The Black Cats

by Monica Shaughnessy

  “Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Please continue.”

  “Mr. Arnold blew like the north wind when Mr. Fitzgerald arrived. As soon as he spied the axe the other man had brought, though, he put on a good face and invited him into the parlor. I couldn’t believe the civility! They talked about trees and grudges and burying the hatchet. You’d have taken them for a couple of nannies strolling through Rittenhouse Square! At the end of everything, Mr. Fitzgerald said I’m sorry and handed the axe to Mr. Arnold. I’m sure you can guess this sealed our fate. Once the tall, bony gent left, Mr. Arnold turned to his wife with a look I never want to see on another human being as long as I live, a look of gleeful hatred. She fled through the kitchen and into the cellar, and I, of course, followed. The lock did not catch in time. I still don’t know why she chose to hide instead escaping to the street.”

  “Humans do not think when they are afraid,” I offered.

  “Mr. Arnold crashed through the door and down the steps. With a cruel laugh, he swung the axe, catching Tabitha in the head.”

  “Goodness gracious. Another murder. This one should land him in the penitentiary.”

  “Mr. Arnold must have been planning it all the while.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “I found his masonry supplies at the start of our adventure, but I could not have guessed their purpose.”

  “The fiend shoved her body in the alcove, and when he turned his back to prepare the mortar, I crept in behind Tabitha. There I hid for the duration.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “She is my companion!” he wailed. “Would you leave your Eddy?”

  “No. Not even in death,” I said. “I will save you, Midnight. Let me return to my humans, and—”

  “Don’t abandon me again, Cattarina!” he cried. “It’s very dark in here. And my perch is…uncertain.”

  My heart beat a little faster. “Do not be frightened,” I said. “Take comfort in the words of Meowléiere. ‘The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it’.”

  “Do not quote at a time like this!” he screeched.

  “Sorry,” I said. “The burden of verbosity is heavy. There are moments when—”

  “Cattarina Poe!”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” I took a deep breath and let out a scathing caterwaul that echoed throughout the chamber. I gave another and another until the doors at the street opened.

  A shaft of sunlight filled the cellar. I dashed to the opening, expecting to find Eddy. The misshapen face of Abner Arnold loomed above me.

  The Specter of Memory

  ABNER ARNOLD REACHED FOR me and missed. I longed to slip through the portal and into the crowd above, but he blocked the entrance. So I repeated Mrs. Arnold’s mistake and looked for a hiding place in the interior. Poor woman, had she been a cat, she might’ve evaded her husband, for I found one straight away. I bounded up the kitchen staircase, careened off the top step, and sprang to a wooden beam, coming to rest in the space above the floor reserved for bats. Mr. Arnold had just entered the cellar when Eddy charged down the street entrance steps, followed by Sissy, Muddy, the constable, Mr. Fitzgerald, and the cadre of watchmen. The remainder must have taken their leave in the interim, for they did not appear next.

  “Unhand my Cattarina, sir! Do not touch a single whisker!” Eddy said to Mr. Arnold. “Or you will feel my fists upon your head!”

  Fear prevented me from leaping into Eddy’s arms. If I did, would the cobbler turn his fury on my companion, as he had on his own wife? Midnight’s cautionary tale chilled me, and I did not wish a similar version to play out here and now. My haunting performance had rendered Mr. Arnold insane. If the memory fog lifted and he recognized me as the same apparition from before, unpleasant would not begin to describe the outcome.

  I walked along the joist and sat above the group. I convinced myself the situation called for strategy and patience, two things a huntress like me had in great supply. Moreover, now that Eddy and Sissy—two of the most capable humans in existence—had arrived, the wall puzzle would soon be solved, Midnight would be freed, and Constable Harkness would apprehend Mr. Arnold. I likened these machinations to the guts of Muddy’s mantle clock, and they must not be disturbed. Or eaten. I wondered sometimes how the old woman tolerated me. Slowly, very slowly, I lifted my tail and withdrew it from sight, laying it next to me on the wooden beam.

  “Your cat?” Mr. Arnold said. “She’s Satan’s cat. And she’s here somewhere. I’ll find her yet.”

  Eddy grabbed the man’s lapels, but Mr. Fitzgerald intervened, wresting my companion away. “Let the law handle him, Poe,” he said. “He’s finished.”

  Sissy coughed into her handkerchief. “What is that smell?”

  “It’s quicklime,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “I’d know it anywhere. Mr. Arnold bought a bag from me a week ago.”

  “More lies,” Mr. Arnold said. He wiped sweat from the back of his enflamed neck.

  A large cloth sack wedged between the joists by the stairs drew my attention. With perfect balance, I walked toward the item along the narrow beam. The bag contained the dry, gritty material I’d seen the masons mix at the new home site on Green Street. I glanced at Mr. Arnold’s head below. The tufts of burned hair formed a forest of stumps on his scalp.

  “Enough talk,” Constable Harkness said. “Abner Arnold, now that we are in your house, do I have your permission to search it?”

  “Go right ahead,” he said. The cobbler ascended the steps and flung open the kitchen door. “You will find nothing.” I shifted into shadow, certain he’d see me from this height. To my relief, he resumed his spot without incident.

  Constable Harkness dispatched all but a single watchman to the ground floor of the cottage, commanding the enforcers to inspect every room for Mrs. Arnold. Human olfactory senses did not rival a cat’s or everyone in the room would have realized the woman lay beyond the brickwork and not upstairs. The constable posted his remaining man, a fellow he called Johnson, at the staircase near the street and stayed to converse in topics of which I had no interest.

  Dust settled through the cracks, sifting us with debris as the Watchmen pounded above. Mr. Arnold withdrew and sat on the stairs, his head between his hands. Meanwhile, Eddy searched for me in the damp, dark corners, calling, “Catters…here, Catters.” As I expected, he paused at the newly bricked recess and studied the mortar. He tugged the top of his hair, lost in thought. I settled onto my perch and tried to influence him from a distance. Eddy did his best thinking under my gaze.

  Sissy wiped the sediment from her hair and clothes. “Cattarina!” she said. “Are you here? You can come out now. It’s quite safe, I assure you.”

  “She will turn up, Mrs. Poe,” Mr. Fitzgerald assured her. “Cats are rather genius.”

  “Mr. Fitzgerald,” Sissy said, “what is quicklime used for? Mother uses lime to preserve her eggs, but is that different—”

  A watchman leaned through the kitchen door and said, “We’ve searched the entire house, what little there is. Mrs. Arnold isn’t here.”

  “Gather the men and leave for my house,” Constable Harkness said. “Johnson and I will be along shortly.” He glanced at his pocket watch and buttoned his coat, indicating a departure.

  The cobbler jumped to his feet, his ailment forgotten. “Go! That’s it! Go! I told you I was innocent.” He laughed and danced a little jig.

  The constable ignored him and approached Sissy and Mr. Fitzgerald. “Sir, you have my leave. For now,” he said. “But I may have questions for you later.”

  Mr. Fitzgerald hopped to it. He waved to the Poes as he made for the street. “Goodbye all! Goodbye!” He slapped Johnson’s shoulder on his way out. “Have a good afternoon!”

  I stood and switched my tail. Eddy and Sissy had not solved the wall puzzle in time. Fiddlesticks. If Constable Harkness left, Mr. Arnold would never pay for his crimes. I contemplated which head I should pounce
upon, Mr. Arnold’s or Constable Harkness’s. I settled on the constable’s. In the interest of solving the bigger crime, he would likely reserve punishment for my much smaller one. Besides which, Mr. Arnold scared me furless.

  “You can’t,” Sissy said to the constable. She clasped her hands together. “Please. We haven’t found our cat yet.”

  Eddy returned to his wife and held her close. “With or without Mr. Arnold’s blessing, we will stay and look for Cattarina. Do not fret, my dear.”

  I crouched, calculating my angle.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Poe, but I must depart for home. Matilda is waiting. If you wish, I can leave Johnson,” he said. The man eyed a large crack in the brickwork near his feet. “I’m surprised the hovel didn’t collapse during our visit.”

  I wiggled my rear, preparing for the jump.

  “Hovel?” Mr. Arnold said. “I’ll have you know, this is a very well-constructed house.” He rapped against the brick wall with his knuckles.

  “Meeeeoooowwwrrrrrr!”

  Surprised by the howl—it had not come from me—I almost slipped from the beam. The room fell silent. The blood drained from Mr. Arnold’s face, turning him chalky.

  “Meeeeoooowwwrrrrrr!” Midnight said again. The blow upon the bricks must have stirred him.

  “That sound, it’s…it’s inhuman,” Eddy said, “and it’s coming from behind the wall! I knew the masonry looked recent.”

  “Quicklime,” Sissy said under her breath. “Of course.”

  “Johnson! Come here!” Constable Harkness clapped his hands. “Tear it down!”

  “No!” Mr. Arnold protested.

  Yes! Demolish the wall and reveal the evil deed! I leapt to another joist for a better view.

  Eddy grabbed the cobbler by the shoulder and held him back while Johnson broke through the bricks with the watchman’s pole. As the mortar had not set, the structure fell with ease, revealing the body of Tabitha Arnold. She lay crumpled against the alcove’s interior and stared back at us with eyes much farther apart than nature intended. She had her husband to thank for this new look, as he’d split her skull nearly in half. The axe cleave ran from the top of her pate, along the bridge of her nose, and down to her chin, parting the hemispheres of her head. Perched on top of the woman’s corpse was Midnight. Infection had swollen his eye shut, giving him a rather hellish appearance. His tail bristled, and he spit fire at the man who’d killed his companion.

  Sissy swooned. Constable Harkness caught her in time. “Poe,” he said, “you’ve got a murderer in your hands. Hold him tight.” He helped Sissy to her feet and lent her his arm.

  “It’s Pluto, b-back from the dead.” Mr. Arnold strained to reach Midnight. “I walled the monster up within the tomb!” Eddy struggled to keep him still while Watchman Johnson looked on, dazed by Tabitha Arnold’s bloody corpse.

  “Johnson! Drop your pole and help Mr. Poe,” the constable said. “Place Mr. Arnold under arrest.”

  Watchman Johnson blinked.

  “Never! I will not go to jail for something I didn’t do!” Mr. Arnold said. He twisted from Eddy’s grasp and pulled a knife from his pocket—the same pocketknife I’d seen at his house on Green Street. Before Watchman Johnson or Constable Harkness could stop him, Mr. Arnold unlocked the blade and dove for Eddy.

  I unlocked my own and sprang from the joist.

  I did not believe in hell, but if it existed, Abner and I would go together. I landed, claws first, and opened his scalp like a mouse belly. He dropped his knife and tried to swat me from his head, but I persisted. Unable to see with my back claws digging into his face, he staggered toward Eddy, and Eddy tripped him. The cobbler stumbled to the floor and stayed there. At last I had felled my quarry! I jumped to safety, settling near my companion’s feet without so much as a bent whisker.

  “Don’t forget, Mr. Arnold,” Eddy said to him. “You can’t trust the Irish. Or their cats.”

  Mr. Arnold stared at me, his eyes round and unblinking. “Release me from your power, you demon!” he shrieked. His eyes flickered with recognition. His memory had returned. “You are the cat in the fire!” he said to me. “You are the cat that haunts me! You are the c-cat…” He rolled to his side and drew up his knees. “It is coming back to me! It’s all coming back! The drink addled my brain. I have blacked out before, but never…never…” He slapped the flagstone floor in anger. “No, no, no!”

  “What is coming back?” Sissy asked.

  “Speak, man,” Eddy said.

  “I killed Tabitha! I am the villain!”

  ***

  Eddy wanted nothing more to do with Abner Arnold or his dreadful cellar. Despite his wishes to the contrary, Sissy demanded to stay and minister to the sick. This involved feeding Midnight a saucer of milk and wiping his ruined eye with a damp cloth. She completed these tasks in the Arnold’s kitchen after giving her husband a kiss on the cheek and a promise to return home soonest. At their parting, I divined that Eddy knew Sissy had secrets, and Sissy knew Eddy had secrets, and they each resolved to let the other keep them. My intuition aided more than just the hunt.

  Sissy set Midnight on the kitchen table and examined him all over. “You poor thing,” she said to him. “A hot meal and a warm bed are what you need. I know just the home for you.”

  I supervised from the floor. The murmured voices of the watchmen floated up from the cellar through the planks. They’d been with Mrs. Arnold for the duration and would probably remain with her long after Sissy, Midnight, and I left. As for Mr. Arnold, Constable Harkness put him in a wagon that I hoped was bound for Eastern State Penitentiary.

  “Your mistress is kind,” Midnight said to me. “I like her.”

  “She is not my mistress,” I said. “That implies inequality. However, we can agree on her kindness. You will not find a more caring human, besides my Eddy, of course.”

  Sissy left us to wash her hands in the basin.

  Midnight looked at me with his one good eye. “We did it, Cattarina. We avenged Snip. Though at the cost of a woman’s life.”

  “Your companion’s life.”

  “Yes. That pains me. Deeply.” He settled into a kitty loaf and tucked his front paws under his chest. “Now that I know true companionship, Cattarina, I can’t go back to Sarah.”

  “Dear me, that is a problem. I will think on it.” I joined him on the tabletop and groomed his ears. We purred together, harmony and melody.

  “Mrs. Arnold may have a salve I can use on your eye,” Sissy said to Midnight. “It can’t hurt to look.” She began a search of the kitchen cupboards, opening and closing the drawers to the jingle of flatware. She unfastened the cabinet at eye level to reveal rows and rows of canning jars filled with brown shavings. “Hello, what’s this?” She took down a container and unlatched the metal catch, releasing a spicy sweet smell that filled the room.

  My tongue paused, mid-lick.

  “Sassafras bark,” Sissy whispered. “And so much of it.”

  The odor drifted through my thoughts, a long forgotten ghost that haunted my memory. I traveled to the edge of the table and studied the jar in her hand. Mrs. Arnold’s tea, of course. The woman had served so many pots of it to her husband—watering him as Constable Harkness did Matilda—that the scent had etched itself into the story, the black cat’s story.

  Strong Medicine

  “DOCTOR LEABOURNE,” SISSY ASKED, “what do you think of Sassafras tea?”

  In the days following the discovery of Mrs. Arnold’s body, Eddy invited Dr. Leabourne to Poe House. The physician visited often, and though he could not cure Sissy, his presence always seemed to give the family hope—in my estimation, the strongest medicine. Late this afternoon, he and I sat on the edge of Sissy’s bed, examining our patient, who reclined against her pillows.

  “Sassafras tea?” he asked. Robust of frame and nature, Dr. Leabourne was the catch of the litter. I had never seen a more angular jaw, a fuller head of wheat-colored hair. But he was no Eddy. “Do you mean taken as a tonic?” He t
ook her wrist and placed his fingers over her veins. I did not know what covering them would do but noted it anyway.

  “Yes, do you have any faith in it? I thought it might help my ailment.”

  “Sassafras is a blood tonic.” He released her wrist and felt her forehead, a more familiar procedure. “It will do nothing for consumption, I’m afraid.” He withdrew his touch and reached for his black bag. “If you like the taste, you may have it as a refresher. But I caution you. It has poisonous effects.”

  Sissy sat forward. “Poisonous? How so?”

  “It’s very damaging to the organs, especially if they’re weak to start. If taken for too long a period, it causes sweating, nausea, even hallucination.”

  “Can it kill a person?”

  Dr. Leabourne snapped his bag closed. “In large doses? Most certainly.” He rose from the bed. “You are as well as can be expected, considering the fright you had. Get plenty of good food, plenty of fresh air, and stay—”

  “I know, stay home and rest.” She flopped back against the pillows. “That may comfort the body, but it positively shrivels the mind.”

  “Feel better, Mrs. Poe. Feel better.” Then he left, as he usually did, to speak Muddy and Eddy in the parlor and give them his diagnosis. In truth, I had already made my assessment. But I much preferred the doctor’s optimism.

  Sissy pulled me onto her lap. “Cattarina? Did you hear the doctor? He said sassafras causes hallucinations. Even death.”

  Death. Her glee did not match the topic. Perhaps the doctor had left too soon.

  “Do you know what this means? Tabitha Arnold didn’t want to fell the sassafras tree. She wanted its bark for tea. Don’t you see?” She held me up and looked into my eyes. “Mrs. Arnold wanted to kill Mr. Arnold, and who could blame her? The debt, the drinking, the violence. Liquor had already weakened his liver, and the sassafras doomed it.” Her eyes twinkled. “This must have caused the delusions that led to his murderous actions, not the trips to the tavern. Oh, I am so astute!” She hugged me tight. “We make a grand team, don’t we, girl?”