only the occasional rejection slip or a sorry, no thanks letter from
editors. I began scouring other publishers and writing columns aimed at
the more obscure of magazines. Nothing - then it came.
Excitedly I tore at the envelope, eagerly scanned the letter of
acceptance and then?I almost choked as I remembered???
In a fit of desperation and with the intent of satire I'd submitted a
short story to "Paw &; Claw magazine" - of 1,400 words - the subject
matter an amusing tale about a cat. Along with the letter, which
delightedly told me that my article would be published in next month's
edition was a copy of my work, which had been horrifically edited -
badly enough to make me look like an illiterate imbecile! Enclosed was
a cheque for a miserly Five pounds forty-three pence with a certificate
announcing proudly that I was the 'Cat-Story' runner-up! Runner up
indeed! This was an insult and disgrace against my established
credentials as a writer. It was a nightmare - a bloody nightmare! The
cretins should have realised the implicit irony within the piece.
A week passed and I thanked my stars when I received another royalty
cheque from a piece I'd commissioned years before, landed on the mat. I
stocked up a horde of groceries, alcohol and recreational drugs - not
forgetting a plenitude of Mackerel, Sardines and other fishy products
for Puddy to brunch, snack or gorge himself on when he desired. Happy
times were here again!
Ah! It has just been a slip I told myself. Soon everything will be
fine, the World is once again my oyster - I reassured myself. With
concern you might note, I observed that such trite phrases and clich?d
statements were beginning to infiltrate my writing, even my patterns of
thought and speech. Was I slowly going mad? The unwitting host of some
parasitic brain infection spread from cat to man? Or was it just the
backlash of my consciousness, still reeling from the terrible suffering
I'd made Jane endure. I dismissed these thoughts, as paranoia or
coincidence and got back on with life as before.
To supplement my income at this time I was forced to go back to regular
employment. I began teaching IT skills at a local college, along with
lessons in elementary numeracy and literacy. It was at the college that
I met Sue.
Sue was a nice, pleasant girl who worked in the library as an
administration assistant. She was also studying for an MA in Politics
(like my estranged wife had before her) and so intellectually she
fitted the bill. We shared similar taste in music and it was obvious
that she found me attractive. I wooed her and coaxed for several weeks
until I asked her to accompany me to a gig at Scott's jazz bar in
town.
Once again the night started well, I was brimming with confidence and
invited her back to mine afterwards.
We got in and settled down to a video and some Chinese I had ordered
from the takeaway with a couple of bottles of Pinot Noire. Sue,
radiant, relaxed and so damn sexy! Me a little drunk, but on good form.
I entertained with my witty little anecdotes and tales of escapades
during my wild student years. Charlie Parker's saxophone whistled
bird-like phrases from the stereo, setting the mood for seduction -
what could go wrong!
Sue asked if she could make use of the bathroom for a few moments -
"Certainly," I directed her, "no problem." I waited with anticipation
for her return. Seconds later I jumped up - startled, confused by the
most ear piercing shrill.
I rushed in there and to my horror found that Puddy, had leapt out from
a hiding place in the airing cupboard and was smothering the poor Sue,
subjecting her to his unwelcome catty caresses. This you'd agree was
bad enough in itself, but Sue unfortunately experienced chronic and
violent allergic reactions to cats. Her nose had begun to almost run
away with itself, her eyes streaming and face swelling like a
Puffa-fish. She had begun to hyperventilate and had assumed a worrying
shade of blue. Her deterioration was so swift, so dramatic - I had to
resort to calling an ambulance. She was rushed to hospital and injected
with a combination of high-powered tranquillizers and anti-allergy
drugs. It was like a nightmare!
Back from the hospital I found myself deeply disturbed. My thoughts and
perceptions meshed into violent rage and desperation. That cat, it had
been nothing but trouble! Again another night, another opportunity
ruined by the accursed beast. Murderous designs gripped me. I vowed to
be rid of Puddy once and for all. I searched high and low, in every
cupboard, in every crevice and crack, in every hiding place, lacing its
food with sedatives and its water with bleach. In preparation I cut a
length of cheese-wire to garrotte the beast - but no, oh no, it seemed
Puddy with a supernatural intuition had escaped yet again. Next morning
I calmed down and repented - relieved by rest and rational once again I
decided that killing the cat was not the best course of action, after
all. The events had been coincidental hadn't they? I was not without
some fondness for the creature even. Now more placated I determined
that the best recourse was to treat the animal kindly. An alternative
home would be arranged. Perhaps me, and pussycats weren't meant to
be.
I advertised locally and waited. During the next week I took a trip to
the local library. Strangely I found myself thumbing through several
books on the subject of cat psychology. I mused over them with some
amusement. Later, whilst sitting back at home trying to complete
another article, my feelings seemed to disintegrate into the realm of
the irrational yet again. The chain of events since the break-up with
Jane and subsequent decline in my fortunes replayed themselves,
dominating my thoughts. A web of edgy paranoia took hold - was my life
veering out of control? Words and disturbing pictures from the cat
psychology books flashed before me uninvited. Perhaps it was not my
four-legged friend with the abnormal psychology but myself.
That night I dreamt, dreamt of arid desert lands. Chasing something, I
can't remember what. My mouth was dried, metallic tasting as I awoke
startled. Glancing at the clock, then - I heard crunching noises from
outside. Was it an intruder? I ran onto the balcony. There - there was
Puddy, blood dripping from its fangs and in its mouth the crumpled body
of what once was a bird - perhaps a dove. It was horrific. Back inside
I vomited into the waste paper bin, feeling very, very ill.
I had been working on a novel, or 'THE NOVEL'. It had been my
lifetime's work and I had almost completed it - at least in the first
draft. To say I was pleased with it would have been an understatement.
Now it was nearly finished and ready for editing and submission to a
suitable outlet. Several publishing houses had already expressed great
interest in it at the preliminary stages of the first few chapters and
general synopsis. However, during my marriage to Jane I had been
involved in other less personal projects in order to achieve a basic
income from my writing. I always had harboured resentments against her
for thwarting my progress with the book, but in reality she was more of
an encouragement than hindrance if the truth were told.
With most of the outlets for my piecework and commissions almost
completely dried up, it was time I vowed to return to 'The Novel' and
get those creative juices flowing so freely once again. Summer came,
with my work at the college finished I had no choice but to sign on
with the Jobseekers for my miserly allowance. This was beneath me I
felt somewhat, but times were hard and a book was there to be written!
All the time on my hands was an opportunity I couldn't scoff at. Once
again my confidence picked up from its ebb and the words began to
flow.
Puddy was spending more and more time away, nowadays. The beast was
quieted by my resumption of the work ethic. In reward I increased the
ample and delicious meals of Puss-E-Glut he was accustomed to. However,
I still kept on advertising in the local paper and shops, hoping that
someone would take the creature off my hands.
With a fervour and passion my work on the book increased with earnest.
Page after page now produced, with such quality, such precision and
care. Back on form, this time nothing would stop me - I told
myself.
There was a sharp rap on my door one morning, breaking my stream
mid-sentence. At the door I was greeted by the wizened features of a
certain Miss Wilde - infamous in the town for her eccentric excesses.
She had called upon me with reference to my feline dilemma. With
gratitude, I let her in and she explained herself, telling me she had
more than room for Puddy at home with her in her cattery with another
more than twenty-five of the beasts!
Excellent news! I immediately packed up the tins of food, the festering
litter tray and cat-toys and drove to the destination, with Puddy
meowing and screeching with fervent disapproval from the back of the
vehicle.
A fortnight must have passed, my apartment seemed somewhat empty at
first without the the little bandit. Relief was the main emotion that I
felt though; my brief relationship with Puddy had almost been as
traumatic as with Jane, I laughed to myself pouring myself a
whiskey.
Indeed, I thought to myself, much like a cat I was a totally selfish
creature. I needed my independence and now I finally could enjoy it.
'I'm like the cat that got the cream', the voice within me echoed,
imparting yet another clich?.
A major American publishing house was now asking me to send in the full
manuscript of 'The Novel' as soon as possible. At last my life's work
would soon be complete with fame, fortune and international celebrity
around the corner!
This needs celebration, I told myself. I phoned up a few of my
remaining friends and drug dealer or two. We were shortly commencing on
the biggest bender I was to enjoy in years. Roaming from bar to club,
from party, to drugs den in an orgy of hedonistic excess.
A week later or so I staggered back home, fulfilled but exhausted.
Coming round face down on the kitchen floor, I noticed something not
quite right about the apartment. Black coffee bringing me to my senses,
I surveyed the place. Sitting down I decided to switch on my laptop to
check any emails. I switched on - there was a hiss, a bang and a flash
and then a blue spark exploded from within the machine. My first
thought was my files, my work! I knew that a good proportion would be
lost, as foolishly I rarely backed up my files. Reaching down to switch
off the power my hand met dampness. Surrounding the plug was a sticky
foul stinking yellow mush that had begun eating its way into the
plastic. Sniffing my hands, the unmistakable reek of cat sick attacked
me - I was puzzled, dismayed, confused - how could this be?
Mortified for moments until then - in from the balcony window leapt
'Puddy.' The beast was back, to torment me. Somehow it had escaped Miss
Wilde's and had returned to plague me.
The laptop was done for, it would take me forever to catch up with all
that work! Some survived, scralled in biro on coffee stained sheets
under the desk in the dining room, but the work of retyping the whole
document back onto computer was one I was certainly not going to
relish.
Unspeakable rage possessed me and I struck out at Puddy with my hand,
but the cat was quick, in escape his dark shape melting into the
shadows. How on earth had it come back? Why? - I didn't understand. I
reviewed the connections and events, which had occurred, the seamless
progression of disasters. Never having been a superstitous man, I now
could see that the cat's appearance in my life conicided with an
invocation of the demonic.
My mind was still addled from the drink and drugs binge but, with
lucidity I could see an altogether more sinister truth revealing
itself. As I reflected, fragments of the past went on replay - the
incidents with Victoria and Sue - the demise of my writing ability and
withering of my career - whatever next? This feline had been an omen of
misfortune. Constant tragedy had befallen me since Jane had left me -
was it possible it could have all been linked to the felonious
creature? The marauder, as black as night itself? The nonsensical now
seemed to be making perfect sense. Was I crazed by delusion, or now in
the grip of a psychotic episode? Was this delirium or paranoia? Could
it be that the beast that cursed me was a form of divine retribution as
penance for my sins?
I made my plans for the final show down. With alacrity I filed through
the cupboards for what I would need. This time, yes this time I would
rid myself of this affliction - forever. Cruel and sinister schemes
filled my mind - would I dispose of the felon by a ceremonial hanging
with a silk noose, or simply hack out those luminous eyes with a blunt
instrument? NO! There was to be none of this, an evil man I might have
been but it would be as humane as possible, I prepared a hypodermic
full of morphine -enough to kill. If this failed and the beast was to
somehow come round it wouldn't have a chance, as I'd bag its body up
for the municipal incinerator.
I prepared the implements I required and waited. At last I heard the
patter of soft pawsteps coming from a nearby room.
"Puddy, Puddy, where are you?..there's a good Puddy
wuddykins?????.Puddy!"
I searched the apartment, then hearing a noise from the bedroom I made
my way over. The room was darkened, a couple of candles flickering
adding gothic ambience - most fitting for a murder scene, I surveyed
with satisfaction. Ah-ha, I spied my tormentor. Puddy was under the
table in the corner of the room, I stooped down towards it, the syringe
in hand ready to deal judgement.
"Come, on Puddy," I reached to the back of the furnishing and grabbed a
tuft of black fur. I sensed it tense and with a solitary 'miaow' it
acknowledged my presence, for the last time. I pulled its collar nearer
to me, my right hand bearing down fast now with the fatal injection at
the ready.
The beast squirmed, as my grip grew tighter. Easing down on the dropper
after finding an injection spot, I released?????.
There was a screech and I felt frantic claws scratching but, it was too
late - much too late - the rusty tang of the drug hitting the back of
my throat, confirmed the worst. I'd missed the beast and somehow jabbed
the works into my wrist. I staggered back, knocking over the tables,
the ornaments and candles, before being enveloped by blackness.
It was many months before I recovered. My pride and whole life had
seemed ebb into languid ennui since the flat burnt down. No longer
could I bear to write as all my work had been destroyed in the fire. I
was a useless husk of an excuse for a man, no home, no job, no life.
Staying at my mother's for a while, so weak and apathetic I just wanted
to die, but was too much of a coward. My only satisfaction was from the
thought of Puddy perishing in the fire. Still, sometimes at night
though, the beast hunted and haunted me in dreams. Would no corner of
my mind ever be free?
Its funny though how time does heal perhaps. After a few months Jane,
bless her started visiting again. Her love for me had been deep and
although she was foolish in seeing me again, we began to get closer and
closer over the weeks. My mother was elderly and increasingly infirm
and so Jane agreed that I could stay with her for a while. We packed my
few belongings and off we drove to her house in the country.
"There's been a few changes to my life, Bill," she told me, "you'll
have to meet some of my new friends."
That sounded OK - I could stomach that, no problem. Together again,
perhaps I'd learned my lesson now and we could work things out. She'd
be in control this time; I'd have to play by her rules. If I so much
cracked a can of cider or glanced at another woman I'd be out on the
street. Mind you no other woman would ever look at me now, so I was
safe on that ground! I suppose this was all I could expect. In fact, I
was grateful.
As she pulled up the drive, Jane winked at me knowingly. "Oh! By the
way, I'll have to introduce you to our new member of the household?" As
the vehicle slid to a halt, I glanced up towards the house. I looked,
and then looked again - something was terribly, terribly wrong. It
couldn't possibly be true! Partly concealed behind a curtain were two
unmistakably green luminous eyes glowering towards me from the bedroom
window. I tried to mouth a scream, a shout - but rising spew was
blocking my air passage.
As the blood sapped from my face, Jane unfastened her seat belt and
remarked with a calculated calmness, "I do, do hope you like cats,
Sweetness?"
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