Sanderson's Cat Tale

A loud slam against the front door startled the old man from his nap. He had drifted off in front of the crackling fireplace to the steady, lulling staccato of the rain on the tile roof. A second sharp bang roused him completely.

    His bushy silver brows pulled into a deep scowl as he shifted and slowly lowered his warm, stocking feet to the cold stone floor with a grimace. He heard frenzied scratching now and quickened his shambling pace.

    “Alright! Alright!”

    His long, gnarled fingers pulled back the antiquated brass bolt and he opened the thick oak door just a crack and peered out.

    “Whatta want?” he barked out into the storm.

    The frantic feline shot in between his feet and the old man pushed the door shut and turned on the sodden cat.

    “Honestly Sanderson! What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

    The large, beige cat stared back at him and flicked a chocolate-colored ear and leapt on the worn wooden chair. It opened its mouth and dropped the cottony wad on the edge of the table.

    “I thought you’d have more sense than to venture out in this weather,” the aged man scolded with a shake of his head.

    The cat merely stared nonplussed with luminous, moss-green eyes then batted at the bundle it had delivered. As if in afterthought it began to clean its muddied paw.

    “What have you got there? Steal someone’s wool bobbin?” he asked with a chuckle.

    The cat’s saucy “brrrrt” made the bent man lift his wire-rimmed spectacles from the side table beside his easy chair and affix them to his deeply lined face.

    The cat’s mewling trill made the man’s eyebrows go up.

    “Indeed?” He hobbled to the table and studied the small, white, spun package with a stroke of his snowy beard.

    The feline’s other brown ear flicked, making the row of gold earrings jingle with irritation and the cry was sharp and expressive.

    “I understand Sanderson, but you have no one to blame but yourself.”

    The Siamese chirped its displeasure and the old man ignored it as he pulled the long, jointed arm magnifying glass closer to the subject of study. A meow sounded three times in succession and he heard but never took his eyes from the tightly wrapped bundle beneath the enhanced field of vision.

    “I’ll tell you what I’m doing you impatient rascal! I’m formulating a plan. This is going to be a very delicate procedure. I don’t do this every day,” he huffed.

    The cat was pacing in front of the fireplace, sending out a low note with each step. It finally settled on the plush ottoman in front of the over-stuffed chair to finish grooming.

    “A spider, you say? Well, that explains the fine workmanship on this little parcel.” He prodded the fibrous swaddle with his crooked finger.

    The feline’s verdant eyes narrowed and it hissed, causing the old man’s mouth to pull into a tight line beneath his thick white mustache.

    “I am simply making an observation. Spiders are very efficient creatures.”

    He moved near the window and returned with a leather bundle, untied the rawhide cord, and unfurled the roll. His lips pursed as he studied the array of small, thin tools now at his boney fingertips.

    Sanderson let out a loud, sharp cry.

    “Stop that! I understand time is of the essence, but I have to do this precisely. Your well-being depends on it.”

    He extracted a paper-thin, silver blade and twisted it in the candlelight. Then he lifted out a pair of delicate tweezers. As he pulled the stub of a second large candle to the compact clump beneath the glass, he nodded.

    “Alright Sanderson, here we go.”

    He adjusted his round, thick glasses to the end of his nose and slowly, painstakingly drew the razor-sharp scalpel across the tightly woven webbing. As the blade moved down the white cocoon, he separated the membrane with the tweezers. 

    “There she is,” he mumbled as he patiently worked.

    A tiny winged fairy lay unconscious on the bed of tattered spider webbing, her left wing nearly torn in two. The diminutive creature was exquisite, even in her poor condition. The tiny rose petal dress clung tightly to her long, delicate limbs and was sticky with web residue. Filaments of white webbing were tangled through her long red hair and her finely featured face was deathly pale.

    Sanderson jumped up on the table and peered into the glass. A low, sad cry emerged.

    “I don’t know if we’re too late. I’m not certain she will survive even if I can revive her. See that small red puncture on her leg? I have some spider anti-venom, but I’d just be guessing at what type of spider it was.”

    Long whiskers danced as Sanderson chittered.

    “An hourglass marking? Excellent observation, my young one. That certainly narrows it down.”

    He shuffled to the towering armoire and pulled open the doors to reveal a display of hundreds of bottles in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

    The cat’s rolling “mrrwow” reached his ears and he frowned again as his gray eyes moved along the shelves.

    “Of course, I know where it is! Ah-hah!”

    The ancient healer shuffled back to the table and extricated a long, very fine, glass rod.

    “Now you know I’m simply guessing at the dosage, Sanderson. I’ve never dealt with a fairy before, but we’ve nothing to lose at this point. I decided I’m going to repair her wing first. I don’t know if the shock of the break would hinder her waking.”

    “Mew.”

    “I’m glad you concur. I’m going to use this sticky webbing as a patch then just a speck of resin as a sealer.

    His skilled and surprisingly steady fingers manipulated the tiny instruments and when he was finished he could barely tell where the delicate wing had been injured. Next, he un-stoppered the miniature bottle of anti-venom and placed the threadlike pipette inside and extracted a single, miniscule amount of the tincture. Squinting over the magnifying glass as he maneuvered the tiny glass rod to the fairy’s lips, he let the nearly microscopic drop fall into her mouth.

    A large clock on the mantlepiece ticked out the long minutes and he finally sighed and lowered his head as he removed his spectacles.

    “I’m sorry Sanderson, we tried. I had hoped…” Did he hear the faint sound of bells?

    The cat cocked its head and let out a quiet mewl.

    The old mage pulled his glasses back on and peered over the magnifying glass.

    The fairy’s color was returning to her fair face and her good wing twitched. The old man nodded excitedly and sliced off a small square of silken material from the edge of his voluminous shirt. He covered the tiny, shaking creature and watched as her eyes fluttered open.

    “Don’t be afraid, little one,” the white-haired healer spoke gently. “You were almost a spider’s first course.”

    The little fairy gripped the swatch of silk closer to her neck and shuddered. Her iridescent blue eyes widened as she remembered. She shakily got to her feet and glanced back at her mended wing.

    A faint chiming reached the old man’s ears and his lip lifted in the corner.

    “It’s the best I could do,” he said with a shrug. The gentle tinkling came again and he gestured to the cat, now looking over the edge of the table.

    “Sanderson brought you here through the storm.”

    “Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,”

    “Um, yes, you were carried in a cat’s mouth. Anyway, Sanderson had gone off to the Fae Folks to see if anyone could break this wretched spell. A nasty witch cast it. I’ve tried, but I’m at a loss.”

    “Tinkle, tinkle.”

    “You can? You will?” The mage asked hopefully. “Excellent news!”

    With a graceful wave of her tiny arms, a stream of golden, glittering light rose and swirled around the Siamese cat. The feline transformed into a beautiful young woman with long, flowing brown hair and pale green eyes.

    “There’s the Sanderson I know and love,” the old mage boomed happily as he drew her close. “Welcome back apprentice.”

    “Thank you, Grandfather,” Sanderson said as she hugged his thin waist.

    She moved to the table and removed one of the tiny gold loops from her ear and offered it to the fairy. “For you my little friend, and thank you. Can you fly?”

    The petite Fae nodded, sprinkled some sparkling dust on the earring, making it shrink in size, and tucked it into the bag on her waist. Then, in a stream of tinkling bells, she fluttered up and toward the door just as Sanderson opened it with a farewell wave.