My Huckleberry Friend, Moon River And Me

I hummed Moon River to myself as I put up the last of the Halloween decorations in the store. There was an empty corner that had been left untouched. We couldn’t decide what to put. Luckily, we had some leftover fake cobwebs. Perfect. Down below, I heard Chris calling out to me. Chris was my boss and the owner of Little Town Bookstore & Café (which he named as a tribute to Belle, the most endearing bookworm of all time).

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jodi!” Chris shouted. “You gonna lock up?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I called back from atop the ladder. “I’ve got it covered! You go on ahead. Get outta here!”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Chris reminded me before turning to exit the bookstore. Then he opened the door, letting in the cool fall evening air.

That’s when I saw him. Or It. A black cat sat in front of the store’s green painted wooden doors and hissed at Chris, who quickly sidestepped and smartly avoided contact with the psycho cat’s killer claws. I slid down the ladder, straightened some more books on the shelves, counted the money in the cash register, locked it, then wiped down the counter and all the tables and chairs. After I had completed all my final tasks for the day, I proceeded to head out, turn the lights off, and lock up. That’s when I noticed the cat still sitting on the sidewalk outside, staring at me through the bookstore’s large storefront window. It was as if it was waiting patiently for me. Its eyes looked weird. Sure, I know cats’ eyes glow in the dark, but this was different. Its eyes looked like green fire. It might have been my imagination, but it was blazing, shooting out sparks, smoke and fumes, and tongues of flame. There was so much fire in those two small eyes. I was so focused on those green eyes that I didn’t notice the sky above me. The beautiful red, orange, pink, and light purple of the crisp fall evening had already given way to deep blue, deep purple, and black.

“Great,” I said to myself. “It’s gotten dark and I have to pick up groceries.”

As I walked to my car, the cat walked beside me and occasionally rubbed against my legs in a cat’s typical way. Great. He’d already marked me as his own. Now what am I gonna do?

“Shoo!” I said, motioning with my hands for him to leave. “Go away. Don’t you have humans? I’m sure they’re worried sick and looking for you.”

You are my human, silly, it said with a purr that might have been a chuckle. Or at least that’s what I thought it said. I must’ve been so tired that day. I was imagining things. I’m pretty sure cats don’t talk.

“Shoo!” I said again. “Go away!”

I can’t do that, the cat seemed to say. You’re mine now.

This was getting creepy.

“Go!” I said, climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the car door shut before he could get in. I almost felt bad for him, sitting there on the curb with his sad little kitten cat eyes. Kitten cat eyes? Is that a thing? Like puppy dog eyes but for cats?

Anyway, I drove off to stop at Green Mart, Merton’s local grocery. My roommate Katherine and I alternated buying groceries and it was my turn that week. I checked, double checked, and triple checked my list, then I made my way down the aisles in search of the items on my list. At the checkout, I chatted with Bill Sanders while he scanned and bagged my items. I’ve known Bill since elementary. In fact, I’ve known everyone in Merton since my diaper days. Merton was a sleepy little Massachusetts town where everybody knew everything about everybody else. Some hated it and moved away for good, never to look back. Some left only to return years later, unable to resist the call of home. One such example was Katherine. She dreamed of making it big in California as a nurse in a top hospital. That dream fizzled out and died and she moved back here. Now she works at Merton Community Hospital. And then there are people like me and Bill who decide to stay, for good or ill. I have so many good and happy memories of this town that I just couldn’t leave. I’m sure that was also Bill Sanders’s rationale.

“So? How was your day?” Bill asked with a smile.

“It was fulfilling,” I said. “You know I love working at the bookstore. But it was tiring. And weird.”

“Weird how?” Bill asked, curious.

“There’s this black cat that’s been following me,” I said. “It was the weirdest thing ever. It was waiting patiently for me outside the bookstore, waiting for me to finish up and close.”

“You think that’s weird?” Bill said. “A huge husky has been following me all day. Found him in the stockroom out back. Nobody knows how he got in there.”

“You mean that dog outside the store?” I asked.

“Yep,” Bill said with a nod. “It’s weird. I checked and it doesn’t have a collar. No owner’s name or number or address. Nothing. It’s not microchipped either.”

“Huh. That is weird,” I said. “Well, goodnight, Bill!”

“Alright, Jodi!” Bill said, handing me my paper bags. “I’ll see you around. How about that date we talked about?”

“In your dreams, Sanders,” I said with a laugh and headed back to my car.

Before heading home, I decided to make one final stop. I parked in front of Edward’s Pub & Pool Hall. I needed a drink. Not enough to get me drunk (I don’t need a DUI on my record), just enough to loosen me up and calm my nerves. Liquid courage, as they say. I was getting spooked. I sat at the end of the bar and put four fingers in my mouth to whistle at Ed. That caught his attention. And everyone else’s at the pub.

“Hiya, Ed,” I greeted. “I’ll have a whiskey, neat. Two fingers, please. Thanks, Ed!”

“ID,” Ed said. “No ID, no drink.”

“Ed, you’ve known me all my life, your dad’s known me all my life,” I said with a sigh of exasperation. I didn’t have time for this. “You know I’m twenty freaking four, Ed.”

“Sorry, you still look nineteen,” Ed said with a laugh. I should’ve known it was a joke. He always teased me like that, saying I looked too young for my age.

“Maybe you’re just too old, Ed,” I teased back. “That’s why anyone younger than sixty looks young to you.”

“And just for that insult, young lady,” Ed joked. “I’m going to jack up the price of your drink.”

He laughed and I laughed. Ed was just like that. He could make everyone around him feel at ease. I was starting to feel a little bit better then. But I still needed my drink, which Ed poured for me and slid smoothly across the bar.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, cocking his head as he gave me my drink.

“Friend?” I asked, startled. I nearly jumped off the barstool. “What friend? What are you talking about?”

“Guy over there, near the entrance,” Ed said. “Black leather jacket. Black shirt. Six foot seven? Dark blond hair? You know him?”

I turned in the direction Ed had indicated and saw a handsome stranger by the door staring straight at me. He was decked out in all black, his dark blond hair sopping wet from the rain. There was something familiar about those green eyes. Even from afar, I could see them glinting in the pub’s dim light. I had a feeling I’d seen him before. I just couldn’t place where.

“No, I don’t know him,” I finally answered. “Never met him before in my life.”

“Do you have a stalker by any chance?” Ed asked. “Guy’s been staring at you since you came in.”

“A stalker?” I said with a laugh. “Besides Bill Sanders, you mean? No, none that I can think of.”

“Why’s he staring at you?” Ed asked. “Want me to kick him out?”

“No, no, I’ve got this sorted, Ed,” I said, handing him a twenty. “Thanks though. Keep the change.”

As I made my way through the crowd, a drunk man slammed into me, spilling his beer all over my shirt. He was a transient from out of town. We had those types here. They look for odd jobs here and there, and when their contract is through or when they feel they’ve done enough, they move on to the next town or the next city or the next state.

“A storm is coming,” he said with his rancid breath. “Something darker than the blackest night.”

“Get off of me, you creep!” I said, pushing him off me with all my strength. As he stumbled backwards, he collided with another patron and an all out brawl erupted. Ed had to rush over to stop the fight. In the chaos and confusion, my stalker slipped out unnoticed. He was gone.

I walked out into the parking lot and was instantly assaulted by a downpour of freezing cold rain. My skin felt cold, my flesh felt cold, heck, even my bones felt cold. I walked hurriedly to my car, shut the door, and started the engine. This was getting weirder by the second. I needed to get home, somewhere I would feel safe (despite the fact that the old Victorian mansion my parents left me feels lonely and creepy—I always thought it was haunted—that’s why I offered Katherine a place to stay).

As I was carefully weaving through Merton’s wet streets, something made me stop. I slammed on the brakes and immediately got out of the car. In the middle of the street, on the crosswalk, lay a black cat. It was still. Was it dead? Was it hurt? Could I do something to save it? Maybe it was the same cat outside the bookstore earlier that day. The cat that claimed me as its own. I searched my car frantically for towels. Thankfully, I found some dry ones. I wrapped the poor thing in the blanket and picked it up, placing it in the empty passenger seat beside me. I continued my drive home and brought the cat inside. I lit a fire and put him on the hearth in front of it. The poor thing was shivering and so was I.

“Well, looks like we’re going to be stuck together,” I said with a sigh. “I guess I am your human now. Might as well give you a name. What about Cat? No? That would confuse Kat. What about Moon River? Orangey? No, you’re black, not a tabby. Maybe My Huckleberry Friend, Huckleberry or Huck for short.”

I was a big fan of Breakfast At Tiffany’s and an even bigger fan of Audrey Hepburn, hence the name choices. Cat, of course, was a movie reference. Holly Golightly’s cat was called “Cat”. Moon River is self-explanatory. Orangey was the name of the cat that played Cat. And My Huckleberry Friend is a line from Moon River. In the end, I decided on My Huckleberry Friend. Huckleberry or Huck for short.

After I had warmed up significantly, I freshened up, brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas, went back downstairs, and carried Huck in his towel up the stairs to my room. I laid him down on the couch in my room, pulled back the covers, picked him up again, and finally laid him down on the bed beside me. I read for a little bit before turning off the light. At around three o’clock in the morning, something startled me awake. My Huckleberry Friend was nowhere to be seen. I felt around for him on the bed beside me but he wasn’t there. Where could he have gone? Just then, a sharp bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the room around me. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I’m pretty sure I woke my neighbors. At the foot of my bed was the same blond stranger who was watching me at Edward’s. Same dirty blonde hair, same green eyes, same black t-shirt. Except, now, the black leather jacket was gone. It was replaced by a white warm towel around his shoulders—the very same towel that I had used to wrap My Huckleberry Friend. What in blazes was going on? I turned the lamp on to see better, but when I did, there was absolutely nobody there. Just me all alone in a big Victorian master bedroom. Well, me and a certain black cat. To my relief and utter confusion, Huckleberry was peacefully sleeping, snoring away and purring beside me, not a care in the world.

In the morning, at breakfast, I told Katherine about my weird day and asked her how hers was. I fished for details, wanting to know of any strange occurrences.

“There was a raven that was following me all day yesterday,” Katherine recalled. “He seemed to be at every window in the hospital. The orderlies had to shoo him away several times. But he kept coming back.”

“Great,” I said. “I hate ravens. And crows.”

“Better me than you, right?” Katherine said with a laugh. “You know what’s even weirder though?”

“What?” I asked.

“That bird was so protective of me that when Ryan and I had an argument during my lunch break, he went straight for him and attacked him,” Katherine said.

 “Good birdy,” I said. “Serves him right. He’ll probably think twice about hurting you next time.”

“Fingers crossed,” Katherine said. “What is going on, though? This is super weird.”

“I’ll ask around,” I said. “Maybe somebody knows something we don’t.”

And ask around I did. My coworker Amanda said that a bat had been sleeping right outside her window for weeks now. An old classmate of mine from high school, Michael Olsen, who’s now an English teacher at Merton High School, said that a rat was following him. Another friend, Corey, mentioned that she’d been seeing the same black and brown butterfly everywhere she went.

Why are all these animals following us all of a sudden? Who was that man at Edward’s and the one at the foot of my bed? Was that My Huckleberry Friend? No. That would be too weird. We need to get to the bottom of this and fast.