Shirley Murphy - Christmas Cats - A Literary Companion

Well, it felt real good to tuck up in his old cell. He'd made it legal, so not to get Sheriff in trouble, had stole half a dozen cans of beans from the corner market, enough to get arrested proper. Sheriff never locked Hector Lee's cell door. He could still go out to do odd jobs, if it weren't too cold, shovel snow from folks' walks, and the like. Lookin' out his barred window he could see Virgie at the library window; she'd be lookin' over here cluck-clucking because he'd moved into his old cell for the winter.

Except, she wasn't lookin' over to the jail, she was leaning over, her forehead against the glass, peering down at the muddy ground. At first, he couldn't make out what she was looking at. Then something moved—a skinny cat, sitting in the mud washing its paws. Seemed like a waste of time washing paws that would be muddy again the minute the cat set them down. But then the cat stopped washing, and looked around toward the bushes.

And there, toddling unsteadily out to press against the cat, was a might of a kitten.

The mama cat looked to be orange with white markings, what you could see under the mud. Kitten, though, it was bright orange and white and black, pretty as a hound pup.

Was there only the one kitten? He couldn't see no more hiding in the bushes. Likely that ole tomcat had got em. So that was why it'd been hanging around: kill the kits, get the female to come back in heat. Big old battered tomcat the color of scrub water. He'd seen it outside the courthouse and in the alley turning over garbage cans, strong and bold as a dog, seen it snatch food from the trash behind the diner. Seen it tear up a couple of pet cats, too, and attack Miss Millie Severn's little lap dog. He heard that Millie'd loaded her husband's shotgun and swore she'd kill the beast. That tomcat didn't look to be a critter a person'd want to get friendly with, great big dirty white cat with brownish streaks, head as wide as a road scraper. Orange eyes that blazed at a person like lightning flash.

He watched Virgie come out of the library door with a bowl in her hand and kneel down in the snow a few yards from the crouching female and its kit. That was Virgie, couldn't resist mothering a stray. His sister had a giving heart—too giving. Bake him pies, then try to lure him to living all proper in that cottage with her, smothered like a beast in a cage. The shadows were growing heavy, starting to get dark; dusk came quick in the winter. Virgie was very still, watching the thin cat and its kit.

Well, that cat weren't about to come to her, she should know that. Them wild ones, you couldn't get near 'em. When the cat didn't move but only stared at the food, Virgie finally set the bowl down, rose, and went back up the steps and inside. Hector Lee shook his head. Too bad. Virgie, all unknowing, had set a trap for that cat. That wild mother was foolish to let down her guard, to be distracted by a human. Tomcat would drive her off, kill the kit, and, for good measure, take the supper Virgie'd left. Hector Lee watched 'till it was too dark to see. Turned away when Sheriff brought him his own supper, a burger and fries from the diner. Sheriff was as portly as his three deputies, his uniform tight across his belly, from good eating; though his face was sharp planed and determined; Hector'd seen him take down a few mean ones with a single, hard blow. Sheriff handed him the Styrofoam box. "Surprised Virgie didn't bring you a bowl of bean soup, Hector Lee, this cold night."

"I expect she doesn't know I'm here, yet," Hector Lee said, seeing Virgie's shadow at the dark library window again, still looking out at the stray cats. Hardly touching his burger, he searched the darkness for the tomcat, feeling his heart quicken. Tomcat mean as a human killer out there stalking that helpless female and her kit.

Virgie might call him worthless, but he had a tender spot or two—not that he liked to show Virgie. He watched until it was too dark to see. Over at the church, the choir was practicing, Noel, Noel …

Turning from the bars, Hector Lee tied into his cooling burger and fries, wishing he had a double chocolate malted. He finished quickly, stuffed his napkin into the Styrofoam box, shoved it out onto the hall floor, and curled up in his bedroll warm and comfortable. He liked the feel of solid brick walls around him, sure didn't miss the icy wind whipping through the cracks of his own thin wooden walls. In the quiet jail, serenaded by Christmas carols, Hector Lee slept.

He slept thus for three nights, peaceful and long, his thin belly filled with burgers and fries, and then, when Virgie knew he was there, her good beef stew and apple pie, and then her Brunswick stew and pecan pie and ice cream. No matter how she disapproved of the way he lived, he was her brother, her only family, and she relished doing for him. Each night when she appeared at the jail, pulling open the cell door and handing him his supper, she'd tell him about the little cat and kit.

"They're coming up the porch steps now, Hector Lee.

After dark. They're eating from the bowl right there on the top step. Remember our cats, when we were kids? Remember we had a little calico, a lot like this little kit?"

He remembered. He thought there was no need to mention the tomcat that was prowling, no need to distress her. He didn't understand why that cat had, so far, left those two alone. Maybe it was afraid to go so near the house, but that seemed strange, bold as it was. Hector Lee, rolled in his bedroll thinking about them cats, felt real peaceful hearing Christmas carols fill the dark. That music warmed him with a happy haze that embarrassed him, for its soft foolishness.

By the end of the week, Virgie said she'd enticed that mama cat and kit right up on the porch beside the rocking chairs. Hector Lee said, "Then that ain't no wild stray, Virgie, somewhere along, that cat's lived with folks."

"Whatever the case," Virgie said stubbornly, "I'm set on taming them."

Hector Lee thought he might ought to tell her about the tomcat; but he didn't. They were sitting on the bunk in his cell, Virgie pretending to be at ease there. "There's only the one kit, surely. That's all the mama ever brings, Hector Lee. Just that one bright orange and black and white princess." Virgie laughed. "That's how I think of her. And that little kit's eyes, they're as big and green as emeralds."

Well, Hector Lee thought, the tomcat had stayed away so far. Maybe it had gone off somewhere, maybe the mother cat and her kit would stay lucky.

It was the fifth night, just after Virgie had taken Hector Lee over a plate of baked pork chops and apple dumpling and sat with him for a while in the chill cell that, coming home, the cat and kit followed her up her steps and right on inside her cottage. She was afraid of frightening them; but when she opened the door, hardly breathing, they followed her right on in, never made a bobble, just plopped down on the rug and looked up at her. She swallowed, and stepped to the kitchen alcove, leaving the front door cracked open so the cat wouldn't feel trapped. She cut up her pork chop that she'd kept warm in the pan, blew on it until it cooled, and put it on a plate on the rug.

When the mama and baby both began to gobble bits of pork chop, Virgie sat down at the table and ate her plate of dumplings. The cats finished eating and curled up together on the rug, the kitten falling deeply asleep as if it was exhausted, the mama jerking awake every few minutes, at any smallest sound from out beyond the front door. Virgie stayed at the table for nearly an hour, reluctant to move and frighten them. She rose at last, did up the dishes as quietly as she could. Only when she tried closing the door, did the cat panic. Quickly she opened it again, pushed in a stout shoe to keep it open, and fixed the burglar chain in place. That chain wouldn't keep anyone out, but the little town didn't have much theft. Crime in Greeley revolved around bigger issues: pot farms hidden back in the hills because there wasn't much call for moonshine anymore; drug smuggling coming through their little county airport headed for dealers in Atlanta. Matters that wouldn't have to do with an unlocked cottage door. Besides, with the sheriff just up the street, she felt safe enough. Putting on her flannel gown, Virgie went to bed. Heavy frost covered her windows.