Clara

It was the cat. The cursed black cat you named Clara, only moments after she appeared. I know why you named her that. I didn’t understand it back then, but I do now. You said impatiently, “She can see right through me, John. She knows what I’m thinking…all the time, just like mother did. It’s the way she looks at me with those glittery golden eyes.” I laughed at you then. You thought she was clairvoyant, that she could sense your moods and emotions and see things that weren’t there. Your mother had been dead for almost five years, but you insisted that Clara could see her, talk to her. What a crock! Hannah, why didn’t you just talk to me? Why did you have to follow that stupid animal everywhere, watching, hoping for a sign, wishing for some kind of message from your dead mother? Did you really think Clara cared about you? Well, she didn’t, and as far as I’m concerned, all she did was make a fool out of you, and now you’re dead. I hope you’re happy now. 

You and I were happy once. We had a lifetime of plans together. My career, your art, traveling to exotic and historic places, and maybe one day, a house and a kid or two. Not necessarily in that order. I remember when, after we eloped, we struggled every day and saved every penny so we could buy our house. Our dream house with a barn and woods and a stream. You loved that little stream with its turtles and frogs that you would sneak up on. You were so patient. You tied your unruly hair into a ponytail, and inched your way to the edge of the water. You got so close with your outstretched hand hovering only inches above their bodies before bringing it down with a splash, only to watch them leap or dive under at the very last second. You got soaked, but you would laugh and try again. For hours, you would try, until you caught one, and it was worth it. You would look wonderingly at the frog or turtle, talk to it, then simply let it go, right back where you found it. You caught bugs and snakes and other little critters and studied them. You were terrified of spiders, yet would watch them with fascination as they wove their intricate webs and trapped their hapless prey. The plants and insects at your feet were a source of amazement to you. I would watch you peering at a tiny patch of dirt, mesmerized by an unusual ant or inch worm, then you would pore over your books and look them up. Flowers, trees, mushrooms, rocks, bugs and birds. It didn’t matter, they captivated you, and you would learn everything about them. I learned about them, too, because you would tell me every detail. Most of the time, I didn’t really care, but I loved you so deeply at those moments, that it didn’t matter. Your happiness was what mattered to me, and I would listen to you chatter on and on excitedly, always smiling. The most amazing thing, was your drawings and paintings. You didn’t just look at those creatures, you captured them in your mind and recreated them on canvas. I was in total awe of your talent back then.

We spoke of far away places we would go, and even dreamed of dedicating a whole year to travel and visit all of the incredible wonders the world has to offer. You wanted to see the great castles of Europe, and I had an itch to see the Great Barrier Reef, sharks and all. We knew it was just talk, we could never afford those dreams, but they were ours together. We would sip our wine and talk endlessly into the night, make love, and wake up happy in the morning. We had our whole lives ahead of us.

Then, quick as the flip of a switch, it all changed. When your mother died, the light in your eyes dimmed and you went away. You deserted me. You left me for a long, long time, until Clara brought you back—but not to me.

We never did travel anywhere. I certainly don’t consider us world travelers after crossing the Mackinaw Bridge to the upper peninsula for genuine pasties made by genuine Yoopers. And as for kids, well, your dead mother ended that dream after she decided she’d had enough of your dad and ate a breakfast of barbiturates. Then when that didn’t work, put a bullet into her heart with his .45 Smith & Wesson. What a mess she made. Your dad, charmer that he was, took one look, got into his truck and drove off. I know you wonder where he went, wonder what happened to him, but all I can hope for is that he drove off a cliff somewhere. 

I know how close you were to your mother. I respected that. I loved her, too, because you did, but she destroyed you. She ruined us. I tried to wake you up, to bring you back, but you wouldn’t see me. You didn’t hear me. You didn’t hear anyone for nearly half a decade, until that miserable cat. I was watching you from the kitchen window that day, you were laying in your hammock, rocking almost imperceptibly, staring at nothing, when your head perked up at a sound. I saw her then, her silky black coat on her sleek lithe body as she glided across the lawn. She walked right to you, never hesitated, and when she drew close, I saw you reach out your hand and stroke her head. As I watched, she seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sunlight streaming down through the trees. It was as if my eyes were seeing though water for a moment, and when they cleared, I saw her float up into your lap, and lay on your stomach as if she had every right to be there. Her confidence and your immediate acceptance of this interloper had an effect on me that made no sense. I was angry. I was hurt. I felt slighted, as if all of my years of trying to coax you out of your depression meant nothing. All this black cat had to do was show up and jump into your lap. Had I known that was all it would take, I would have gladly jumped up and down on you all day long, to get your attention. I was instantly embarrassed by my reaction, so I decided to go outside to meet your new friend. Oh, what a mistake that was.

As I walked across the yard to you, the cat looked at me, narrowed her eyes, and hissed. I stopped and stood motionless, wondering what to do. You looked up and gave me a scowl, as if I were intruding on something private. “Go back to your office and leave Clara and I alone,” you said. Your voice was different...harsh and low. Stunned, I didn’t know what to do. “LEAVE!” Your expression as you growled at me was unmistakable. It was full of hate. The cat began to purr as you stroked her head and kissed her between her eyes. She stretched out her body as she lay there. Her metallic eyes peered at me with contempt behind half-closed lids. Your eyes were like electricity, dark indigo and red and sparking. I almost felt a jolt in my gut as I turned and quickly walked away, back to the house. I went inside, closed the door, went to my office and didn’t come out until morning. I had slept on my couch, and have every night since.

For weeks, you followed Clara. Everywhere she went, you went. I tried talking to you, but you shut me out. I watched as you muttered to her, talking nonsense. She went to the barn, you went to the barn. She climbed a tree, you sat in the grass below, waiting. Once, I watched as she ran across the driveway, and dove under the pickup truck. You got down on your belly like an animal and crawled right after her. I could see your mouth moving, mumbling something unintelligible. I knew we were in trouble, but didn’t know what to do. I had long since given up trying to communicate. When I did, you lashed out at me and even hissed, just like Clara had done that first day. I had to laugh at that, because, well, come on, it was funny in an extremely disturbing way. It was shortly after that, when I decided to seek professional help. Or at least try. It was that or call the pound and have them throw a net on you and toss you and the cat into a cage! But I was too late. 

A few weeks after you lost your mind, I made a quick trip to the drugstore to buy some over-the-counter sedatives. I don’ know if I bought them for you or me. Maybe for us both. When I arrived home, I swung the pickup into the driveway, just in time to see Clara climb the 20-foot ladder to the roof of the barn. I had placed it there a week ago, intending to fix the weathervane that had started to wobble. The cat easily and fearlessly climbed the rungs to the roof in a few seconds and looked down, waiting. You, however, weren’t as graceful. I jumped out of the truck and began to run, but I wasn’t fast enough. I yelled, “Stop, don’t move, I’ll help you down!” My voice was just enough distraction to make you turn toward me. Your expression was of surprise, then terror as your left hand missed the next rung and began to swing wildly. Your eyes snapped back to Clara as your body lurched away and then grasping at air, you fell. Down you went. You didn’t even scream. When you hit the earth, it was more of a crunch than a thud. I stopped running and stared at you, waiting for you to get up, but you didn’t. Your body jerked and heaved for a moment, then stopped. You were still. I slowly walked to you, my labored breathing beginning to ease, and there you were, splayed on your back, your neck broken. Your lifeless blue eyes stared up at the sky. I looked up and it wasn’t the sky your eyes were unseeing. It was Clara, sitting on the roof, smug and aloof, gazing down at you with her glittery golden eyes. She yawned, and began to purr.