Le Chat Noir

Le Chat Noir - A Cautionary Tale

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 naiveté 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 clichéd 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 cliché.

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?