Cat Lover

   Marcella rushed into her tiny apartment, flinging her ledger and overstuffed purse upon the dilapidated couch. She kicked off her ill-fitting shoes and began calling. “Peter? Where are you? Come to me!”

    She scurried into the kitchen, plunked her bony knees onto the cracked linoleum, and scooted forward to peer under the table. 

    “Peter?” she queried, but no furry face appeared out of the shadows.

    Marcella backpedaled, climbing to her feet. Determination prompted her to continue. She hurried to her bedroom, ruefully shaking her head, noticing a three-inch tear in her new pantyhose. The cheap flooring in the kitchen had scored again.

    “Great. Another $4.00 I don’t have to replace these silly things,” she mumbled to herself. Marcella spent a lot of time mumbling. She had no friends except for Peter.

    “My darling. Where are you?”

    Marcella hobbled down the hall; after spending hours standing on her feet in a glass cubicle at the local movie theater collecting tickets, her feet hurt because the dress pumps she’d found on sale at Payless Shoes were a size and a half too small. Marcella didn’t complain; she was secretly proud of her daring acquisition.

     A plain black skirt, white blouse, and ratty cardigan made up her chosen work uniform. She’d worn the same uninspiring ensemble ever since she’d hired in at the Twilight Theatre.

    “There you are, my precious little man,” Marcella breathed, reverently entering her room. Splendidly reclining on Marcella’s pillow, the sleek black cat barely acknowledged her presence.

    “Oh, my baby,” the spinster crooned, kneeling and reaching to pet the handsome animal. “Did you have a nice day, Sweetheart? Did you capture any buggies or mousies? You are my brave hunter!”

    Marcella stood, her skinny frame rising like a sandhill crane ascending from its nest. Only twenty minutes remained to fix dinner for her cat and herself before she had to return to work.

    “Mommy’s going to make dinner with kitty food and fresh liver. Won’t

that be yummy?”

    Moving on thin stork-like legs, the tired woman stalked back to the kitchen. After creating an elaborate feast for Peter, she dumped a can of Campbell’s tomato soup into a pan and plunked it onto the burner.

    Marcella sipped soup from her mug as she perused her ledger. She’d recently purchased an expensive gift for Peter. Only a few more double sessions and she would be clear of debt!

    “I promise we’ll take our evening stroll when I get home. We’ll be out very late, but won’t we have fun?”

    Peter finished eating and stretched. He dug his claws into the thick rug placed in front of his bowls. Yawning mightily, the feline displayed rows of pearl-white daggers. 

    Marcella frowned in concentration as she wandered around the cramped flat, squinting and searching for her shoes. She recently broke her glasses; it would be several months before she could afford to replace them.

    “Ahh. Over here!” Plunging her feet into the faux leather heels, Marcella grabbed her purse.

    “Mommy will be home soon!”

     The spoiled cat jumped to the window ledge, watching Marcella exit and turn back to wave gaily. He eyed her thin figure and purred.

…..

     “You waited up for me! I’ll change my shoes, and we’ll go on that promised stroll. Let’s stop in at Mr. Ricco’s establishment for ice cream; I know how much you love vanilla.” 

    Her feet sought the boxy, sturdy brown walkers she’d received as a rare birthday present from her niece and nephew. Daringly, she went sockless.

    “Come to me, my precious little man. Let Mommy place your special gift on your neck,” Marcella cajoled.

    She had spent too much money on the gemmed collar. Five tiny sparkling diamonds created a lustrous glow in the dingy room as Marcella attached it. Peter growled.

    “Now, don’t be a bad boy; you know you need to wear this to keep safe from danger! My, you look handsome. I am so proud of my lover boy!” 

    Marcella immediately covered her mouth and swung her head from side to side as if seeking invisible listeners. Her cheeks burned with rose-colored blushes.                                                                                                                                             

    “Why, I apologize for saying that, Peter! I don’t know what came over me! I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Mother always said boys were after only one thing!”

    Late evening air kissed the woman’s still warm cheeks as she ushered Peter out of the door, locked it, and proceeded to clunk down the sidewalk with her trusty flashlight in hand. The odor of freshly cut grass brought a smile to the aging woman’s face; she loved the hesitant pause between seasonal changes.

    Like phantoms in the mist, a trio of raggedly dressed and shoeless people materialized, stepping onto the sidewalk, crowding the pathway. The man wore faded jeans; the woman sported a washed-out shift, and their child wore a too small orange dress. A dirty green kerchief knotted loosely at her skinny throat.

    “Please, Ma’am. Please. You got any spare money? My wife, she is carrying the baby inside her belly. My little girl, she is hungry,” the burly man begged. “You help us, and the luck of the gypsies be with you.”

    The little girl stared with hopeful eyes.

    Marcella gasped and recoiled. Clutching her purse tightly and backing up, she nearly stumbled on an exposed tree root. She’d heard warnings about the gangs of vagrants working for the circus. They were notorious beggars and should be regarded as dangerous.

    “Go away! You three just go away, or I’ll… I’ll scream for the police! Yes, I will! You shouldn’t be out here pestering decent folk!” She screeched in a thin high voice.

     The man reached out a grubby hand to grab her sleeve. Haplessly yanking her cat with her, Marcella lunged forward to squeeze through the trio. Misjudging, she accidentally rammed into the man’s pregnant wife.

    The ungainly woman lost her balance and fell backwards, knocking into the little red-haired girl. The child tumbled, sprawling onto the footpath, severely scraping her elbow. Alabaster bone peeked through a blossom of blood in the

ragged gouge. Large tears welled up in her claret-colored eyes.

    “A curse on you!” The waif snarled. “That which you love most-” she hiccupped in pain.

    Trembling in anger, the man reached out to gather his little family close. He took up the chant. “That which you love most will turn to hate even as the seasons change.”   

    “I-I-I am so sorry. I meant no harm. I must leave,” Marcella garbled, facing the angry people, backing up the walkway, creating distance between them. 

    “Come along, Peter.”

    The child extended her arm in Marcella’s direction, stabbed the air with a skinny finger, and uttered the words again. She jabbed the air in Peter’s direction; the cat hissed and arched his back, abruptly turning and trying to flee.

    The spooked cat cycled his feet, yanking and pulling Marcella behind him. She looked back once, and the child’s figure seemed to grow larger, bristling with anger. Vicious howls chased the escaping duo.

    “It’s only the streetlight casting shadows,” Marcella comforted herself loudly. “Oh, Peter. I apologize for hurrying you, but those horrid people meant us harm; I could tell immediately! I am sorry. You know I love you.”

    The black cat regained his dignity, sauntering along with his head held high, his tail reaching to the stars

    “You are absolutely right! Why, we must settle down and enjoy the rest of our walk, forgetting about that nasty experience.

    “Summer will be here; I can’t wait for the change in season. Peter! We’ve arrived at Mr. Ricco’s store!”

    Lorenzo and Luna Ricco owned a tiny Italian deli; rich fragrance of fresh bread and garlic battled for recognition in the still evening air.

    Marcella timidly called into the open order window. “Is anyone here?”

    Within moments, the rotund form of Lorenzo Ricco appeared. He wiped his hands on his apron and approached the open window Luna had propped up a few inches to let the heat escape from the ovens.

    “Good evening, Miss Mouze. Or is it morning? Luna and I are busy in the back making food; we never know what time it is until the sun stabs us in the face and customers line up on the sidewalk.”

    “Hello, Lorenzo; we are here for our treat. Peter and I deserve two small ice cream cones after our ordeal. I think I’ll have a Chocolate Ripple, and--”

    Suddenly Peter stopped rubbing against her leg, crouching with a soft growl, flicking his tail back and forth like a bandleader manipulating a baton. He stared intently at undergrowth across the sidewalk.

    “What is it? A big old mousie? Do you want to hunt? I’ll let you off leash if you promise to come right back!” 

    Marcella felt guilty about forcing her poor pet to race down those long three blocks at breakneck speed. She never released him, but guilt drove the contrite woman to appease her pet’s desire. Peter meowed loudly, his citron-colored eyes glowing with the hunger of the upcoming hunt.

    “You be careful. I’m watching you.”

    Marcella leaned down to unhook the leash from her beloved pet. Before the tall woman stood again, it happened.

    A growling mass of dirty red fur burst from the bushes in attack. Snarls frothed from snapping jaws filled with crooked teeth. The beast latched onto Peter’s throat and shook the smaller animal fiercely.

    “No!” Marcella screeched. The entity spit out the mangled cat and dashed back into the bushes; an unearthly yowl blasted from its lair, tapering into insane giggles.

    “Oh, my poor Peter!” Marcella charged forward, to guard the crumpled body of her beloved pet.

    She noticed exposed bones and spurting blood, puddling like warm pudding under Peter’s body. Half of his skull was crushed along with one of his eyes. A long shuddering breath coursed from his torn throat, and he lay still. His body snapped into unexpected motion. Peter’s good eye sought out Marcella’s horrified countenance.

     Screams burst from Marcella’s throat followed by hot vomit spewing and splashing onto her birthday shoes.

     Lorenzo immediately dashed outside when Marcella’s alarming screams erupted with the force of an active volcano into the peaceful night. Spotting the hysterical woman, he half-drag her body to flop upon the counter; he poured her some water.

    “My baby! You saw? Peter must be dead!” Marcella blubbered onto the countertop where she sprawled, completely smearing the glass with fresh tears and snot. She ignored the proffered drink.

    “Luna! Get over here, woman! Now!” 

    Lorenzo roared to his wife over the sobs of Marcella who leaned provocatively across the counter with her derriere pointing up like the actresses in the porn movies Lorenzo liked to watch at the uptown Adult Pleasure Shop with his poker buddies.

    “What’s the commotion?” The voice of Luna Ricco barked into the confusion.

    “Oh, he’s dead! Killed! I saw it!” Marcella reached beseechingly across the counter to Luna.

    “My God! Did you call the police?” 

    Luna envisioned a patron being mugged and killed outside of the establishment, bad for business!

    “Luna, calm down. It was only her silly cat-”

    “How dare you!” 

    Marcella whipped around to face her rescuer and connected solidly with Lorenzo’s plump cheek. A blooming tattoo of her left hand bled a pattern onto the stunned man’s face.

    “Now, you listen here!” He sputtered as he grabbed at his jowl where the stinging blow had marked him.

    “I’ve got to find his precious body before something gets it! I’ve got to find my Peter! But he’s alive! You saw him, right? He got up and ran away!”

    “Oh, my poor heroic Lore,” Luna crooned as she opened the door and pulled her husband close. “You O.K.?”

    Lorenzo allowed his wife to comfort him. “She’s lost it,” he spoke quietly.

    “But Lore, remember. That cat’s all she’s got! Her mind is rattled!”

    “No! I mean that damn cat is literally gone. Its body was crushed and bloody. But it got up and ran away!”

    “How’s that possible? Maybe it wasn’t hurt much?”

    “Oh, it was a deadly encounter. Something huge and hairy crushed the cat’s skull. But now? Nothing over there.”

    Luna opened the door to step outside and check. Marcella materialized, wandering into the bistro. Lorenzo defensively backed up, reflexively raising his hands, protecting himself from any further ambush.

    “Need to borrow your flashlight,” Marcella stated in a flat voice. “Mine ran out of energy.”

    Without a word, Lorenzo handed her the huge one he kept behind the counter in case of power outages or to use on recalcitrant customers bent on robbery.

    Her thin arm shooting forward with the speed of a striking snake, Marcella grabbed the tool, hurrying outside.

    “Poor woman, we need to help her.”

    “No!” Lorenzo snapped back.

    “But Lore, it’s hard to see out there…”

     “No, Luna. I don’t care; something very strange’s going on. I’ve had enough of that woman. Lock up.”

    Unlike her usual feisty self, Luna gave in to her husband’s command without an argument. 

…..

    Marcella searched until the batteries in the Ricco’s flashlight gave out. After repeatedly smacking her shins into unrelenting shrubs and brick walls, she stopped her search for Peter’s body. She’d only found a green dingy kerchief that she unconsciously carried in her clenched hand. Marcella stumbled home in the dark;  and trudged inside; she collapsed.

…..

    The sun took a gander through the window, forcing the woman into action. Woodenly dialing the number of Twilight Theatre, Marcella left a message explaining she was sick and wouldn’t be in to work for several days. Hanging up, she slumped at the table to hold her unending vigil.

    “He’ll come home; I know he’ll come home to me,” she whispered.        

    When Ms. Johnstone arrived a few hours later, she noticed the blinking red light of the answering machine.

    “Strange. It’s a bit early for callers,” she muttered; the day’s data wasn’t available until Bekka Johnstone turned it on.

     “Where is Marcella? She’s usually standing outside waiting for me.”

    Bekka listened to the monotone voice, barely recognizable as Marcella Mouze’s trademark sunny chatter. Bekka nodded in agreement when Marcella indicated she was ill.

    “I’ll call, see if there is anything I can do. Marcella is such a wonderful employee; it’s the least I can do.”

    The phone rang five times before Marcella picked up without saying a word.

    “My poor dear. This is Bekka.”

    She waited for a response, but none came.

    “You stay home as long as you need. Don’t worry about the theatre. We’ll manage without you.” Bekka was still talking when Marcella hung up the phone.

    “Poor thing probably has an early summer cold or the flu. I’ll mark her as excused. I don’t want her experiencing serious problems.” 

…..

    For the next few days, Marcella didn’t move from the kitchen table, gripping the kerchief as if it were a lifeline. Her skirt was stained where she’d voided herself; a cloud of stench surrounded the old rickety chair like fetid swamp. She waited and waited.

…..   

    Summer’s first day failed to impress Marcella. Day bled into night, into day, and then night. She continued to gaze fixedly at the tabletop, focusing on one

wish, for her precious Peter to return.

   In the shadows, strange feline-like shapes cavorted and chased each other throughout the room, whispering, merging into waiflike forms. Secret laughter tainted the putrid air.

    With the advent of evening, a soft rapping commenced, tapping gently on Marcella’s front door.

    “Go away. Please, go away.” Marcella grated through parched lips.

    The knocking continued, insistent pattering against the door, becoming louder.

    “Leave me alone,” she strained, enunciating in a hoarse whisper.

    The knocking changed abruptly to an odd scratching sound, like scraping claws, begging for admittance.

    “Oh, all right.” 

    Marcella walked over and flung open the door.

    “Good evening, Miss Mouze! I am charmed to make your acquaintance!” 

    A well-dressed and handsome gentleman, with ebony black hair and champagne-colored eyes swept into the room, smiling, displaying dazzling white teeth. He grandly produced an array of two dozen red roses, presenting them with a flourish.

    Marcella automatically grabbed the extended bouquet. Sharp thorns tore into exposed flesh, but Marcella was past caring. She crushed the fragrant roses to her bosom. Tiny wounds welled and bubbled fresh life-springs of blood.

    “Ahh, my lovely one,” the tall and powerful man crooned. “Follow me.”

    Marcella obeyed, heading back to her bedroom. Like a nocturnal animal, the virile humanoid smoothly reached the side of Marcella’s bed; she watched the stranger strip off his clothing, soon standing splendidly in front of the immobile woman; he only wore his silver-toned tie.

    “Your turn, my little Mouse,” he breathed into Marcella’s hair, gently pulling her blouse over her head and unzipping her spoiled skirt. She stood naked.

    Marcella barely felt the muscular man lift her, place her onto the bed, and cover her body with his. Within moments, the beautiful man’s body arched and he howled aloud. Marcella half-smiled at the catlike response, but when the man curled next to her, purred, and licked his lips, she blinked uneasily.

    The man’s form began to change; thick black fur sprouted like winter wheat along his back, progressing rapidly over his entire body. Ocher-golden eyes stared into Marcella’s transfixed expression. 

    The silk tie encircling the creature’s neck changed into a diamond-studded collar that encased the gigantic cat’s neck.

    With a cry, Marcella squealed, “Peter! I knew you’d come back to me!”

    With a hissing growl and the speed of a hunting panther, the massive feline pounced and sunk strong teeth into Marcella’s exposed neck.

    The creature started to bite, and Marcella screamed once before blood flooded the gaping wound in her throat, changing her gasps into bubbling gurgles. Life drained from the dying woman’s eyes; the gypsy’s words echoed.

    “That which you love most will turn to hate even as the seasons change.” It the last thing Marcella heard while the cat-man purred, gently stroking the wasted woman’s body with one black furred paw.