One Last Time

The sweet aroma of baked bread and chocolate chip cookies filled the kitchen. Flour covers the countertop as Sarah flings another handful at the chunk of lumpy dough in front of her. 

“Ma would never allow me to throw the flour!” I exclaim, craning my neck to look up at Grandma Berti. 

As she leans back, her laughter breaks through the serene melodies of the always-present AM radio. She works her smooth, round dough with expert hands. “Baking is meant to be messy. Grab another cookie, dear.” 

I love being at Grandma Berti’s. Reaching over for the cookie plate that sits between us, I grab a flour-dusted chocolate chunk cookie. My smile fades at the sight of my hands, plastered in scraps of drying dough and coated in flour. My clothes are completely coated in flour as well. Oh no, Ma can’t stand it when my clothes are dirty, and this is awfully dirty. Sticking the cookie between my teeth, I pound on my chest and legs and watch a cloud of white powder puff from the fabric.

Granma Berti places a cool hand atop my head. “We ran out of flour. Can you run to the pantry and grab a fresh bag?” She winks and dabs a finger on the tip of my nose, leaving a fingerprint of flour. Laughing, I try to brush it away. 

Stuffing the rest of the cookie into my mouth, I skip through the kitchen to the pantry. The pantry was a small room lined with shelves stuffed with clusters of jars and cans. The flour should be here somewhere. I scan the room and spot a small bag at the end of one of the shelves. Next to it lies a wall featuring a small door adorned with a little handle. As I reach for the flour bag, my hand touches the door instead.

“Grandma!” I yell as I run my hand over its edges. “What’s this door for?”

“That’s just the ironing board cabinet, Sarah. Nothings in there but things for laundry,” she answers.

The door seemed out of place with its odd, slim, and lengthy appearance. My laundry room doesn’t have a door like this. The handle is chunky, with many layers of paint covering it. I give a gentle tug, but it sticks. Gripping with both hands, I give it a forceful yank. And, with a crack, it opens. 

The door swings wide, and a faint creak echoes through the dimly lit room beyond. A murky blue light filters through a small window that illuminates the room, highlighting a wooden rocking chair, delicate dollies on side tables, and an old floral couch with unique tiger paw feet. The absence of any laundry items in this room gives me an unsettling sensation in my stomach. 

Slipping through the door, I wrinkled my nose at the smell of musty old things and dusty air. I can feel the trembling of the creaking wooden floor beneath my slippers as I cautiously venture deeper into the room. As I look up, an unsettling chill sweeps through me at the sight of the corners of the ceiling clustered with drooping cobwebs, similar to a haunted mansion. Ma would get upset if she knew Grandma had such a messy room in her house; no wonder it’s hidden. 

I stop abruptly, my heart pounding in my chest. Concealed within the shadow beside the couch, there's a mysterious figure. I feel a shiver down my spine as its eyes meet mine, filled with a mysterious intensity. The atmosphere is charged with a tense stillness as we stand immobile, our eyes locked in unwavering focus.

The figure stands and brushes against the couch, its purring creating a soothing ambiance. As it moves, the light illuminates its fur, highlighting the familiar thick lines swirling around its sides. At that moment, all I can do is gasp. The tabby cat's pattern was a mirror image of my lifelong companion. 

Whether I was playing on the floor or lounging on the couch, his favourite spot was always right next to me. Seeing him again floods my mind with memories—the gentle hum of his purring as I drifted off to sleep, the silky texture of his fur as I ran my fingers through it, his unwavering presence during both happy and sorrowful moments. When I see him, it's like I've entered a dream I never want to leave. 

 “Taz,” I say in a breathy tone. As I take in the presence of my old friend, a sharp, burning sensation engulfs my eyes. Even though it had been months since he passed, I instantly recognized him. Is this reality or just a figment of imagination? It never crossed my mind that I would see him once more. As I reach out to touch him, there’s a mischievous twinkle in his emerald green eyes. 

My hand brushes his fur, and he bounds further into the room, giving his usual flick of the tail, signalling for me to follow, to play. His fur is just as sleek and soft as before—this was real. Giggling, I give chase. 

Taz dashes to one corner, and I dive after him. I glide across the floor as light as a feather and follow him around the dusty room. He slips past my hand with the ease of a cougar, and I am rewarded with a face full of cobwebs. Ugh! Taz, as mischievous as ever, hasn't changed a bit. I swipe at the wispy material tickling my face and swing around in a fluid movement, looking for his newest hiding place.

“Taz!” I let out a joyful squeal. I sprint after him, the thumping of my footsteps echoing through the room as he gracefully leaps onto the table. As he extends his claw, it accidentally snags on a delicate doily, causing it to fall over his head like a comical hat.

As his silly hat slips away from his head, he slows down. His paws make a faint padding sound as he darts away, fuelling my desire to chase after him. With a sense of familiarity, I called out his name between bursts of laughter, eagerly trying to peek behind the couch.

With every leap he makes, his colours fade and change. They go from light and dark brown to purples and blues. He finally lets me catch him, and in an instant, I pull him in for an enormous hug, my nose burying into the nape of his fur. 

I plop myself down and cross my legs, feeling the softness of his new colourful coat beneath my fingertips. The combination of purple and blue on a cat is something I have never come across. Wanting to see if the blue light was playing tricks on my eyes, I run my fingers through his fur, feeling its smoothness. It wasn't merely an illusion. Maybe cats turn more beautiful when they pass away. I love the new colours. 

“I missed you, Taz,” I say as he flops around my lap, purring up a storm. With each passing moment, my heart seems to contract even more within my chest, and the persistent smiling takes a toll on my aching cheeks.

With every gentle stroke of his fur, the room's soft blue light grows stronger, highlighting his coat's intricate tones of purple and blue. Purring, he stands and lifts the corners of his lips, revealing a wide, toothy smile.

He starts to fade, so I hold him in one last hug until nothing but his silly smile and glowing green eyes float above the ground. His eyes squint at me one last time, then he is gone. My last visit with Taz was over. 

I sit in silence, unmoving for a moment. Taz vanished just like the Cheshire cat, disappearing with a smile on his face and in his eyes. My eyes burn. I should get back to Grandma. 

“Goodbye, Taz. I will never forget you.” I utter words to the room that echo back in silence. Making my way back to the door, as quiet as a mouse, I slip back into the pantry. With a swift motion, the door closes. There's a subtle clicking sound as it locks into place. 

As I reach for the bag of flour on the shelf, I feel a lump forming in my throat, and despite my best efforts, tears stream down my face. That was a magical moment. I will wrap that up and store it in my heart. It will be a secret memory for just Taz and me. My lips curve into a contented smile.

Walking back into the kitchen, I take a moment to dry the tears from my eyes, knowing that Grandma Berti is patiently waiting for me and the flour. 

As her eyes land on me, she says, “My goodness, Sarah. What on earth is in your hair?” When she takes the flour from my hands, I can’t help but pull her close, feeling the softness of her embrace. With a laugh, she engulfs me in a tight embrace, and we dance together, moving in sync with the music's beat.