I owe a cat.

I owe a Cat.  

By Kamran Connelly

For the twenty-seventh consecutive workday, I watch from my office window, as a man I know to be the owner of a small accountancy firm in the same office building, climbs as clumsy as one would expect a middle aged, slightly overweight man dressed more suitably for the golf course over an eight-foot wall. I have affectionately named him Harold, as he bears an uncanny resemblance to the famous director, Harold Ramis. The wall belongs to a long-closed business, Hewitts Precision Tool Makers. Once a successful enterprise, now the sun faded, hand painted sign on the side of the decrepit building is all that remains of its former glory. In the three years that my work has had me occupy this window, the tiled roof has succumbed to the elements and fallen through in several places, leaving an open invitation to the local pigeons to take up an occupation. Today my curiosity has me over a barrel and finally forces me out of my seat. I have to know what the hell is over that wall, and why a golf course accountant type would continuously want to clamber over it so ungracefully.

I end my call with Edward, my senior at head office, the easiest way I know how. By appealing to his insatiable greed.

“Ed, I have to go, the manager at Logan Logistics is calling. I’ll call you back.” I say to him, lying to buy enough time to run downstairs and catch the accountant climbing back over.

“Ok, that contract is worth a lot of money Tye. Take your time and call me back when you can. He can be difficult he can!” he says, and I hang up.

I rush from my desk and down the stairs, but when I reach the road outside, I’m too late, and he is already back over the wall and walking towards the coffee shop on the corner, a hundred or so meters from our shared office entrance. Rather than accept that I have missed my chance to catch him in the act and start to question him about his midday climb, I follow him to the caffeine. Big City Grinders, an overpriced franchise is where we all go to get a pep up. I’ve seen him in there before but never spoken to him. But today I have my reason. What is over the damn wall? I just have to know. I enter the store around forty seconds behind him, he’s wearing a jade green polo shirt, cream-coloured trousers and comfy looking shoes. I stand directly behind him in the queue, and before I can settle on an opening statement, he begins to order his drink.

“Large latte please.” he says, “Anything else Tom?” the pretty barista asks as she rings up the bill. “No thanks.”

I think quick and jump in with a bold entry, “Excuse me.” I say cutting in, “Can I pay for that?” the barista looks to Tom, who looks to me. “No thanks, I can pay for my own drink.” He says with a deep suspicion.

“I work in the office next to you. My name is Tye.” I say and extend my hand to him, “I was hoping to speak with you for a minute. I promise I won’t take much of your time.”

He takes a moment and looks to the barista who shrugs her shoulders in a why not kind of manor, and it seems to do the trick. “Ok. You can buy me a coffee.”

“Great, why don’t we grab a seat? I’ll have the same please.” I say to the barista and gesture towards the corner table with two chairs. “I’ll bring your drinks over when they’re ready.” She tells us.

As we sit down, he waits for me to begin with an anxious countenance. “Ok Tom, this is going to sound odd. But I have to know, what is in Hewitts yard? I’ve watched you from my office window climb that wall twenty-seven times now. I’ve kept a tally count on the calendar on my desk. I intended to wait until you got to thirty, but I just have to know. What’s over the wall?”

He smiles and a slight relief washes over him as if he was expecting bad news. “I owe a cat.” he says, and I wait for the rest. But nothing comes.

“You owe a cat?” I echo in confusion, “To who?” I ask as we get interrupted by the pretty barista delivering our lattes.

“Well, that’s a good question Tye. But my answer won’t make sense.” “Try me.” I say. He takes a long cautious sip of his coffee and says, “The universe.” I wait again, allowing room for a follow up, but nothing comes.

“The universe. You owe the universe a cat?” I echo again. “Is this a feline cat? Or is this some other type of cat?” I ask and he chuckles.

“Yes, I mean the feline kind.” He informs me, “Look it’s odd I know, but it really is a long story, and I have an international call coming in the next fifteen minutes that I have to take. I wish I could explain but, like I said it’s a long story. Thanks for the coffee, Tye.”

I scramble to get an answer to my burning question as he stands up and begins to leave. “Wait, how about I buy you lunch. Here, tomorrow? You can tell me all about It.” he stops and smiles at me, intrigued at my curiosity he asks, “You really want to know that badly?” “Yes.” I say without hesitation. “Ok Tye let’s say quarter past one tomorrow afternoon. I’ll tell you all about it.”

At one o’clock sharp I enter Big City Grinders and assume occupation at the same little table. I tell the barista I’m waiting for company and will order upon their arrival. All night I struggled to sleep thinking about what the hell he meant by owing a cat. I think I had a dream about trying to deposit a handful of tiny cats into the bank, but when I woke it slipped out of my mind like dry sand through a giant crack. At precisely eight minutes past one Tom enters the coffee shop, and eager anticipation straightens my legs, and I meet him at the counter to place our order and get to the story telling. I shake his hand and prompt him to order first. He has a New York deli toasted sandwich, Pastrami with Gherkins and Relish, served with a side of fries. I order a small portion of the Spicy Chicken pasta, and we take our seats while our lunch is prepared. As we sit and face one another I stare to his side of the table in silence, waiting for him to begin. But he looks to me to start,

“So, Tom you were saying you owe the universe a cat. Please, continue.” I say. And he begins.

“Well, let me start at the beginning. I bought a kitten, a long time ago, for an old flame of mine. It was a beautiful little thing. Tortoiseshell coat, a patch work of perfectly random overlapping colours with piercing blue eyes. She called her Sapphire. Fast forward a few years and little Sapphire had a litter of her own, eight little balls of fluff. Most of them came out with standard Tabby coats and a few black and white mixes. And one perfect little copy of herself. Only instead of blue, she had burning orange eyes. I took the doppelganger and named her Amber. She came to me at ten weeks old and became fast friends with my then three-year-old German Shepherd, Sheba. They would sleep nose-tip to nose-tip like cartoon friends come to life. Sheba was Amber’s best friend until she died aged eleven.” He comes to a stop at mention of his beloved canine’s demise and a warm reminiscence enters his eyes.

After a moment of thought he continues, “Well, after Sheba left us, a void opened, and to fill it, I brought home Shona. A big Boisterous German Shepherd puppy, all black with little tan eyebrows that made her facial expressions easily readable. Unfortunately, Amber and the Shona didn’t get along, I suppose I thought I could replace Sheba, and she wouldn’t notice much. But she did. And in less than two years of being hassled by the new addition, Amber packed her bags and left. She didn’t go far, only next door to the neighbour, an old man who loved all animal and would have a regular rotation of the neighbourhood cats sitting in his living room window and loitering in his front garden. She seemed happy, and she would even come to great me from time to time. But the longer she stayed on the other side of the fence the less she cared to see me.”

I interrupt to clarify, “Your Neighbour stole your cat?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so. He didn’t steal her as much as she adopted him. That’s the way I saw it anyway. But you’re not the first person to say that.” I shake my head at the audacity, and he continues. “Anyway, she lived with Arthur for years, and it even became a sort of running joke. Every time I saw her, I’d say something like. Are you coming home today? But I knew she wasn’t coming home. Not while Shona was still there.” He says with a widening of his eyes.

“Tom, I think Arthur stole the cat. That’s how it sounds to me. I’m not sure you owe anything so far.” I say, “I’m not done yet Tye. The plot thickens.” he says as the pretty barista arrives with our lunch, and as soon as she tables the plates, I envy his choice and regret mine. As he tucks into his delicious looking sandwich, and I start to pick at the unappetising pasta he continues.

“As I was saying, she didn’t live with us anymore and settled into life next door at the cat hotel. But as things tend to go, old Arthur got older, and eventually sick and infirm. His decent was rapid and his ailing health came on like a storm. He went from a spritely old chap who would walk to catch the bus and fetch his own shopping, to a man that could barely stand unassisted in a matter of months. He held out as long as he could but when a cold snap arrived one January, he caught pneumonia and was subsequently taken into temporary care. Me the other neighbours did our best to feed the cats while he was gone, but most of them stopped coming around after a few weeks, including Amber. By the time February arrived the cold snap turned to a deep frost and then a steady snowfall.”

I interject as the memory of the year he is retelling comes to mind. “Yes, I remember that it was three years ago. I had a week off because I couldn’t get the car off the drive.” 

“Yes, it was a bad one. A lot of people got stuck on their driveways. During the snowfall, Amber suddenly returned. Rewind to the November before and Shona, my rambunctious German shepherd fell ill. They did test after test but could find anything wrong. Her health was up and down. She was fine for a few days and responding to the medication and then would crash again and be weak and lame. We loved her so much that silly big girl, we spent a small fortune in vet’s fees to try and help her, but she wouldn’t turn the corner. By the time we got to February she was on her last legs and not even nine years old. When Amber returned it was a cold Monday night around two in the morning, below minus temperature and frozen everywhere. She clawed at the bottom of the door like she used to do so many years ago, a sound that caught me off guard but one which I recognised right away. When I opened the door I couldn’t believe it, she slipped through the gap like she had when she was a young, tightly wound spring. But she wasn’t moving anywhere near as fast. She climbed the first few steps and turned to yam at me. She didn’t look right, skinny and aged, she must have been eighteen or nineteen at the time. Her nose was running, and she looked spaced out. Her behaviour was erratic, like she was desperate for something but didn’t know what. I brought her food and water, but she didn’t want either. The presence of her long-lost feline sparked life back into Shona who I was intent on keeping away. Amber looked ill and whatever she had; I didn’t want Shona to get. She wouldn’t have survived another ailment. So, I moved Amber to a bedroom and set up a little box with old t-shirts for her to cosy up in. but it didn’t work. She rampaged around the room causing a racket like she was drunk, or worse, rabid. I tried to just go to bed and see what the morning would bring us, but she refused to settle. She caused so much chaos that I had to do something. When I opened the door to see what the hell was going on she ran out and headed straight towards the door that led to Shona. I tried and tried but she clawed and scratched at me until I had to make the decision that put me in debt. I had to put her out. She fought with me at the door, but I overpowered her pushed her past the door and closed it behind her. I cast her out into the frozen cold night.” He stopped as he relived the moment at the coffee shop table.

“Jeez Tom, this is horrible. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag up painful memories. “It’s ok.” He said, and continued, visibly bothered by his past actions.

“I heard her meowing outside for about ten minutes and then it stopped. I told myself that she would find shelter. I had tried to help, even though she decided she didn’t want to live with us anymore, I tried. And I couldn’t risk her getting my Shona sick. That wouldn’t be fair to her. To put her at risk for a cat that abandoned us years ago. Anyway, I lied myself into a warm and cosy sleep. The next morning, I woke up and went straight out to the front step and called her. But she didn’t come. I went to the back door and repeated the actions with the same result. And then, I looked in the dog kennel. Like a voice inside of my head, something told me. She’s in the kennel. And she was. The cold had claimed her during the night. She died in the doghouse out in the cold because of me.” He stops again, and his eyes take on a glazed look as if a step away from a tear, I take a second to process the depressing story I pulled out of the poor man and realise he has missed something along the way, distracted by the tragedy.

“Tom I’m sure most people would have made the same decision. I mean you had to think about the dog. And like you said, she left years ago for another life. You can’t feel too guilty. Sounds like a rough decision to make, either way.” He nods in passive agreement, “Yeah I guess you’re right.” He says.

“But Tom. What does all of this have to do with jumping over Hewitts wall every day?” I ask. “Oh sorry, I got lost there. Right the wall, why am I jumping over the wall.”

“About two months ago I arrived at the office early, and I noticed a small black ball of fur in the gutter just outside of Hewitts gates by the wall you see me jumping over. When I looked closer, I noticed it was a kitten, so I went over to scare him away from the roadside and her ran under the gate and into the yard behind the wall. When I investigated a little more, I saw there was a mother cat and two kittens. All black. That building has been empty for a few years now so I knew they were strays. Well, like I said when you first asked me. I owe a cat. So, I took it upon myself to make sure they were fed. I’ve been feeding him ever since. Do you remember the road workers that resurfaced the road a few weeks back? Well, they must have scared away the mom and the other kitten. He’s the only one left. He’s too small to hunt yet so I’m feeding instead. I’ll have to catch him, I think. See if I can find a home for him.” he says and stops. My face dropping and jaw gaping must have pulled him out of his train of thought.

“What. Did I say something wrong?” he asks me, “Tom, you won’t believe this. But my wife and I are looking for a kitten. And we wanted a black one. Do you think you can catch him?” I ask.

“Think? I know I can. Will you really have him? Give him a warm home?” I smile, “Not only will I have him, but I will name him Tomcat in honour of your efforts.” I replied and a strange relief washed over his entire demeanour. like the guilt he was carrying had vanished into the ether, his universe rebalanced.

THE END.