by Sandi Ward
I sat on the windowsill. Many of the leaves outside had already turned blazing orange and fiery red. Some were knocked loose by the wind and lay on the ground. Where we live, autumn arrives quickly, with a fierce determination. I enjoy watching the leaves flutter in the air and the squirrels outside scurrying back and forth. The air that moves through the screen is crisp and rich, while the sun feels hot on my fur.
But nature is just teasing me when that happens. We’re always in for a long winter.
By the end of that first day, it occurred to me that maybe the family knew where Mother was but for some reason weren’t allowed to go to her. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they be out looking for her? That thought put me in a dark mood. I sat under the stairs all night, thinking it over.
The next day, an older woman came by. She’d been to the house many times before. I’d figured out from previous visits that she was Man’s mother. I knew this from the way my siblings ran to her and hugged her. “Mahmee!” They sighed, holding her, as if it was a great relief.
I also knew it was Man’s mother from the way Man didn’t make eye contact with her when she was in front of him, yet stared at her when her back was turned. He seemed desperate to get her approval and hear what she had to say but couldn’t admit it to her face.
Mahmee’s attitude made me wonder if this was all Man’s fault, if perhaps he was to blame for Mother’s disappearance. Mahmee scolded and pointed at him while he sat at the kitchen table and stared guiltily at his hands. My siblings drifted upstairs, as if they knew the adults needed time alone. “Tommy. Tommy. It was just a matter of time.” Mahmee seemed to be frustrated, and Man sat, not responding to her. She took a book out of her large bag and pressed it into his hands, which he accepted and stared at, but I could tell from his glazed expression that he was not in a reading mood.
“Ma.” That was all he had to say. He was too upset to talk.
Mahmee marched upstairs and took the baby into her arms, then sat with him in the rocking chair. I followed her and watched from under the crib, curious, as Mahmee frowned at the baby, shaking her head. “Now, now.” She held that baby tight. Later, she went home, and I was sorry to see her go.
That second day, all was strange and too quiet once again. I was lying on a pile of stuffed pillows on the floor in Mary’s room when she came in and slammed the door, long blond hair flying behind her. She threw herself down on her bed and stared at her favorite poster. Just as quickly, she jumped up on her knees, then touched and kissed the face of each of the boys on the poster.
Mary’s movements were always quick, dramatic, decisive. I had to be careful around her, never knowing when she would suddenly spring up.
She was like a cat, in that way.
My sister didn’t see me on the floor, and I was startled when she jumped down from the bed and tore across the room. She grabbed scissors from her desk, then ran back across the room to stab her poster with their sharp end.
The poster with her Gods on it! I was shocked, and felt my eyes widen, the fur bristling down my spine.
Again and again she stabbed the poster, jamming the scissors into the wall. She then tore down the poster and took her time cutting it up into a hundred little bits. “Good-bye, boys,” she said calmly. “Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye.” Once there were many little pieces of paper in front of her, she threw them out all over her green rug, as if it were snowing inside.
She buried her face in her pillow a long time. I stayed right where I was, watching her.
Eventually, Mary sat up and wiped her eyes, and her mouth twisted into a half smile as she observed the paper-snow all over the place. I imagined that she found something satisfying about making a great mess.
Mary pouted at the gouges in the wall. I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking: Man might not be pleased. Suddenly, Mary looked over—probably my twitching tail caught her eye. Sometimes I have no control over my stupid tail. It goes crazy when I’m nervous.
Sister smiled at me, but her eyes were still sad. I soon came to see her plan: cover it up. She went over to her bookcase, slid out some papers, and unfolded them. She tacked a few pictures to the wall to hide the mess.
I think we both felt better after that.
I wanted to join Mary on the bed, but little, precious, fluffy “Jasper” (the creature that is Not a Cat) was up there, and he and I can’t share a bed. It’s fine. I know he’s Sister’s baby.
I used to be Mother’s baby.
Where is Mother? I mused again. I was as frustrated as Mary.
At the end of the second day, Man and Jimmy went out and brought back hot food. The scent of the steam got Jasper and me worked up. We paced under the table, rubbing against legs. Jasper jumped up to beg. I meowed, begging too, though I prefer to think of it as vocalizing my needs rather than begging. My family didn’t seem to know what I needed, so I had to tell them. Only Mother anticipated my hunger.
Our bowls got filled, and for a short while it was almost as if everything was okay again. There was a fire in the fireplace, the way Mother liked it. There was clean, cold water and food in our bowls. But the family didn’t talk. Until suddenly Jimmy did.
I was just starting to doze off when I heard Jimmy start to mutter something in a bitter, hostile tone. My ears pricked up.
“What did you say to her, Pops?” Jimmy asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, come on. What the hell did you do? You must have done something really stupid this time.”
There was a long silence.
The next thing I knew Man was on his feet, and Jimmy was looking up at his father, mouth hanging open. A bang filled the room as a chair tipped over and slammed against the floor. I ran out, turning to watch from a corner of the living room.
The baby, in a basket on the floor, started screaming. Man whirled around and, seeing that his chair had fallen close to where the basket with the baby lay, grew even more enraged. “You need to GROW UP,” he shouted at Jimmy. “Do you think that attitude helps the situation? Don’t open your goddamn mouth if you don’t have something helpful to say. DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO ASK ME?”
He was so angry. I’d seen it before, his face red and fists clenched. The humans are so big, and I am so small. It frightens me when Man is in a fury. But there was something in his eyes that made me realize he was also very sad.
Jimmy shrank back from Man, his face pale. He shook his head no.
I ran upstairs and hid under Mother’s bed. I was grieving too. I missed Mother.
I just wanted to disappear. I thought I could possibly run out the front door and take off into the cold wilderness. Maybe find Mother, dead or alive. I wondered if that would be possible, to find her scent and follow it to her.
I curled up between two boxes in the darkness under the bed, and I didn’t come out for a very long time. I didn’t want to get in Man’s way.
On the third day, my siblings rose early and got dressed and went out, grabbing shoes and apples and pastry and gloves. There was a loud flurry of activity, music playing and water running and mumbled comments, and then with a slam of the door they were gone.
They were going out? Back to school? I was confused. Were they going to look for Mother? It didn’t seem so. They had packs on their backs, just like any other day.
Man sat on the couch, bleary eyed. The baby had been up for hours but now slept again. He carried the baby up the stairs and put him down in his crib. “Finn,” Man whispered as he stared at him and stroked the baby’s fine hair, and I understood that Finn was the baby’s name.
I followed Man back to Mother’s bedroom. He fell back into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chest. I jumped up to the edge of the bed, watching. Man put a hand over his eyes. I love the smell of the quilted comforter, and I padded quietly up to sleep on Mother’s pillow. I started to purr, loudly. I couldn’t help it. I was so happy on her pillow!
Man swatted me away with a heavy hand. I jumped and scooted to the end of the bed. But I didn’t leave.
&
nbsp; How dare he push me! I squinted at him, bristling with indignation. This was my bed too. If he was going to kick and prevent me from sleeping on the bed at night, I had the right to sleep on it during the day.
It was only fair. It was Mother’s bed too. And my bed.
I gave him an unhappy yeow.
Man leaned up and looked at me. And I mean really looked at me, making eye contact. He didn’t look irritated. He seemed upset.
“Boo. I’m sorry.”
I stared at him, and it dawned on me that he was speaking to me. He was looking and talking and saying my name. That never happened.
For a moment, I froze. But as I watched him, I realized he meant me no harm. He even slid his hand out on the bedspread, inviting me to come toward him.
Why would I ever interact with him? I’d always had all I needed with Mother.
I didn’t approach him. I didn’t trust him yet. He had done nothing to earn my trust. And he didn’t deserve my friendship.
Man lay back down and pulled the sheet up right to his eyebrows so I could no longer see his face. We both fell asleep.
A few hours later, a loud knocking and ringing of the doorbell startled us both. We sprang up. Man grabbed jeans and a belt and tucked in his shirt, then hurried downstairs.
It was Missus Davenport. She was all great smiles and enthusiastic nods, and shook Man’s hand with energy when he opened the door. Her suit was a very striking blue, the color of a bird that I cannot name. Man followed her up the stairs, straightening out his hair.
The fact is, he didn’t look so good.
When the Missus picked Finn up out of his crib and had him securely in her arms, Man stood with his arms crossed and explained things to her. I watched from the hallway, my tail twitching, too nervous to go into the room.
I couldn’t hear Man because he spoke quietly to her and his back was to me. But I could see Missus had a happy demeanor that faded, as first her eyes grew wide in surprise, and then I watched her struggle to quiet her facial expression. Her cheeks grew pale, and her eyebrows knit together as she squeezed Finn tighter against her chest. She listened and nodded, until finally Man finished his little speech and left, walking past me to go into Mother’s bedroom. He closed the door.
I stayed, to see what the Missus would do. She was young, and usually spoke to the baby in a chipper, singsong voice. Missus was all fluttery hands and oversized gestures and loving touches.
But now, she placed Finn back down in his crib. I got up and padded my way into the room, watching her stare at the baby as Man’s words sunk in. At first, she didn’t move, as if puzzled about what to do next.
And then her eyes teared up. Her hand flew to cover her mouth.
Her face convinced me that whatever had happened to Mother was something horrible.
But Mother could still be alive. I fear I cannot survive without her. She’s my one true partner who feeds and cares for me, who strokes my head and holds me all night. I worry that the stupid baby needs her too, even if it may somehow be his fault that she left.
I am determined to find out exactly where Mother is.
5
Halloween
Get up, Jimmy.
Get up, get up, get up.
I bat his chest with my paw. I try to push the comforter down with my head. These are tactics that used to work with Mother, and I hope they’ll now work with Jimmy.
Many days have passed since Mother left, and still no one thinks to get up and feed me breakfast. My stomach growls in desperation until someone finally opens a can and dumps wet food into my bowl.
Jimmy’s hand is tucked under his head, and I nuzzle my wet nose against his bare upper arm. He has a funny scar that looks like a big crooked X on the soft underside of his arm. Usually the scar is hidden by the sleeve of his shirt, but he sleeps with no shirt on, so now it is exposed. I push my face right into the X.
Jimmy stirs. He grins at me, then scratches my head. My brother doesn’t get the connection between my persistence and food though. He rolls over and goes back to sleep, even though sunlight peeks through the blinds.
I give up. Forget breakfast. I guess it’s time to roll right into my midmorning nap.
I fall asleep on the dark red flannel sheet, right by Jimmy’s hand. I have a wonderful dream in which I am between Mother and Man on the bed. My back is pressed up hard against Mother’s stomach, and in my dream I know it is the time before Finn came, back when I was still the baby of the family.
Mother has her head on her pillow, and she’s telling Man a great story. Although my back is to her, I can hear the wonderful, excited sound of her voice. And from my vantage point I can see Man’s face. He is propped up on one elbow, staring at her, hanging on her every word. He is so amused by her. I can see it in the way he tips his head, a small smile curling his mouth. I am sure she’s told this story before, but she keeps going, and Man doesn’t interrupt.
I imagine what he is seeing: the dark curls falling around her face, spread out over her pillow. Her big eyes, full of excitement. The curve of her lips and her open mouth and her funny expressions when she is reenacting a scene. Mother is so dramatic. She smiles a lot and laughs easily, and my brother is the same way.
Man is different from them. He is still with his body, always watching. Listening. My sister is more like her dad; she studies people.
My dream is spoiled when Jimmy rolls over and sits up. But I don’t mind. Maybe now I’ll get food!
I follow him downstairs and meow repeatedly. C’mon, Jimmy. Feed me. He looks at me, puzzled, his hair—black like Mother’s hair—sticking up all over the place. Thankfully I see him head to the cabinet and pull out a can of food.
Now all he has to do is pop open the can! I think he can handle that. Maybe.
Mahmee has been coming to take care of the baby every day. But she doesn’t always make supper, so Jimmy has become an expert in opening cans and making sandwiches. Mahmee seems very tired by the time Jimmy and Mary get home in the afternoon, and sometimes she just leaves. I think taking care of Finn is hard for her.
Watching Mahmee walk down our steep wooden stairs, one step at a time with Finn in her arms, makes me verr-rry nervous. I can tell she is frightened too, the way she stays right up against the railing. The stairs are slippery.
I never sit on a stair when Mahmee is coming down.
Earlier this week, Jimmy made himself supper when Man had to work late and Mahmee had already left for the day. He put a can in the machine they use to heat up food. It created great sparks and a popping noise and foul-smelling smoke. An alarm sounded. The high-pitched whine was unbearable, and I ran to hide under a chair in the living room.
Mary came running downstairs and helped Jimmy air out the kitchen by opening a window, thank goodness. She shrieked at him, and he cowered from her. She ended up making five bags of popcorn in a row to get rid of the rancid smell.
“What the hell?” she growled at him. “Seriously, you forgot you can’t put metal in the microwave? What is wrong with you?”
“Sorry. Really.” Jimmy frowned as he stood in the corner, wringing his hands. “I just . . . I don’t know where my mind is lately. I can’t think straight. I can’t get anything right.”
I’m glad Jimmy did not start a fire while Man was out and burn our kitchen down. That would have been a disaster for all of us, but especially embarrassing for Man, who is an expert on fires.
Mary had a bad week. I kept catching her with those big, silver scissors again. She’d sit on her bed and place the sharp blades right up against her sleek blond hair, as if she intended to cut it. She’d also take one of the blades and hold it right up to her knee, as if she wanted to stab herself. Each time I watched her, alarmed. My little heart beat hard in my chest. When I saw her playing with those scissors, I jumped up to the bed and plopped myself in Mary’s lap. I knew it would force her to put the scissors down, because she wouldn’t want to accidentally snip off a piece of my delicate ear or my unpredictable tail.
Sure enough, she gave me a kiss and relaxed her hold on the scissors.
Not a Cat frowned at me, grumpy and jealous. He didn’t like me up on Mary’s bed. But I had to do it.
Now it’s finally the end of the week, and today is the holiday the humans call Halloween, when they dress up in fantastical costumes. I know my brother and sister are excited. They have worked on their outfits all week in great anticipation, and they have been very talkative all day.
Mary dresses poor Jasper up in ridiculous hats and capes every year. You’ll never see me in a costume. Mary once tried to put one on me, but I kept wiggling backward to prevent it. She got the message. It was uncomfortable for me. Jasper will tolerate anything to please his mother, but Mary is not my mother.
Plus, I was too fat to fit into that costume.
I watch from the landing at the top of the stairs, curious. Jimmy is in his room, talking to someone on his small phone. When he comes out, his clothes are torn and his face is streaked with what looks like, but doesn’t smell like, blood.
Jimmy smells, in general. His underwear and socks on the floor interest Jasper and me a great deal. We love the smell of the humans, and we enjoy sitting on piles of dirty laundry. Jimmy is a big human, and he gives off a strong scent, a chemical that lets me know he is looking for a mate. I don’t know if the humans can sense it.
The problem is, he adds on a terrible, pungent scent from a bottle that makes my eyes water.
When he steps out of the bathroom after taking a shower, Mary moans, “Jesus, Jimmy, too much,” while holding her hands over her delicate face. He just ruffles his wet hair with a towel and snaps it at her. If she runs, he chases her.
She is right. Jesus Jimmy puts on too much of that stuff. It’s disgusting.
I am surprised when a girl comes to the door for Jimmy. I have never seen her before. Just as there are different breeds of cats, there are different breeds of humans, and she does not look quite like anyone in our family. Her skin is a little darker and her eyes rounder.
No matter. What interests me most is that she is a female, which means she will probably point to me, and crouch down, and make baby noises at me. All of which she does,just as I expect. Sometimes I run from a stranger out of caution. But this girl is patient, waiting for me to come to her in my own time.