The White Cat

The white cat appeared while everyone from the coffee shop was outside, looking heavenwards through cardboard glasses reminiscent of the three-D glasses moviegoers in the ‘50s wore. Everyone was standing on the dark sidewalk except the waitress, who was behind the shop’s counter rummaging through a purse. She continued to rummage under the bar and through order pads and apron pockets until the sunlight returned and the eclipse watchers, chatting amongst themselves, strolled back inside. Merging into the group, the cat slunk through the door with everyone else.

“I’m just saying this universe is huge. There has to be other intelligent life forms out there,” one of the crowd said.

The fellow next to him raised his eyebrow. “I’m not sure there’s intelligent life here on Earth.”

“I don’t know,” another man said. “My dog’s pretty smart.”

“We’ll be with you in a minute,” said the barista, who was hurrying past the customers filing into the coffee shop. She scooted behind the counter and grabbed a bag from the shelf on the wall. As she poured the contents of the bag into the french press, the scent of coffee wafted through the air. She turned to the waitress and asked, “Were you here the whole time?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It was awesome. I can’t believe you missed it.”

“I’m sure it was. Have you seen an envelope?”

The barista’s eyes moved up and down the counter. “No.”

“It has my rent money in it, and I can’t find it. The rent’s due today. My roommates are going to kill me if I’ve lost it.”

“Rent money. Like cash?”

The waitress nodded.

“If you guys used Venmo, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

With a heavy sigh, the waitress grabbed an order pad and crossed the shop. “What can I get you guys?” she asked the customers at the corner table, scribbling on the page when the men replied.

Meanwhile, as the barista frothed milk for the latte the customer at the bar had just ordered, the cat leapt onto the counter and walked a few steps across the black granite countertop before laying down and stretching out its lanky body, the tip of its tail swishing, its eyes on the barista who kept patting her apron pocket.

The waitress returned to the bar, near the cat’s resting spot. She scratched between its ears. “What are you doing here?”

The barista’s gaze traveled in the direction of the waitress’s voice. Her eyes widened. “Shoo! Shoo!” She flicked her hands as she rushed towards the feline, which growled, a low grumble at first. But the growl grew louder the closer the barista came to the animal. When she was within arm’s reach, the cat shot to its feet, arching its back, hissing, and spitting.

The waitress scooped the cat up from the counter as its front paw swiped the air, nearly missing the barista’s bare arm.

“Now, now. There’s no need for that,” the waitress told the cat.

“Get that thing out of here.” The vertical vein in the barista’s forehead pulsed like a heartbeat.

“I can’t put it outside. It’ll run out into the street and get hit by a car.”

“It can’t stay here.”

“Does anyone recognize this cat?” the waitress asked in a loud voice as she held the cat above her head.

Only a few patrons answered, “No.” The rest of the crowded shop never glanced in her direction.

“I can’t just throw it outside,” the waitress said again. “Can’t it just stay here to the end of my shift and then I’ll take it with me.”

“No.”

“Then, I’ll leave now and take it to a shelter.”

“I don’t care what you do with it as long as you get it out of here.”

With the cat tucked to her hip, the waitress grabbed a purse from the cubby under the bar and placed it on the floor. Her hand ran over the cubby’s empty shelves before she closed the cabinet’s door. When she stood, a worn purse hung from her shoulder, and she held the cat under her other arm. Weaving through the customers standing in front of the counter, she headed towards the front door.

Once her heels clicked the sidewalk, the cat caterwauled and started thrashing its limbs. The waitress yelped as the cat wrestled its way free of her, landing on its feet and tearing down the sidewalk and around the corner.

When the waitress lifted her top, three bloody scratch marks streaked her belly. Rubbing her wounds, she turned towards the coffee shop window. The barista was pouring a drink. The customers were either talking to each other or staring at their phones.

The waitress walked away.

She traveled three blocks then entered a brick building and climbed its staircase. On the third floor, she let herself into an apartment, kicked her shoes off, and padded to a room where she collapsed on the unmade bed. As she laid there, staring at the ceiling, tears appeared in her eyes.

A breeze with a slight nip flitted through the open window. The sunlight, which had been golden in the pre-eclipse hours, had faded to a washed-out beige, and the anemic light was seeping into the room like blood seeped out from cat scratches.

The bed groaned as she rolled off it. Making her way to the bathroom, she doused a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbed the soaked cotton on her stomach. When she was done, she looked through the trash and the cabinet under the vanity.

Next, she went to the living room. She stuck her hands between and around the couch cushions before she entered the kitchen. There, she dug through drawers and opened cabinets, sliding her hands around the pots, pans, and the hodgepodge pile of plates.

When the last door slammed shut, she returned to the bedroom but stopped when she was halfway to the bed. The white cat was sitting on the windowsill, licking its paw. It groomed itself for a moment before it turned its azure eyes towards the waitress. With a soft meow, it leapt off the sill towards the street three floors below.

The waitress raced to the window. She paused. Grasping the windowsill with her hands and leaning half out of the window, she craned her neck one way then the other. There was no sign of the cat.

She drew her head back inside the apartment and looked at the white envelope resting on the sill under her hand. Paper crinkled as she lifted the flap to reveal the cash inside. She counted the bills, recounted them, and then thumbed through the twelve one-hundred-dollar bills once more.

She closed the envelope and whispered, “Thank you,” to the empty room. Without slipping her shoes back on, she dashed out of the apartment and down the three flights of stairs to the landlord’s office, handing the packet to the property manager who was in the hallway, locking the office door.

After the transaction, the waitress wandered out of the apartment building.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Her bare feet carried her to the corner—“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty”—and back to the sidewalk beneath her window. “Where’d you go?” she asked the unmarred concrete where the cat should have landed.

Silence answered her.