Suki

The knock at the door woke him. Grumbling under his breath, he rose from the couch and lumbered to the door. Peeping thru the side window's mini-blinds, he recognized the old biddy from across the street. The only one in the neighborhood that hadn't been here yet, he thought to himself. God, let this be the last, he said under his breath as he opened the door.

"Marvin! Oh, I'm so, so sorry I haven't been here earlier. You know, my Pookie's been sickly all week, and I saw all the comin's and goin's over here and thought I would just wait to come when you were lonesome and all. 'Course I brought you some of that bacon casserole you 'n Suki love so much. Such a shame, oh, such a terrible thing it is," the woman said as she brushed past him to place the casserole dish on the kitchen counter. 

"Now, Georgina, you know you didn't need to do that; I've got a fridge load of dishes I don't know when I'll get 'round to eating as it is," Marvin said, shaking his head, trying to ignore the ridiculous hat the woman had on her head. When had he ever seen the woman wear a hat? Maybe in church, but then, he hadn't been to church in a month of Sundays. Good thing Suki only wanted a burial service; it wouldn't have looked good for him to be absent at the funeral.

Georgina was peering at the contents of the refrigerator, moving dishes sideways and stacking them. Pulling one out, she lifted the corner and sniffed. "Whew! We're throwing this out, Marvin. That old hag! I can't believe she would come over here and bring you anything after how she treated Suki's John-Boy. It looks like some old leftover spaghetti she's probably had in her fridge for a week. Next to a six-pack, likely. You know what she's after, now, doncha, Marvin?"

Marvin peered over his bifocals at the squat, heavy-bosomed woman standing before him. "Why, no, Georgina, what would that be?"

"Why you, of course! I reckon you're the only bachelor on this side of the creek. Oh, now, it's too soon for you to be thinking on things like that, I know it. Poor Suki hadn't been in the ground a week's worth yet, and all these old women swarming around like vultures on a dead possum. You be better to ignore them, you know," Georgina continued as she pulled dish after dish from the fridge. When she started to open the trash bin and dump them in, Marvin put out his hand. 

"All right now, Georgina, you have done enough. I thank you rightly for that dish you done brought over, and I'll go through the rest; you just leave it be. I'm sitting on a bustin' head right now, and need to lie down, so you go on back home, and I'll see about you directly." He placed his hand on her back and lightly guided her to the front door. "I know what you mean about all these people coming by to see me; I think I would really like to be alone for a while."

The rest was easier than he thought. Georgina nodded as he talked but thankfully kept walking. Right before he closed the door after he escorted her to the porch, he commented on the pretty hat she had on, closing the door as she smiled coyly and dipped her hat at him.

Sinking back down on the couch, he let a small smile creep on his face. Fat chance any of those old bats that lived around here getting their hooks into him. He finally got rid of one old nag; he sure wouldn't give up his freedom for another one. His glance fell on the picture on the end table. A picture of him and Suki shortly after they met many years ago. A pang somewhere close to his heart reminded him of better times and the first time he saw her. An old bar down on the south side, she was up on stage singing the blues. What a voice. And what a body. The long black hair against that dark skin and the most incredible eyes he had ever seen. Green with golden specks sparkled, it seemed, just for him. The curves were in all the right places under the sleek red dress. Oh, yes, what that body could do. The first two or three years with Suki had gone by fast; another bar, another town. Sex and whiskey took them from run-down establishments to back-alley bars that had not yet turned into the popular pubs that would rejuvenate the area in a few decades. She would sing, and he would count the smelly, dirty money passed to him for their cut of the night's take. 

Suki's voice couldn't hold up to the abuse; the smoking, the whiskey stupors, and the money stopped coming in. It was his turn, she said. He had to earn the money; she had done her part. Suki wanted to have kids; he could work. And work he did. He didn't set them up in a fancy house, but it was a house just the same. Working at the local building and supply store, loading and unloading, provided a roof over their heads and food on the table. But there weren't any kids to feed. That ship had sailed, so the doc said. Too much wrong inside Suki to make babies. 

The loss turned Suki into a mean woman. A mean, spiteful woman, as if it was his fault, she couldn't bake one up. She harped on adopting one for a while until he put a stop to it. Marvin wasn't too keen on a bunch of rugrats running around anyway but would have put up with one or two to keep Suki satisfied; they still had the occasional roll in the hay that made his step a little lighter. 

Then it started. The first day he came home from work and found Suki cuddling a kitten, he let her talk him into it even after repeatedly telling her that he hated cats. A dog, that was a different story. They could have a dog, but Suki would have none of it. She loved that blasted cat. It turned out that many other tomcats loved that cat, too, and soon there was a passel of cats roaming the house and the screened-in porch he had built to relax in. 

Marvin spent the next forty years coming home to the constant smell of litter boxes, used and unused. Cats walking the counters, cat hair in the bed, cats taking over the chairs and couch. He put up with them, and they put up with him, all for the lady of the house. To disrupt her parade of cats would be to declare war, and Marvin had long ago hung up his gear. 

As the years went on, there were fewer and fewer cats; Suki didn't understand why but would take in a loner every chance she got. Marvin never admitted it to her, but on more than one occasion, he had taken a cat or two across town to the shelter there, depositing them as a good Samaritan would with a lost cat on the road. 

John-Boy was her favorite. She always kept him with her, never letting him outside in the yard, always fearful that he would disappear. Marvin observed John-Boy prance around the house as if he was in charge (which he was) and pee – of all places – in the floor registers. A litter box had been placed next to the register in the laundry room, and John-Boy would turn his hairy nose up at the box and pee into the register, starkly looking at Marvin as if to say, "So there, smell my perfume throughout MY house!"

Marvin hated that cat as he hated no other. And he began to plan. Marvin had a small outbuilding at the back corner of their small plot of land surrounding the house, and he would spend much of his time there once he retired. It was cat-free, even though it did get a bit chilly in the winter. A few tools, mostly yard equipment, but one ratty old recliner with plastic thrown over it to keep out the mice, and some old Louis L'Amour westerns to read, was the best he could hope for.

Suki made it easy. Already complaining that he forgot to take the trash out, forgot to trim bushes along the front walkway, forgot to empty the sink of dirty dishes, it was easy to believe that he had also forgotten to close the back door when he left to go to his man cave in the back yard. Shaking her head and fussing under her breath that he would let John-Boy out, she would close the door behind him, time after time. Truthfully, Marvin forgot very little. His memory was excellent, comparatively speaking. So, it happened one time when Marvin was headed to his escape room; his wife was napping and didn't notice the back door open, and certainly didn't notice that Marvin may have helped John-Boy find his way out the back door. 

Marvin didn't adequately plan on the direction John-Boy would take once he successfully navigated his way out of the backyard. He hurried to his man cave when he heard the squealing tires and the resulting thud that he rightly presumed would be the now dead carcass of John-Boy. He would be better served to wait it out in his plastic-covered recliner with headphones carefully placed over his ears, allowing that he hadn't heard a thing. 

Caroline McAbee, the week-old leftover spaghetti giver, had used her beat-up Ford LTD to run over and kill John-Boy, bringing his limp and bleeding body up on the front porch and ringing the doorbell until Suki, yawning from her nap, had opened the door and promptly fainted.

The same spaghetti giver found him in his recliner, wringing her bloody hands and begging him to come to the house and do something. He found the now discarded John-Boy on the porch steps, his wife, Suki, sobbing into the faded carpet inside the front door, and a distraught neighbor wailing "I'm so sorry" repeatedly. 

Thankful that his wife's venom was focused on the McAbee woman and not him for leaving the back door open, he soothed and sympathized with his desolate wife for a few days before he excused himself to return to his man cave and his books, determined that he would be free of cats for the rest of his days. Somehow, he would find a way to keep his wife from obtaining another.

As it turned out, Suki didn't get another cat. The smoking, the eating, and the drinking that she thought he didn't know about – when actually he didn't care how much she drank as long as she left him alone – caught up to her. A heart attack, they said. Sudden and unfortunate but thankfully quickly taken care of. Except for the busybody neighbors that wouldn't leave him alone and which he hoped would subside within a few days, his life had improved immensely. He could eat what he wanted and didn't have to run to the corner of his backyard to get some peace.

Another knock at the door. Marvin hung his head. How much more? Peeking out the same blinds, it was his next-door neighbor, Graham. At least he didn't have a dish in his hand. 

"Graham? Hey, what you doing here?" Marvin was tired of the pleasantries. Get to the point, shut the door. 

His neighbor nodded down at the side of the porch. "Him. Or her, I guess. I don't know. I was taking my walk and noticed it sitting there, staring up at the door."

Marvin looked down as the large animal slid through the door, gliding as if on air; the paws seemed to barely touch the floor. 

"What kind of cat is that, anyway? I don't think I've ever seen one like it. Beautiful, I guess, if you like cats," Graham said, leaning inside to watch the animal deftly jump up on the couch, stretching its long body into its length and staring at them with wise eyes.

"I think that's what you call a Savannah cat," Marvin said, never taking his eyes from the animal that seemed perfectly at home on the couch. "Suki always wanted one; made me promise to get her one someday, but I couldn't ever afford it." That part wasn't true; he could've managed it, but a large cat that looked like a cheetah? He definitely didn't want one.

"Well, anyway, I wanted you to know it was out here. Thought maybe it had accidentally gotten out, too, I guess. Sorry about Suki, man; that's a hard one. My Bethie always liked her," Graham said as Marvin unconsciously closed the door on his last words. 

Walking over to the cat, he sat in the chair opposite the couch, staring into the incredible green eyes and the golden flecks that sparkled there. The night they met, he and Suki, she had asked him what he thought about the blues, rock and roll, and of all things, religion. He told her he hadn't given it much thought, and she replied that she thought we got different tries at it, and if she got to choose, she would come back as a cat and rule her world. 

"Suki," he said, with not a little trepidation in his voice, "welcome home."