A Whisker In Time

 Mrooow. 

We stare at each other in eerie silence, neither of us blinking as we consider the other. The cats citrine eyes shone in stark contrast to its inky coat, its tail flicking in unison with the flickering street light. 

“What do you want this time, Whiskers?” at the sound of the nickname I gave him he saunters closer. He eyes the sandwich I hold and paws at my shoe expectantly. This is usually the part where I give in and feed him a few pieces of my lox. He'll take a few bites and then take the rest who knows where. Sometimes on my way home from work I see him in his usual spot under the broken street light, lounging across the brick wall that wraps around a private garden. When I crouch down to offer him a slice of lox however, he sniffs the smoked fish, eyes me curiously and trots off toward the street light. After climbing up the post and onto the garden wall, he turns back to me. 

Mrroow.

“What?” I ask as he takes a few more steps out of the light, turns back to me and speaks again. It may be fatigue from staring at the screen at work all day, but I could swear I saw an unnatural sheen flash across his eyes that time.  

I get the implication, he clearly wants to show me something but something makes me pause. I glance at the time on my phone. 6:30pm. I was able to leave work a bit early since it was a lighter load than usual, so theoretically I could do a little exploring. It does tend to get dark here rather quickly this time of year but if I set an alarm I’m sure I’ll be back in time to catch the 7 o’clock bus home. 

“Alright fine, I’ll play along but only for a little bit, okay?”. He scampers off in reply, leaves shaking in his wake as he skirts through low hanging shrubbery. I wrap up my sandwich, stuff it in my bag and let him lead me around the curving brick wall, swatting leaves and twigs from my hair. The sidewalk I’m following ends at the curve of the wall and I have to walk in the street to keep up with Whiskers. He stops to check I’m still following him every so often then continues ahead, never going farther than my line of sight. At one point the gardens overgrowth gets too thick for the feline to travel through and he hops down to join me on the street. We walk side by side awhile before reaching the end of the road. I stop at the site of a weathered pale metal fence. The paint is chipped in several places and the rusty slide lock looks like it hasn't been used since the renaissance.On either side of the gate are two stone pillars resting lazily, the stones loosely piled on top of each other like a shuffled deck of cards. Old as it may seem, something about the passageway inspires a sensation in me I can’t quite place. As I run my fingers delicately over the ornate carvings beneath the handle, I realize the patterns come together to form a lovely orchid. I nearly jump out of my skin when the gate rattles violently, Whiskers perched gracefully atop the ancient pillars’ stone surface. 

I reach out to stroke his face but recoil as he swipes at me. 

“Geez, message received, no touchy.” I mumble. 

I gaze off into the distance behind him at an ocean of fog that seems to have come out of nowhere. I’m about to turn around to head back when I hear or rather feel movement in front me, a few feet from the gateway. 

There isn’t too much to see with the sky being overcast and the fog working as a veil over the ground. Thankfully it only really comes up to mid-shin for me. I tilt my head back, willing my eyes to somehow perceive the rain in the clouds. Although rain is unlikely, they look particularly dark and swollen this evening. I didn’t think to bring an umbrella with me either. 

I return my gaze to Whiskers, who has been delicately cleaning his paws while I try to determine if I want to proceed with him further. 

Another disturbance in the fog catches both of our attention. Ears perked and eyes glowing, he turns back to me once before bounding off towards it. I pull out my phone again, 6:45pm. 

Alright, then forward we go. I set a 5 minute timer then follow his lead. 

As I thought, the ancient slide lock refused me easy access into the sea of fog beyond it so I had to get a bit more creative. After looking around the pillars more closely I noticed a gap between it and an overgrown shrub and with some extra effort, I was able to pass through. 

“Whiskers, where are you?” I whisper. I’m not sure why exactly I’m whispering, I guess getting past the gate feels a little like trespassing even though there wasn’t any indication that this area is off limits to the public. Still, that sensation I felt earlier hasn’t gone away. I feel almost staticky, like the feeling one gets when you walk into a room and can tell someone was just there before you even if they left no physical evidence behind. Rubbing my arm for comfort, I slowly move forward, trying to kick the fog up enough to see where my foot will land next. 

I’ll just find Whiskers and head out. 

I pick up my pace just a little bit trying to notice any indication of the black cat's whereabouts. The fog reaches my shins so he shouldn’t be that hard to spot but with each step I take, the static feeling persists and intensifies until I am officially on edge. I’ve had enough of this. 

Why hasn’t my alarm gone off yet?

I pull out my phone to check the time. It reads 6:45pm. 

There’s no way. I know I’ve been walking longer than that.

I can’t bring myself to call out as fear edges itself into my mind. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before but it’s much too quiet out here. Since crossing the gate I haven’t heard a single bird or insect. I haven’t felt the breeze tousle my hair or the moisture in the air. Somehow that’s even worse than finding out my phone is saying no time has passed since my passing through the gate. 

I close my eyes and force myself to take deep calming breaths but when I open them again all I see is dense smokey fog. In the time it took for me to try to regain control of my thoughts, it has now spread and grown in thickness. I crouch down, preparing to just pick a direction and make a run for it, but while I crouch I notice a pale red stone. The longer I stare at it, the more out of place it seems. As though I’m in a trance, I watch my hand as it reaches out to scoop it up. No sooner than I touch its smooth surface, my phone alarm buzzes to life in my pants pocket. 

I nearly drop the stone as I fumble to silence the alarm, my heart still racing from the sudden outburst. I tuck the stone in my pocket and clutch my phone in my hand. 

Mrooowwwww

I hear a cat in the distance and decide to follow it again. It mews two more times and finally I see the white rusty gate. I break into a sprint, every step taking a bit of pressure off my chest and out of my head until I see the gate, the pillars and the shrubs I previously wiggled through. I don’t bother being as careful as I make my way back through the gap and I end up tripping on a stray branch, flinging my bag and its contents onto the pavement. 

I check my phone again for the time. 6:46pm. 

Shaking off the remnants of the shrubs and my nerves, I make the 10 minute walk towards the bus stop. It's the last one of the evening and usually the least crowded, which is just fine with me. I trudge up the hill, sneakers squeaking on the pavement. The ground is slick with moisture. It never rained today, but then again it rarely does in this town. As I reach the top of the hill, I notice the old man who usually rests on the old tree stump watching me. He tilts his weathered hat to me in silent greeting. While I take a much deserved rest, I hear a match being lit, the smoky aroma wafting in the space between us as the old man lights his pipe. 

“Gots ta be careful galavantin’ trew duh fog dis time a noight, musnt get too curious.” He rasps.

He leans in close enough for me to count the few black hairs left in his beard. 

“Don’ y’know the sayings of cats and the like?” he says, pinching his flower into the bowl of his pipe. 

I give a quick nod as I see the bus approaching and stand to greet it. A bell chimes as it pulls up to the curb, the driver offers a nod to us both and I board without looking back. 

Curiosity killed the cat. That must be what the old man meant.

I walk to the very back of the bus, the driver eyeing me in the rear view mirror to check that I'm seated. The bus gingerly eases away from the stop as I gather my belongings into my lap and pull out my keepsake from my adventure into the fog, settling into my seat. With my head resting against the window and the help of working street lights I have just enough light to see the base of the hill down to my rendezvous spot with Whiskers. 

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. 

And as if to confirm my thoughts, I notice just in time, a familiar sleek ebony tail disappearing from the cast of light flickering from a faulty street lamp.