Benny, Jenny, and Alma in the Dirt

“It was me. I took your food, Alma.” 

Large, round green eyes stared as she fiddled with the can’s pull tab behind her back. The feline’s mouth pulled back, then a silent yawn fell out. 

The sharpness of the tab pinched the stiff skin of her finger, so she adjusted her grip. 

“Whattaya gonna do about it?” she drawled. 

Alma blinked, unhappy to say the least. She occasionally flicked her gaze to the shadows of the kitchen cabinets. The early afternoon light shifted them incrementally across garish mint green walls. 

“I’m a thief. Oh no-o-o-o…” She pretended to creep to the fridge, knees high and tip-toeing, and slid the can on the top. “I have plundered your meal. Huh, girl? You’re gonna have to fight me for it.” 

The cat saw the can disappear and didn’t hesitate to softly mewl. The mossy eyes swung back to her. 

She stared back, taking in Alma’s stately but tense posture, no-nonsense expression, and twitching nose. 

She sighed, defeated. “You got me.” She slid the food off the fridge, whipped out a fork and shut an open cabinet door in practically the same movement. 

“Your interrogation and combat skills are unmatched, sweet girl.” 

The cat descended on the food after it was served, while she disposed of the can, rinsed her hands, and sighed. A quick glance outside the window above the sink revealed her eight year old neighbor, Benny Friar, savagely beating a section of his mother’s tulip garden. 

She couldn’t help but be amused at the picture. A tranquil, charming row of pink flowers ending with a manically giggling, blue shorts and red/black shirt boy swinging a toy shovel. Dirt flew everywhere, speckling the pure white front of the house. 

As amused as she was, she knew his mother would give him hell for the transgression, so she cracked the window. 

“Hey! Benny! Kiddo, don’t do that. You gotta stop. That’s not good behavior!” 

One of these got through to him, as his swing faltered and he looked up with a stricken expression. His gaze darted around until he saw her open face through the window directly across the street. 

He drew his shovel into himself, expression guilty and bashful. Finally looking at his surroundings, the dirt on the side of the house, and littering the freshly-cut green grass, his eyebrows crinkled and the shovel slipped from his fingers. 

She chuckled to herself. The sight reminded her of shenanigans from her childhood- complete with the sudden distress after being reprimanded. 

“Are you bored?” she hollered, just to reassure that she wasn’t angry. She could also promise not to tell his mother, but yelling that across the street kind of defeated the purpose of secrecy. Also, his mom would find out when she discovered the destruction. 

The kid wiped dirt-smudged hands on his shorts, making her cringe at the imagined effort of washing them, before nodding. They knew each other relatively well from neighborhood parties and Friar family get-togethers that she intruded on because Mrs. Friar seemed to like her. She was good with kids (some would say she acted like one herself), so focusing on brightening Benny’s day didn’t seem like a terrible waste of time. 

“You wanna come over and see Alma? You might need to sneak away before your mom finds out what you did.” She added a smile to the offer, hoping the kid could quickly visit. She might be able to buffer his mom’s inevitable anger. 

His face creased more, but not for long as he thought about her offer. He pulled at his shirt. “She’s at the store. She’s gonna get popsicles.” 

You’re not getting one after she finds out what you did. She had enough experience with kids to know not to say that, though. 

Knowing the family, his dad was probably inside watching a sports game. She didn’t see a problem with him hanging out with her cat for a few minutes. 

She waved him over. “Well, come on over before she gets back. I can’t keep yelling across the road, y’know!” 

She caught a glimpse of Benny hurriedly stashing the murder weapon under a bush before starting to lope across the Friars’ front yard. She turned, noted that Alma had eaten every spot of her gravy turkey feast, then made her way to the front door. A stripe of white flashed in her peripheral as the cat dashed over to her tower. 

Not five seconds later, a timid knock barely met her ears from behind the door. She opened it, letting the fresh spring air and the scent of dewy grass into her stale foyer. Just as she suspected, dirt made up a lot of Benny’s close appearance, staining his chubby cheeks, somehow creeping up to his forehead, and streaking along his clothes. 

His eyes were large and cornflower blue, staring up at her with as much expectant glee as a puppy would at a treat. 

“How are ya, Benny boy?” 

He nodded, unsticking his mouth to babble, “Great, Miss Jenny.” 

It was evident she wasn’t getting more than that as his eyes tracked behind her to see where Alma was. Kids loved animals most of the time, but Benny had been fascinated by Alma from the moment he realized what a cat was. He would chase her, pout when she got away, offer her treats and his own stuffed animals, and giggle when she brushed by him, purring. It wasn’t a surprise that he ran over as soon as she offered a visit to the feline.  

“Come on in, see where that mangy thing went. She just had her lunch, so she’s gotta lotta energy to play.” She opened the door wider, letting him scamper past. 

She shut the door, looking down and realizing spots of mud had made it onto her floor from his sneakers. She sighed once more. 

From deeper in the house, cooing noises and shrieks of excitement drifted. She could get some work done in her office while they kept each other busy. Benny knew where Alma’s favorite toys were, and not to pull her tail or go near her claws. She was confident they couldn’t get into too much trouble. 

“It’s Jenny, hey, hey, it’s Jenny!” She sang to herself in a whisper-yell as she navigated around laundry baskets and scattered shoes to her office. The melody she made up bounced around her brain, forcing her to nod and shimmy as she walked. 

A door crept open to her right, the graceful form of Alma peeking out, then emerging with gentle steps, occasionally throwing her head back to see if Benny was following her. He stepped just as cautiously, only muttering a delighted “Hi Miss Jenny!” after catching sight of her. They seemed to be headed towards the kitchen. 

She chuckled, shooting a small smile back before ducking into her office. 

She toiled in her workspace for another twenty or so minutes, keeping an ear out for any strange noises from the two troublemakers’ direction. Half-listening to their play date from another room counted as babysitting, right? 

A piercing scream erupted from somewhere outside the house, making Jenny’s stapler tumble out of her hand. She shot to her feet and was out the door in less than five seconds. She shoved through the first door she saw, the glass one attached to the kitchen that lead to her backyard.

“Benny!” 

Her heart pounded a little too hard, her brain pulling up images of strange men snatching the kid up, pushing him into a black van, or his tiny form falling from a tree and landing awkwardly. It was a white sheet of PANIC, PANIC that drove her body outside. 

She didn’t even register the soft blanket of grass under her feet as she dashed into the yard, glancing around wildly to spot the child and her cat. 

“Benny! Kiddo, where are you?” She gulped down a breath. “What’s going on?” 

“No, no! Alma, no!” His high-pitched shriek sounded from across the street, around the front side of the house. 

She sprinted there immediately. 

Then stopped short before actually crossing the street to the Friars’ house. 

The sight before her was just too bizarre to react to. 

Alma’s form was a snowy, jerking mass positioned in Mrs. Friar’s tulip garden. There was a bright red toy shovel clamped in her jaw, moving this way and that as the cat frantically whacked it against the dirt. The toy was almost too large to fit. She could see her cat’s gums and wide eyes as she strained to keep the tool moving. 

Benny stood a few feet away, jumping in panic and squawking. He was asking for help the way little kids do- not explaining the situation or calmly addressing the problem, but shouting formless sounds to get the nearest adult’s attention. 

“No, stop! No-o-o, Alma!” 

The cat didn’t heed his words or give any indication she heard him. The chaotic energy radiating from her ceaseless beating persisted. 

Dirt took to the air once more, splashing the front of the Friar abode and scattering among the green grass.  

Benny finally caught sight of her after looking around for any kind of help. “Miss Jenny! Miss Jenny! You gotta stop her!” 

Her mouth hung open, neurons desperately trying to connect the image in front of her and her ability to speak, but nothing came out of it. 

“Uh-” 

That wasn’t helpful in the slightest. 

“Um… Alma! S-Stop!” She finally regained her motor functions, pattering across the tarred road to stand next to Benny. 

It was even weirder up close. There was a determined fire in the cat’s eyes, almost manic, as she tossed her head back and forth, wielding the shovel. The muted thump and scrape of it against the dirt and wood chip surface was a soundtrack to the theatrics. 

“She won’t stop…” Benny’s eyes were transfixed on the violent actions of the animal. 

“Yeah.” Despite herself, a laugh almost bubbled up in her. This was certainly not how she predicted the day would go. “I’ve never seen her do something like this before. I don’t know why.” 

Harsh snuffs and puffs exited Alma as she repeated the same motion over and over again, sending the dirt every which way and exposing the darker mud underneath. 

A quick glance around the area jolted her out of her reverie. The grass surrounding the garden was now more brown than green, as Benny’s initial damage multiplied tenfold. She stepped forward, uncaring of the mess hitting her ankles and bare feet. 

She reached for the shovel, which blurred with speed. 

“Alma, girl, stop. Stop that!” A little bit of her was afraid of tense claws digging into the garden’s surface, bracing the feline for her rigorous effort. Alma was usually tame, but hurting her or getting in her way when she was “hunting” was enough to earn a hard swipe. 

She managed to just grip the red handle when it was ripped away unceremoniously. The force behind it made her gasp. Now she was concerned about Alma getting dizzy. The cat liked to play and went outside a fair amount, but she had never deigned to exercise like this before. 

“Girl, stop! Right now. Put it down!” She snagged the shovel again, halting its mad swing and seemingly jolting Alma from her feverish mission. 

The cherry red plastic was smooth beneath her fingers, but also coated in the poor garden’s skin and somewhat gritty. 

Surprisingly, the shovel was dropped right away. Alma unclamped it from between her teeth, licked her now chapped mouth and snotty nose and swung algae eyes that were uncaring yet observant up at her owner. 

Why did she somehow get the impression the cat was waiting for a scolding? Like she was aware she had misbehaved? She liked to pretend to communicate with her cat, but she couldn’t actually one-on-one talk with her. 

“Bad girl!” She glanced at the spit-soaked, dirty toy shovel. “Very bad! How did you even-” 

The more she thought about it, the less sense it made. Why did her cat randomly attack Mrs. Friar’s garden? Not only that, but in the exact same manner Benny had earlier. Such behavior was not typical of her aloof pet, and it wasn’t like she had seen Benny beating the garden and decided to copy. She could have simply used her claws to tear up the dirt if she wanted to, anyhow, or scraped some dirt patches in her own yard. 

“Why did she do that, Miss Jenny?” 

Turning, she saw Benny looking up at her in an eerily accurate impression of her cat, except his eyes were ocean-blue and confused. A small snuff made him turn back to the animal, watching as she wound her way through his legs and strode to the end of his yard. The cat made no other decipherable noise before crossing the street, heading back to her home. 

“I… I honestly don’t know. I gotta tell ya, kid, I seriously don’t know why she did such a thing.” 

She shook her head. The incident was over, but she didn’t know what Alma might do next. Cats were so unpredictable. 

“Uh-oh.” 

She glanced over at Benny, then in the direction he was looking. A black, boxy car- Mrs. Friar’s- was cruising down the street towards them, spots of sunshine reflecting off of its polished surface and temporarily blinding her. By the time she had blocked it with her hand and squinted to get a better look, the car was pulling into the Friar’s driveway. 

Uh-oh, indeed. 

The damage to the garden was drastically worse than before. At least the boy nor the cat had pulled up the tulips. To be fair, there was nothing she could have done to prevent the incident. She hadn’t known Alma would be a jerk and destroy their neighbor’s garden. She had stopped the feline as soon as she could, so how mad could Mrs. Friar get, really? 

A muffled yell quickly transitioned to a sharp yell as Mrs. Friar shoved open the car door. 

“-is this? My garden! What are you doing?! What happened?!” 

In her mind, there was little difference between Benny’s insecure, guilty disposition and her own in the face of Mrs. Friar’s rage. 

“Hey, Mrs. Friar.” The words somehow made it out despite the worry gluing her vocal chords together. “Good afternoon! I’d just like to explain the situation a little…” 

Before she could continue, the woman looked her in the eyes for the first time since she arrived and broke out in a delighted smile. 

“Oh, Jenny! It’s nice to see you, sweetie!” Her expression dropped as she surveyed the grimy dirt filling the spaces of her lawn, and Benny’s awkward, waiting form. Her tone quickly turned disappointed and stern. “You didn’t have to come over and watch him. No doubt you stopped him from ruining more of my garden, which he knows he’s not supposed to do!” 

It took all of her self-control to not sputter “bwuh?” 

Ah. Mrs. Friar had clearly taken all she wanted from the situation and came to the most obvious conclusion: Benny had gotten bored and used his shovel to tear up his mom’s garden, Jenny had seen from across the street and ran over to stop the kid. 

Fortunately for the kid, she was not going to let him be thrown under the bus for something her misbehaving cat did. She never planned to rat him out in the first place, anyway. 

Forcing a placating smile, she began to plead her case. 

“No, no, Mrs. Friar. I’m afraid you got it mixed up. Actually, my cat, y’know Alma, ran over here and tore up your garden. Benny yelled for help ‘cause he knows not to go near her claws-” here she winked in Benny’s direction, hoping he’d recognize the extra brownie points she was throwing in for him “-and got my attention. I rushed over to stop her. It was the weirdest thing, y’know, she used the shovel- she kinda clamped it with her mouth- and shook her head so the shovel beat the dirt. It was the wildest thing I’ve seen her do, for sure. You got here just after she ran inside.” 

Some part of her realized how unrealistic the story sounded, but a bigger portion believed the truth would prevail. Surely Mrs. Friar will hear the honesty in her voice. If not, she liked Jenny enough to believe most of what she said. 

The woman’s dark eyebrows drew in, and her mouth twisted up in disbelief. “Your cat…used a shovel?” 

She could feel Benny’s anxious stare, but nonetheless had to hold back the smirk about to break out on her face. She couldn’t be the only one that thought this would make a great story. 

Also the image of a cat using its cat paws to dig with a shovel forced itself to the front of her brain. She shook her head to clear it and refute Mrs. Friar. 

“No, not actually. She can’t use a shovel. But like I said, she beat it against the garden- I honestly dunno why, it was real strange- and sent the dirt everywhere. I knew you’d be upset by such a mess, so I apologize on behalf of Alma. I’ll keep her inside for a few days so she doesn’t do it again, but yeah. She’s something else, I tell ya.” 

Mrs. Friar seemed suspicious, her eyes darting between her wide-eyed son and her confident neighbor. She glanced again at the mess and the chunks of dirt missing from her row of tulips, but didn’t move to scold her son again. 

“I see.” 

It was evident she didn’t. 

“Benny didn’t do any of this?” Her finger drifted over the dirt-speckled grass, the now grubby white paint on the house, and the mismatched garden. 

She looked at the eight year old beside her, taking in the secretly hopeful gleam in his blue-green eyes. 

“Not a bit.”