Rón Ginn

Cat Lover


            As a mother of three, I find it difficult to keep my other job a secret, for you see, my husband Sesshoumaru, my children (Julie, Jimbo, and Wingnut), our cat: all a façade. And I am really very shocked that no one could have guessed. My husband and I never sleep in the same room anymore, which initially I hadn’t noticed until he started sending e-mails saying he missed me and that apparently, one morning as I was sleeping in, he and the kids had gone to Japan on vacation before I realized my nocturne endeavors as a witch had eclipsed my family life.
            I looked up from the computer screen and noticed they were not around, so it was my guess that they were still abroad. Why Japan, you ask? It had to with that luxury hotel chain his family owns. Yes, we are indeed quite wealthy, and our wealth lends itself to a family dynamic that I guess might be considered, for lack of a better word, unconventional. Six months out of the year Sesshoumaru goes on business trips with the ulterior design of meeting up with this girl he likes (She’s pretty too. He showed me a picture.), leaving me at home with the kids, whose lives were consumed by school, social activities, and well over six thousand dollars in video game technology. Still, there was a time when the four / sometimes five of us would truly enjoy each other’s company, when it didn’t feel forced. We would sit around and read each other stories and poems; practice amateur spells; play games (physical ones, like Tag); oh, it was a lovely time. But now, with Julie and Jimbo away at college and Wingnut in his mid teens, it gets lonely around here.
            Of course, our cat Steve has never left my side—as he has little choice in the matter. From time to time, we go shopping, hang out at the beach, play Wingnut’s Game Cube, or sit and talk, which bored me intensely before I decided to put a rather serious dimension to what was in danger of becoming a hobby.
            So they were all in

Japan. And I was alone with Steve. It’s a shame I used a Class Theta Spell to turn him into a cat; that was definitely a mistake. He and I were the best of friends back in college. He was always so nice to me, and I failed to realize why until well after we had agreed to turn him irreversibly into a cat just to keep Sesshoumaru, my boyfriend at the time, from becoming too jealous. It was our only means of staying friends, really, and he appeared rather enthusiastic about no longer being human.
            Now here we are. I’ve made a private business of witchcraft, my family is in another country, and I have nothing to do tonight.
            “Steve,” I ask.
            “Meow?”
            “What shall we do?”
            “Meow! You asked that last night, and I told you to go to Vegas.”
            “Goddess, Steve! Why do you do that? Just answer the damn question.” At times he was capable of being a bit of a—well, you know.
            “Umm, how much did you win again?”
            “Let’s see here. Eight thousand. Oh, did you want to go clubbing?” A brief pause, “Ha! What do you think Sesshoumaru is doing?”
            “For all we know, he’s probably at Puroland boxing Hello Kitty.”
            “Oh, Steve, why would you say such a thing? I’m sure he and the kids are having a wonderful time. Don’t be so negative. Hey, I know what you need!” I reached into my pocket and produced a key-chain laser. He went nuts chasing it around the room for a few minutes, which I had hoped would calm him down, although I’m fairly certain he would rather I just pet him instead, the lazy kitty.
            “Well, feel any better?”
            “Yes, actually. Will they let me in at that new trance club? I’d like to go in under your arm, not in the purse. Your cell phone went off last time. Scared the hell out of me.”
            “Very well, my dear.”
            So it was settled. We flew to the club, and no, I did not straddle a broom. It’s uncomfortable and unattractive. Plus I like to take Steve with me in case I need help (he’s a mage and thus more educated), and to keep both my hands free, I surf an ironing board. We landed on top of a parking garage. See, I have nowhere else but on the roof to put an ironing board. At the bicycle racks, it typically gets stolen, and I always have to go pick up another one at Walgreen’s.
            Anyway, Steve pointed out that, far below, there was a line. In such situations, it helps to impress the clipboard guy with some magic trick. He’d likely expect a love spell, but I find it such a waste of resources to charm my way past people, and the Goddess hates a gratuitous use of femininity. But what to do? While I was thinking about it, Steve took a dive over the edge. I was impressed. It had to be a good hundred-fifty feet. I couldn’t let him upstage me, so I hopped up onto the ledge and looked down.
After some deliberation, I took a deep breath, assumed the first position, executed a slow plié, and straightened my legs with as much force as I could summon. Detached from the surface, I felt my speed decrease. Then it increased, and it was all instinct from there. I exhaled, rolled forward, and jerked a flip that landed me on the balls of my feet, leaving a crater twelve feet in diameter, ringed by an audience of fifty or so shocked club patrons. Just then, Steve leapt onto my shoulder, and I walked toward the door, the crowd parting before me and making plenty of way. As I approached the clipboard guy, I could hear the muffled beats of the trance room grow ever the louder. He appeared quite startled and asked if I were alright.
“Oh, I’m fine. How are you?”
“Eh, you over twenty-one?” Steve almost laughed, but he was able to suppress it with some cat noise.
“Well, aren’t you precious! May I?” I asked, indicating my cat.
“Ah…”
“He’s my seeing-eye cat. I can’t speak for myself, but he’ll be good.”
“Go ahead.”
Once inside, I felt my left shoulder lose a few pounds. Well, what has Steve to do? He can’t dance, but I thought little of it as I approached the dark room on the periphery. A pentagram of UV-reactive tape, three fluffy couches at each remaining wall, a few tables, a DJ with blonde dreadlocks, and a crowd of sexy semi-grownups looking all the more to me like children…oh, my. It depresses me to think about it.
It was a feeling that began manifesting itself only so recently. I felt old, which makes little sense. I’m young by witch standards, only forty-two. I take good care of myself and have little trouble turning heads, but as I examined my surroundings, it became apparent that I was the oldest person there. Evaluating myself in such a way is a kind of dark self-indulgence. Really, was I so special as to have been examined by a room full of people? Of course not. No one but me could have cared about my age. Alas, there is a well-tested cure for this kind of thing: it’s called booze.
So I stepped over to the bar and ordered a fizz-urchin, which is but a carbonated absinthe covered with a kleenex and topped with a sugar cube, and I remember hearing a female voice of varying pitch somewhere saying “Look at you! Such a friendly kitty. Do you have a master?” Master. I never thought that over the years I was indeed what the pet-owning nomenclature would label “master.” There was Steve, sure enough, pushing his face against that of a classy redhead with well-folded eyelids and a thin Irish nose. Did she know? I located them and edged my way over so as to look as if I had accidentally found my cat.
“Oh, Steve! There you are!”
“Is this your cat? He’s so cute. Do you want him back?” She gently lifted him with both hands, careful not to let his feet hang. I can see why he liked her.
“Thank you. Steve, come on. You must try this.”
“You give him alcohol?!”
“Oh no, I, uh, Steve? Shall we?” He didn’t move.
“Tell you what,” I began, “you look like a nice person. I’ll trust you with him.”
It was a blessing in disguise, really, for I was having a much better time not having to worry about him. And I took further comfort in the fact that he was enjoying himself. I was back in the trance room losing my sense of balance. Although I have years of training as a dancer (some spells require dance), the fizz-urchin was beginning to take effect, and it was compromising my moves. There were many others facing a similar problem, so it didn’t bother me too terribly. What did, however, was a spell I mistaken lycast when I thought lessly quoted a step from the Dance of Springtime. I perceived my fauxpas when the DJ held a lof this drink and shouted “Ho-o! Wegotaro-ose!” to point out that somehow a rose grew from his glass. Perhaps, I thought, it would be better to sit down for a while.
At a distance, Steve and that girl were visibly talking and getting along quite well, and I began to wonder just how much he was divulging to her. Though I am ashamed to admit it, she quickly went from cat-sitter to competition. The more thought I gave it, the more convinced I became that she was up to no good. What, I wondered, was she going to do with my cat? I took out my laser and illuminated his chest in two brief flashes. The redhead glanced over her shoulder at me, and Steve just glared and shook his head slowly. My alertness came back, and I felt desperate. I remember thinking please, please, although it’s not clear what my heart was asking.
He crawled into her arms. She stood and walked toward the ladies’ room. No, something was not right. I shouted after Steve, but he did not respond. I stood and then hesitated. My gaze descended, and whatever it was that I felt radiated uncontrollably, aging and rotting the wood of the tables and chairs around me. And soon those within the radius began to weep. Slowly, as I made my way to the door, furniture rotted, drinks went bad, sadness consumed everything around me.
The lights were off throughout my house, the television silent. There was no evidence of occupation. Never before had I felt so alone. I cracked open a carton of ice cream and activated Wingnut’s Game Cube, and, making my way to the living room, I detected the faint laughter of two newly joined lovers. Not in my house! What I found when I swung my bedroom door open surprised and appalled me: two cats, one black, and one orange, broke a mutually intense gaze in order to stare me out of the room. I gently closed the door in a daze.
The next day I awoke to the sound of a slamming door. Steve and his little friend were leaving wearing fanny packs that tilted awkwardly as they walked. I followed the two cats outside.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Steve, please…let’s go back in and talk. You guys can live here. Please…”
The female interposed. “When did you ever stop to think about his needs?”
“Hey! I don’t even know you!”            “Let’s go, Steve.” And just like that, he was gone.

Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur e-Stories.org par la demande de Rón Ginn.
Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 24.03.2005.

 
 

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