by Sandi Ward
Sister was good at distracting Mother in those final weeks. She’d come in and sit on the bed, talking excitedly, filling Mother in on what was clearly very important information. “Ma,” she’d start, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you will never believe what happened to Sarah today at the beach. You know Ted, who works at the snack bar? He’s the cute one, whose older brother is a lifeguard. . . .”
Mother listened patiently, up to a point, but eventually waved her away. “Okay, honey,” she’d say with a sigh. “Let me rest now.”
Sister often carried me to her room during this time, which is no easy task. I am heavy and floppy and quite large, but she’d get one hand under my haunches and squeeze me to her body with her other bony arm.
She held me up to her poster. I came to realize that the boys on the poster must represent a religion, or a cult. Holding me in one arm, she placed my paw up to the face of one of the boys on her poster and made me tap him repeatedly. She chanted, “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry.” I found this boring every time, and eventually meowed to be let go.
But I never scratched my sister. As I mentioned, I am very tolerant of the humans.
My sister is fourteen years old. I know this because she had a big party that she planned and talked about for weeks. It got a little out of hand. Man had expected Mother to help him with the party, but she didn’t feel well that night so she didn’t come downstairs. He had to roar ferociously to get all of those kids out of our house at the end of the evening.
Brother liked to come into the bedroom and put a hand, or his ear, to Mother’s big stomach. He did this for long stretches of time, eager to feel or hear something, his mouth open as if just waiting to be surprised. I was glad he took time away from his machine to visit her. But every visit ended in a plea for Mother to do something—make him food, usually. “Ma. Can you please just get up and make me a grilled cheese? I’m freaking starving.” Even though he is my oldest sibling, my brother seems incapable of fixing his own meals.
As am I. So I am sympathetic.
Once in a while, he brought her the “funnies” from the crinkly newspaper, and Mother would smile. Sometimes my brother carried me away with him to his own room, calling me “Big Fat Crookshanks” or “Minerva McGonagall,” and Mother would even laugh.
I don’t know what’s so funny about that.
When the weather grew warmer and the days were long, it was finally time for the baby to be born. The day came when Mother began to moan and breathe heavily, and two strange women came to the house to help deliver the baby. I hid away from the noise and bustle. When it was done, these women left. And Man put the crying baby into the crib.
Mother did not always respond to that baby. I snuggled up to Mother to make her feel better. She was very, very tired. Man urged her to get up. Sometimes she did, sometimes she did not. Even during the day when Man was out, there were times when the baby screamed and Mother didn’t get up from the bed.
It was the height of our short summer, that brief time of year when the children come in and out of the house with bare feet and it gets humid during the day. The humans were sweaty and cranky most of the time. The baby seemed uncomfortable too, even when Man turned on the big floor fan that he placed in the nursery.
Mother still caressed my head and smoothed out my fur and held me tight against her. I never loved her more than in those times when she needed me so much.
One day I thought I’d try to help out. I jumped into the baby’s cage from a high dresser. I snuggled down near the baby and purred. The baby shook spastically from screaming, but eventually slept.
When the sun went down, Man came home. I could hear him downstairs tromping around. After a few minutes, he came into the baby’s room. I was half-asleep but sensed him sneaking in, and then saw him looking down at us in the darkness. I was right up against the baby, my fur covering his little head and face. I was doing my best, trying to keep the baby quiet so he wouldn’t bother Mother. But Man’s eyes grew very hard. I did not understand what I was doing wrong, but I could see he was very angry.
I did not expect it: Man grabbed me up with his big hands, as if I were a pile of trash, and threw me down onto the rug. It was the only time Man was purposely violent against me, and he is very lucky I am both so nimble and so fat! I came away with just a few sore spots.
I might have fared worse. But for all he was mad at me, he was more angry at her.
“Care, Care, Care,” he raged against Mother. “Goddamnit. You have to pay more attention.” The baby screamed, but still, Mother didn’t get up. Sister was upset and ran into her room with Not a Cat. I heard her start to cry. Brother slunk away and stayed out of sight. I hid under the bed most of the night.
I will tell you this. I don’t know anything about babies, but something I could sense—even before I got into his crib—was that something was wrong with the baby boy. He cried too much and his reactions were not right.
And I came to see that even though the pregnancy was over, something was still troubling Mother, and getting worse.
3
An Ominous Phone Call
Whereas the pregnancy slowed Mother down, the baby seemed to drain her energy completely. He is a helpless creature and demands attention.
Stupid, stupid, stupid baby.
Those first few months with the newborn after Man threw me out of the crib, the baby continued to cry and cry, all through those long, hot days. Everyone took turns getting up and making formula. Sometimes Mother got up, but just as often she sank back down on the bed and rubbed her feet. Some nights Man hollered for my sister, and sometimes he silently got up and comforted the baby himself. I’d watch Man cradle that baby and stare at him in the darkness of the nursery. He’d had two babies already, of course, but that was a long time ago, so maybe it all felt new to him again.
If the baby wouldn’t stop screaming, Man would wince like it was painful to him. And it was painful, believe me. This baby screeched with the strength of one twice his size.
Sometimes if the baby just wouldn’t settle down, my brother got up and took the baby from whoever was holding him. He seemed to have the right touch and eventually got the thing quiet. Brother has a confidence about him in these situations that I find comforting.
I wish I could have held the baby. I would have helped out.
But I stayed far from the crib since Man lost his temper. Apparently, he didn’t want my help.
The rest of the family continued to bother Mother. When my brother came home from wherever he spent his summer afternoons, he ran up the stairs without wiping the sand off his legs. He’d tear off his wet things in his bedroom and leave them on the floor before going to see Mother.
He would go and grab the baby and hold it in his arms while telling Mother about his day. Brother smiled at the baby and rocked him while talking. If the baby was asleep in his crib, my brother would bring in a large orange ball instead and twirl it on his finger.
But just as he did when she was pregnant, he would always end his visits by asking for something. “Ma, make me this. Ma, make me that.” He was always asking for food. Brother is taller than Mother, and he eats a tremendous amount. He is old enough to drive the truck that takes the humans away from the house. He is not quite an adult, but almost. Mother calls him Jimmy. Or, “Jesus, Jimmy,” when she is frustrated, and she rolls her eyes.
Poor Jesus Jimmy. He was hungry.
Frankly, I was too. Mother had stopped feeding me regularly.
Sometimes Jimmy would finally go down and eat sliced ham right out of the package, and he’d throw some on the floor for me. Not a Cat would come running, but I could keep him at bay with a sharp hiss and then eat the scraps. They were mine, and I was desperately hungry.
Thinking back on it, I realize Not a Cat was hungry too. He always looked at me with those round, brown eyes, hoping I would share with him and then expecting me to play with him.
He didn’t understand the situation at all.
My
meals started coming at odd times, from whomever I could force to get up. Usually that was my brother. Once in a while Man noticed I was hungry, and he made my sister feed me. Then I’d go curl up on Mother’s bed, my belly full and my heart content. We would fall asleep as if nothing was wrong, and it was a great relief.
There was one night Man took Mother out, and she got dressed up like she used to. She was so beautiful!
Back when she got up in the morning, I liked to sit on the toilet and watch Mother get ready for the day. I did the same on the night she went out. She drew black lines around her eyes, to look like a cat. She put red on her lips. Her hair was glossy and her teeth very white. And she didn’t forget me, filling a small paper cup with water and setting it beside me so I could lap it up with my tongue.
That night, when she came out of the bathroom, Man was so happy. He held her and pushed his face against her cheek and ear just like I do. I know he was marking his territory.
Cats are very territorial, and humans are too.
Mother put her sweet, gentle hands on his big arms and looked at him like maybe she did still appreciate him. Sometimes I thought they were right for each other. He was not such a bad mate. As I said, he was tall and proud, and I never saw him chase her away the way she often did to him.
Sometimes he ignored her, the way he ignored me, especially if he was in a bad mood. But if she insisted on having his attention she would sit in his lap, and he always watched and listened to her carefully. It’s just that she didn’t insist very often.
But late that night, when they got home, she was upset again and went straight up to the bedroom. They were both a little off balance, their words somewhat slurred. When he tried to hold her, she was already protesting. “Stupid, stupid, stupid Tommy.” I don’t know what he said or did, but I’m sure Mother was right and he was wrong. Man glared at her, and I didn’t like that look in his eye. He watched her go into the bathroom and shut the door. Man gave up and went to another room, and I had Mother all to myself when she came out and crawled into bed.
I lay by her side, spread out on the cool comforter, my head resting on her arm. I loved her so, so much. Why couldn’t the others leave her alone? Why should she have to meet their demands? Couldn’t they see how special she was?
One day, a young woman who was dressed in a suit came to the house and looked at the baby. She held the baby and talked to him and seemed to be testing him. Her name was “Missus Davenport,” and she was all big, big smiles and had a chipper voice. Man eyed her warily, but Mother made an effort and came into the baby’s room to watch her.
After that, Missus started coming to the house twice a week to work with the baby for a couple of hours. Mother sat in the rocking chair, mostly observing, but on occasion reading a book. Sometimes I’d curl up in Mother’s lap, or if it was too warm I would just watch from the floor near the fan.
Missus Davenport was mesmerizing, dangling pretty toys on a string or laying out objects on the rug for the baby to look at. She didn’t seem to mind me, and even encouraged the baby to look at me. I couldn’t believe she was sitting on the floor in those nice clothes. Silly! This woman was so silly. A perfect playmate for the baby, I guess.
When Missus wasn’t around, Man sometimes tried to get my siblings to take the baby out in the big pushcart. Jimmy didn’t mind it, but my sister had no interest. She fought it, pointing to fluffy Not a Cat and shaking his leash. She had enough to do, just like Mother.
Sister is called Mary, or “So Smart Mary” by Mother. Mary sometimes came in and talked to Mother in a very hushed voice, so no one else could hear. Mother sat up and smoothed down her hair when Sister came in to talk to her.
“Ma . . .” So Smart Mary would coo in her seductive voice, batting her eyes and leaning in, and Mother couldn’t resist her. Mother often pulled green papers out of her bedside table for Mary. So Smart Mary got very excited and hugged her mother, then jumped up and twirled around, waving the green papers in the air. And then she’d be off.
Sister wasn’t home very much. And when she was, she was in her room with the door shut.
I could see Man was growing afraid of my sister as she got bigger and taller, the way he looked at her with worry on his face. I was starting to see she was someone powerful, with her important things to do and her fervent religious beliefs and her exciting talk. Man sometimes stood outside her closed bedroom door, listening to her music, looking like he wanted to knock on that door . . . but he hesitated.
He may stand tall, but his eyes give him away sometimes. With his forehead creased into a frown of confusion, he stood with his hand frozen in the air, unable to knock.
It amused me.
I also suspect So Smart Mary thinks Man is not too intelligent, just like Mother does. One night, he suggested Mary make the family dinner.
She whirled to face him. “Why is that suddenly my job? Because I’m a girl? That’s dumb. You’re the parent. I don’t have time for that.”
Man didn’t get angry with her. Without another word, he quietly made everyone ham sandwiches. I realized Mary was growing more powerful as Mother stayed upstairs most hours of the day.
I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
The weather grew cooler, and I was more comfortable every day as the humidity eased. My winter coat started to come in, thick and sleek. My brother and sister went back to the work they call “school” once the hot days were over.
One day Man brought home a big, orange pumpkin and placed it on our front step. I watched through the window screen as squirrels tried to sneak up to that pumpkin and take a bite out of it. I yowled when they got too close, scaring them away.
The baby grew plump. The black hair he was born with faded over time until a thin coating of light blond hair appeared on his round head. His eyes darkened to gray blue, and he began to look more like Man.
One day, Mother got up and put a few things into a bag. She waited on the living room couch for Jimmy to get home.
I know what packing is. I know it means someone is going away for a while. But her bag was so small. I didn’t give it much thought.
When Jimmy walked in, Mother talked to him quietly on the downstairs couch. He nodded a few times and then followed her to the kitchen, where she showed him the baby formula. But of course he already knew where that was and barely paid attention, glancing occasionally at the little phone in his hand. She pointed to some food in a pan in the refrigerator. And then Mother kissed him and went out. I heard the car outside start up, and I knew it would carry her away for a while.
Jimmy sat Man down on that same couch when he got home, and they talked. Nothing much seemed out of order. Man stroked his short beard as he sometimes did when he was thinking about something, and my brother imitated him on his own smooth chin, which he likes to do. They both laughed about something, and all seemed normal.
Until supper, when the phone rang.
There was something so ominous about the ring of the kitchen phone that I jumped and scampered to the doorway. I watched and listened as Man stood and picked up the phone. My siblings froze, their forks in the air, and they listened too.
At first Man stared at the floor, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. He was astonished. “Carrie,” he whispered. His voice shook and he asked something about who was going to take care of the baby. My siblings and I fled the room and ran right up those stairs, as we knew some kind of bad news had come to this house. I hid under Mother’s bed.
Late in the night, I finally found my courage and wandered down the hall to Mary’s room, hearing muffled noises emerging from the darkness. When I jumped up to her bed, I was upset to find her crying, a little hand covering her eyes. Her whole body shook, as if rejecting whatever news was trying to sink in. I sniffed at her face and licked her cheek, finding it savory. After I nestled against Mary’s chest, she finally settled down, her arm curled around me. She drew in one deep breath after the next, tickling my neck as she sighed in her sleep.
But as for me, I could not rest. I had a terrible vision. I know there are creatures lurking in the woods behind our house, because I have seen them through the sliding glass door, and my sister has named them for me. Squirrel, woodchuck, rabbit, deer, wild turkey, and once a fox. Most horrible is the huge, masked raccoon with long claws, who eats anything at all.
I was sure that one of these vicious creatures had attacked Mother and dragged her away.
4
Ghosts
I am especially worried about Mother now because the weather has changed and the evenings are cold. The humans call this October. It does not seem to be a good time for Mother to be lost in the woods, if that is what has happened to her.
The first day she was gone, everyone slept late and spoke in whispers. No one left the house, and no one came by. The house phone rang a few times, and Man spoke to several people. Mary spent a lot of time in her room talking quietly and rapidly into her small phone. The words just seemed to fly out of her mouth.
Jimmy stayed in his room too, pacing and twirling the orange ball on his finger. Unlike the others, he spoke to someone on his phone only once, and he closed the door when he did.
I wonder who he talked to.
It was strange to me at first that the family did not go out and look for Mother—or what was left of her. I realized that my first assumption that she’d been attacked or killed by a wild animal was just a foolish, childish thought.
But there were still evil things that could have happened.
Later in the day, everyone went in and out of the kitchen like ghosts, scavenging for food. But they didn’t seem particularly hungry. Man went out the back door and a crisp wind whipped in and down the hall. He returned carrying an armful of wood. He took his time making a fire and sat by it, silently staring into the heat. When the baby cried, Man brought him downstairs and held him while sitting on the floor, not too close to the fire, looking pensively into his son’s tiny face as if looking for clues to some great mystery.