Моника Шонесси - The Black Cats

“So you like it?” Eddy asked.

“How could I not?” she said.

“I liked it, too,” Muddy said. “Even if it parts from the truth here and there.”

“Some of the circumstances have been changed to protect the innocent,” he said. He reached down and patted the top of my head.

“Mother? Can you give us a minute?” Sissy asked. “I need to talk to Eddy, alone.”

“Watch the stove,” Muddy said before leaving. “I don’t want it to get too hot.”

After a quiet period, Sissy spoke. “Your writing had more depth than usual.”

“It did?” Eddy’s shoes shifted beneath the table. The elation in his voice heartened me. “I simply paid the black cat the kindness he deserved—”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Mother may not have heard it between the lines, but I did. How the main character’s drunkenness led to the ruination of his sanity? And took away his wife?”

Eddy did not answer.

“I will always be with you, Edgar, in life and in death. Do not fear. But our kingdom by the sea needs a strong ruler. Will you try again? For me?”

“Yes, Virginia, of course.”

A light scratch at the kitchen door stirred me. I hopped on the sideboard and peeked through the window. Midnight sat at the backdoor, waiting for it to open. I looked to Eddy and Sissy, still in the midst of their talk. Though from her smile, it had turned to lighter subjects.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks, Sissy, but we’ve been so busy,” Eddy said. “I heard from William again about the collection. The Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe will soon be for sale. I am the luckiest man alive!”

When they embraced, I jumped down to visit with my pal, causing the tom to leap with fright. “I only meant to startle you, not set your heart afire,” I said to him.

“It’s just been a few days since my Tabitha’s death, and my nerves are still mending,” he said. He stared back at me with both eyes. “My infection is mending, too. Mr. Eakins applies a cream every morning and every evening. But I can open the lid now.”

“Cats are his business, you know.” I sat near the nail head that once vexed Eddy. Muddy had knocked it flat with a rock and a curse in recent days. “Do you mean to stay with the old man?”

“That’s one of the reasons for my visit.”

“We are the others!” Silas said, skirting the corner with his brother. His fur shook as he trotted. “Greetings, Cattarina! We found a new escape hole in the cellar!”

“You are looking well,” Samuel said to me.

“I am resplendent with victory,” I said. “I trust you heard our haunt was successful?”

“All of Spring Garden has heard!” Silas said.

“Join us?” Midnight asked.

Eddy and Sissy would not miss me if I returned by moonrise. I followed the toms to the now-familiar courtyard on Franklin. Near the base of the sassafras tree, George and Margaret waited next to a coiled snake of sausage links. “Hello, Cattarina!” they said in unison.

“How marvelous!” I said. “Where did the meat come from?”

“You may be the Huntress of Spring Garden,” Midnight said, “but I am the Thief of Rittenhouse.”

And so he was. He would steal part of my heart this night, the part I considered feral and free and utterly feline, and he would never return it. We tore apart the links and ate them by the tree that started it all, honoring Snip with our camaraderie. Mr. Fitzgerald’s shop was closed this time of day, and Mr. Arnold’s shop stood vacant and boarded. Aside from the lamplighter working his way along Franklin, we had our privacy.

When we’d finished our repast, my pals offered their goodbyes, along with assurances of future meetings. While our friendship had just begun, I could not say the same of Midnight. He and I stayed behind, nestled among the roots of the tree. “Thank you for the gift,” I said to him.

“The sausage? It was nothing.”

“No, the gift of memory. I love this tree, and I will be glad to think of pleasanter things when I pass it. There are so few scaling trees left in this part of Philadelphia. It’s all in the bark, you know. If it’s too smooth—”

“Cattarina, I’m leaving.”

Twilight settled into the courtyard, blending with the tree’s shadow until they became one. “Yes, I know,” I said at last. “When Sissy took you to Mr. Eakins’s house, I predicted the outcome. Will you be very far away?”

“I will be with a family on a wagon. From the way it’s packed, I think they mean to travel a great distance. They need a mouser for the journey, you see. I put that much together. Though I still don’t know what a Missouri is.”

“ Mizzzzouri . The word that tickles my tongue,” I said. “Are you pleased with your family?”

He stood and arched his back, giving it a stretch, then walked into the open. “Very pleased. My new companions are a young man about Sissy’s age and his wife—Ben and Aggie.”

“Any children?” I followed him and brushed along his side.

“No. But I expect that will change. By then, I will be king mouser and will have earned a good place in their home.” His pupils grew very large. “Think of it, Cattarina, I will have a job. A purpose.”

“All cats should be so fortunate,” I said.

“Come with me?” When I did not answer, he licked my cheek. “Then I’ll visit you one day.”

“Or I will find you.”

We were both terrible liars.

Once he left, I climbed the tree and watched the black cat, my black cat, vanish between the darkened buildings of Green Street. I would miss him, but I could not leave Eddy, for my companion held the other part of my heart, the part that was constant and pure and completely devoted. From here, Poe House was no bigger than Sissy’s red trinket box, so fragile and small. Oh, how I longed to protect that little dwelling and keep its occupants safe and merry, if not for all time, then for as long as possible.

And I did until fall, the season of the raven.

Dear Friend:

Soon after our adventure, the newspaper printed the black cat’s eulogy . I surmised as much from the stack of copies Eddy brought home and from the fuss he made over one particular page. Nothing escapes this cat of letters. Speaking of me, and I am always speaking of me, I considered the papers splendid napping material.

In the meantime, we do hope you purchase one of Eddy’s works. Winter is coming, and we are in need of mutton.

And chicken feathers.

Yours truly,

Cattarina Poe

“The Black Cat”

by Edgar Allan Poe

Originally published in the United States Saturday Post , August 19, 1843

FOR THE MOST WILD, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not -- and very surely do I not dream. But tomorrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified -- have tortured -- have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror -- to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place -- some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.