The Cat Vanishes

by Louise Carson

  “Christmas is hard,” Gerry complained. Prudence nodded as Gerry continued. “I mean — when did we start? Early November?”

  Prudence said, “Mm,” and sipped her coffee.

  “We made dark fruitcake, wrapped it in brandy-soaked cheesecloth and left it to age. We made wreaths. We decorated our houses, inside and out. We — I — tromped up into the woods and cut a tree.” Gerry looked fondly at the tree, set well away from the fire, in front of the street-side window.

  It wasn’t big so she’d put it up on a wooden crate that she’d covered with wrapping paper. Prudence had told her that that was where Aunt Maggie had always put her tree, and that the cats, most of them, were pretty respectful of it. And they were. There was no tinsel, of course, as that could be lethal to the feline digestive system (or at least embarrassing) if ingested, but Aunt Maggie’s old ornaments twinkled faintly and Gerry had added some carved wooden snowflakes she’d bought at one of the local craft fairs as well as her mother’s beeswax angels.

  “Then we went to all the craft fairs,” she continued. Running from early November to early December, every Saturday and some Sundays were given to attending multiple annual Christmas events at local schools, community centres and churches. Gerry had bought most of her gifts at these, and quite a few nice things for herself. One woman made catnip mice in assorted gay colours and Gerry had splurged, buying one for each of her adult cats. She’d purchased a red coat for Cathy’s dog from the same lady and was looking forward to giving it to Prince Charles upon his return.

  “Then we went to the carol services.” Hosted by amateur groups, there were several of these. Most were fundraisers. One offered sherry and biscuits, another mulled wine and fruitcake. Dutifully, Gerry and Prudence had trudged through snow and slush to attend.

  “And now it’s Christmas Eve,” she concluded softly, her complaining forgotten.

  “Yes,” her friend agreed, and burst into tears.

  3

  “Prudence! Whatever is the matter?” Gerry jumped up, dumping Bob, who twisted in mid-air so he landed only on the sleeping Mother and not the kittens. Mother gave him a clout on the head, then rearranged herself.

  Gerry returned with a handful of tissues. Prudence wiped her eyes. “It’s just — I miss her — Maggie. Every time I come here, I think, just for a moment, maybe it’s all a horrible dream. Maybe she’s upstairs, asleep.” She blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I should have thought about that. They say holidays make people feel their losses more keenly. And you have to keep returning to the one place where this terrible thing happened. Poor Prudence.” She awkwardly patted Prudence’s shoulder. “Want your Christmas present now? I was going to make you take it home to open tomorrow, but —”

  “Yes. I would like it now, thank you. And I have yours in my purse.” Both women got up. Gerry fetched an envelope from the mantel. Prudence brought her purse. “You go first,” Prudence said politely.

  “At the same time, maybe?” Gerry countered. “One, two, three — open!”

  Prudence slit the envelope while Gerry ripped wrapping paper. “Oh, Prudence! Perfect!”

  Prudence was silent, looking at the ticket. “You shouldn’t have,” she said faintly.

  “You’ve earned it. Whose idea was it to give art classes? And even today: suggesting I apply to teach at the college? We — the cats and I — couldn’t get along without you. And once I sell the Borduas, I’ll have plenty of money. Is St. Lucia all right? Bea recommended it. She’s been there and so has my student Christine. It’s supposed to be lovely and quiet and warm.”

  Prudence leaned over and kissed Gerry’s cheek. “Thank you. I can’t wait. Do you like yours?”

  Gerry looked at the collection of recipes. Prudence had typed them and cleverly photocopied them onto lovely old-looking stiff gold paper that she’d folded and then sewn together with thick brown wool to make a little booklet. In it were all the desserts she and Gerry had made that past fall: brownies and sandies; fruit and pumpkin pies; cakes and cookies. “I’ll treasure it forever,” she said solemnly.

  Prudence was going to church with Gerry that evening, so they fed the cats and ate an early supper of meat pie with some of Prudence’s homemade tomato chutney, carrots and baked potatoes. Leaving four golden fruitcakes cooling on the counter, they walked over to St. Anne’s around a quarter to seven.

  Strong gusts of wind blew in their faces as they covered the short distance. The small church huddled on its small plot of land — the little graveyard to one side — looking for all the world as if it felt the cold temperature, the rising wind. The trees at the side and back of the graveyard creaked and moaned, their branches clashing, bits of brittle sticks landing on the snow-covered graves.

  “We’ll be lucky if trees don’t come down in this gale,” shouted Prudence.

  Yet inside, the church was serene. Simple arrangements of evergreen boughs and large white candles in glass jars adorned each window recess while white poinsettias decorated the altar. The lights were low and the organ played gently as Prudence and Gerry entered.

  It was a service of carols and readings, and non-religious Gerry enjoyed the singing of old favourites as well as the special ambiance of the 150-year-old church.

  When the service was over and handshakes had been exchanged with neighbours and the smiling minister at the door, they walked out into a storm.

  Freezing rain and ice pellets drove into their faces. The women tried to walk on the slippery surface and almost fell. “Back to the church,” Prudence yelled into Gerry’s ear.

  In the church porch, Prudence whispered, “Are you wearing socks?” When a stupefied Gerry nodded, she added, “Are they long ones?” At Gerry’s second affirmation, Prudence hissed, “Take them off.”

  As other members of the congregation watched, the two slipped off their boots and socks (in Prudence’s case, knee-high support hose). “Tie them around your boots at the toes.” Gerry did as she was told.

  This time, when they stepped onto the path, toes first, the bands of cloth caught and prevented them slipping. “Prudence, you’re a genius,” murmured Gerry, as, arm in arm, they hobbled safely home.

  Ice pellets had formed stiff drifts on the road and in Gerry’s driveway. With feelings of relief, they let themselves into the darkened house, only the little fluorescent light that lit up the stovetop illuminating the kitchen.

  “Prudence, I don’t want to drive. The car is caked solid with ice. I think you should sleep over tonight. We’ll both be safer inside.”

  Prudence agreed. “I’ll make some cocoa.”

  “Put some brandy in it,” called Gerry, going to clean out the cat boxes and do the nightly count. All twenty-three little bodies were present. When she returned to the fire, Prudence was making it up, while two mugs steamed on the mantelpiece.

  Gerry sat down. “I’ve got to check Cathy’s tomorrow. I said I’d do it every two or three days. Something about her insurance.” Prudence said nothing. Gerry, afraid her friend was depressed again, tried to distract her. “I don’t want to gossip, but what do you know about Cathy? For example, the first I heard she had a sister was when she told me about this trip.”

  Prudence stirred herself. “I didn’t know about the sister. I knew she had a brother.” She added dreamily, “He disappeared.”

  “Disappeared! People don’t disappear. What happened?”

  Prudence sipped her cocoa. “They moved here when they were teenagers. The Stribling family. Maybe the sister had already left home. Cathy’s brother was a beautiful boy. In my class. I’m a little older than Cathy. The family must have been wealthy. They bought Fieldcrest and put a lot of money into it. Hard to believe that was forty years ago.

  “I think Cathy’s father was the last Stribling. Besides her brother. Stribling is a local name. There are a few of them in the big cemetery in Lovering.�
� She paused. “And the boy was his parents’ pride and joy. Good at sports and school, handsome.”

  “How handsome?” Gerry asked. “Prudence, did you have a crush on Cathy’s brother?”

  Prudence was too old to blush. She replied with a simple, “Yes. For three years. I was happy if I just got to look at him. He didn’t have a lot of girlfriends, but when he did, they were the cutest girls. Like you.”

  “Huh. Fat lot of good it’s doing me. I thought Doug —” Gerry interrupted herself. “But it’s not me we’re talking about, Prudence. What happened next?”

  “Well, we all graduated and a few went to college. He was one. He was going to be an engineer. I got a job at the grocery store — cashier. He came home on holidays but I rarely saw him. And then he just disappeared. No one saw him anymore. His parents and Cathy didn’t speak of him, and the whole family seemed sad. I didn’t know what to think.” Prudence sighed. “Cathy never married. Her father retired and died. Her mother died. And she opened the B&B.”

  “She seems happy now,” said Gerry, absently, as she crossed the room to peer out at the lake. “Gosh, it’s hard to see out there.”

  “She found her niche, I guess,” said Prudence, joining her. Both women flinched as a large bough off the willow tree way down the lawn by the pool cracked and hung, dangling.

  “Good grief!” Gerry exclaimed.

  “Let’s hope that’s the only one,” Prudence responded.

  The old house complained in its bones, groaning and creaking as they climbed the stairs to bed. Maple boughs in the front yard slapped it with their branches. And once they were upstairs, they could hear the patter of ice pellets rattling on the metal roof.

  “You take my bed, Prudence, and I’ll sleep in Maggie’s.”

  “Thank you,” said Prudence in a shaky voice. “I don’t think I could sleep in there. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Gerry settled down with the four cats she’d dubbed Aunt Maggie’s “Honour Guard.” Blackie, Whitey, Mouse and Runt blinked slowly in the light cast by the faux glass hurricane lamp by the bedside. No one had slept in this room since the night Maggie died. Someone scratched at the door. Gerry opened it and Bob shot in. She left the door open a crack. Perhaps, in the night, Lightning would jump lightly up to join the throng. Bob briefly kneaded Gerry’s pillow and was asleep before she’d climbed back in.

  When she dreamed it was not of Cathy’s handsome young brother tossing a football or laughing with his friends, but of a different man, a little older, dressed in overalls, white shirt and a round, broad-brimmed farmer’s hat, who kept shaking his head, holding his hands in front of his body, palms out, as if to shield himself.

  “Merry Christmas!” A quiet knock at her door and Gerry’s eyes jerked open. Who? She remembered Prudence had slept over.

  “Come in,” she croaked, and sat up. “Merry — oh, Prudence! You shouldn’t have!”

  Prudence entered with a tray that contained two small glasses of eggnog, a plate of dark fruitcake, and two cups of tea. “The eggnog has rum in it. You’re going to need it,” she announced grimly. “Cheers.” She swigged her eggnog and Gerry did likewise.

  “Why?” She was already out of bed, a piece of fruitcake, redolent of brandy, in her hand. She put on her Winnie-the-Pooh robe and SpongeBob slippers. “What do you mean ‘I’m going to need it’? And what are you grinning at?”

  Prudence stifled a smile at the sight of Gerry’s attire. “Oh, you know. A few trees came down, or bits of them. And — uh — just never saw you in your — uh — in these clothes before.”

  Gerry pirouetted. “Am I not gorgeous? Which trees and where?”

  “Uh, very nice. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

  As they were in Aunt Maggie’s room at the back of the house, Gerry peered out the window, or tried to. “Drat, I can’t see a thing, it’s so frosted. I’m going downstairs.” Prudence followed with the tray.

  A few of the cats were still munching their breakfasts in the kitchen. “Is the house all right?” Gerry asked anxiously.

  “I think so. I was waiting for you to go outside.” Prudence gestured out one of the kitchen windows. “But look.”

  Gerry rushed to the front window. “Oh, my gosh!”

  One of the giant old maples, taller than the house, had split. Half had fallen across the driveway, taking out the electrical line that ran to the shed. The other half teetered precariously. If it came down, it would block the road.

  Gerry quickly checked the stove light. On. “Well, at least the house still has power.” Prudence motioned her to look out the window that faced the side driveway and shed. Gerry bleated “Not my —”

  Another giant maple had dropped an enormous limb on Gerry’s car and the roof of the shed. “It’s not so bad, I think,” Prudence was saying as Gerry rushed outside.

  True enough, the higher shed roof had taken the brunt of the fallen bough’s weight. All the car windows were intact, as was the hood; only the roof was a bit dented. Gerry tried a door. “Prudence!” From inside the porch, Prudence tossed Gerry the car keys. Gerry yanked open both doors and inspected the roof’s interior. She gave Prudence a thumbs up.

  Bob dashed out the open doorway, took one look at the devastation, and dashed back in. Both women laughed. “Come back in,” Prudence beckoned. “We’ll have a proper breakfast and think what we should do. Come on.”

  They made bacon and eggs, then luxuriated in front of the fire with French vanilla coffee.

  “This is nice,” Gerry said, peering in the banana box at the playful kittens. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Glad to be here. I’m just going to phone my neighbour and see if my house is okay.”

  Gerry lifted one of the kittens onto her lap. “Hello, Jay. Or are you Cee?” She’d named the kittens for her five art students, just their first-name initials. Gee, Dee and Bee completed the quintet. Mother stirred restlessly as Gerry replaced the kitten and picked up another. “All right, Mother. They have to get used to people handling them for when we give them away.” Mother gave Gerry another look. “I said you could keep one and I meant it. Then we’ll be nineteen again. So, which one?”

  Mother began licking the one Gerry was pretty sure was Jay. There was a black toe on one of the white hind feet. “Jay? Shall we keep Jay?”

  Prudence came in with a funny look on her face. “My next-door neighbour’s birch tree came down on my house. On my bedroom. In my bedroom, actually. If I hadn’t slept here…”

  “Oh, Prudence, we’ve got to get you home. But no, I guess you can’t sleep there. Oh, how dreadful. The cold will get in and the pipes will freeze.”

  “You’re learning,” Prudence said grimly. “I always leave a key with my neighbours across the street and Charlie already went in and turned off the water. There’s no electricity on the whole street. Thank God I don’t have a basement, just a crawl space.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the sump pump — and everybody in Lovering with a basement has one — would be off with the electricity. No, it’ll be days before I can even call the insurance company. Christmas Day, Boxing Day, and then the weekend.”

  “Well, obviously, you’ll stay here. And not work the whole time. In fact, I want you to sit down with another coffee while I clean the cat boxes. Leave the dishes. I’ll get dressed and we’ll think what we have to do.”

  While Gerry was getting dressed, she heard the welcome sound of the snowplow. Imagine those guys, she thought, working on Christmas Day! By the time she’d finished her chores, the Hudsons could be heard cleaning first Cathy’s, then Mr. Parminter’s, Andrew’s, and finally, Gerry’s driveways, or driveway rather, this time, as only the front circular drive was accessible.

  Gerry stepped out the front door. The younger Hudson scratched his head at the tree blocking the side driveway. “Just do in front of
the house,” Gerry shouted, indicating the semi-circle in front of her.

  “I’ll be back later,” shouted young Hudson. “Bring a saw.” Gerry clasped her hands over her head in a victory salute. He grinned as he backed his tractor onto the street and drove to the next house’s driveway.

  “It’s all right, Prudence,” Gerry shouted as she walked towards the sitting room. “The Hudsons are on the job. Prudence?” The draft coming from the kitchen told her Prudence must have gone out the side entrance. “Probably for wood,” said Gerry, pouring herself a quick refill of coffee. “Drat the woman. Can’t make her rest for a second.” Then, remembering that the rear of the shed, where the door was, was crushed under half a tree, Gerry paused. “We can’t get wood,” she mused, stirring her coffee, “unless…”

  She peered out the side window just as Prudence stumbled out of the tiny door at the front of the shed, where a potting bench and a stool marked the site of some of Aunt Maggie’s past horticultural activities.

  Prudence must have pushed on the interior door that led from this annex to the main space of the shed — where the firewood was.

  “But there’s furniture in the way!” Gerry exclaimed.

  Prudence staggered through the door to the porch. Her teeth were chattering as she cried, “There’s someone in there!”

  4

  “What do you mean, ‘There’s someone in there!’?”

  Prudence gasped. “I pushed —”

  “Yes, yes. You’re a clever woman. You pushed the door and some furniture slid inward and you slipped through the door to get some wood.” Prudence was still breathing deeply and quickly, so Gerry, rather alarmed, quipped, “It’s a good thing you’ve kept your girlish figure.”

  Prudence made a face and took a deep breath. “I worked my way through all your junk to the woodpile. I was just reaching for a piece of wood when I — when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned. But there was no one there!”