Marmalade

Marmalade is a thief and a murderer, but above all, she is a good friend and my cat. I was eight - no nine the day my father brought her home. I had begged my parents for a dog, mainly because most of my friends had dogs. The latest was Crystal, who lived across the street and had just gotten a Labrador puppy she named Tripp.

Whenever I asked about a dog, the answer was always no. It was cultural. My parents were third-generation Muslims from Morocco. Although they were not religious, they still held to some of the preferences, which meant no dogs, especially in the house. Cats, however, were considered the archetypical pet for a Muslim household.

It was a chilly fall day when she arived. I was eating a breakfast of hot cereal, juice, and my mother was about to bring me my toast when my father slipped in through the kitchen back door carrying a box. Mother rushed over, peeked in the box, smiled at my father, then called me over as he set the box on the floor.

“Mo, come over here.”

Whatever was in the box was making scratching noises, and I thought for an instant that they had finally got me a dog. I peeked in the box and saw a scrawny bright orange kitten. I could not help but hide my disappointment.

“It’s a cat!”

“Yes, and she needs a home, or is it a he?” she asked my father.

“Mrs. Wright assures me it is a girl.” Well, she should know. Mrs. Wright still volunteers at the cat rescue.

“What do you think Mo?”

“It’s okay, I guess,” I said, trying not to sound too ungrateful but failed miserably. My mother sighed, and I knew what that meant. She was disappointed.

“Well, she needs a name, Mo,” my father chimed in. “What do you think? He looked at the plate in my mother’s hand. The toast was covered in marmalade, my favorite. “I think we should call her Marmalade,” he said, winking at my mom.

“How cute! What do you think Mo?”

I shrugged, took the plate from her, and sat back at the table. My father whispered something to her, and they took the box into the adjoining laundry room. Meanwhile, I finished eating without any more thought of Marmalade.

Later that day, I was reading an X-men comic book in my room when I heard the door creak. It wasn’t shut all the way, and when it pushed open, I looked up. That’s when I heard the little meow and looked down. There was Marmalade. She looked like she had just woken up from a nap. Her eyes were half closed, and her legs were wobbly when she took a step. She could not have climbed the stairs by herself, but whoever had positioned her inside my door had disappeared.

I picked her up and put her on the bed with me. We both looked at each other, my brown eyes meeting her gold-colored ones, and something came over me. She was kind of cute. I slowly began to feel attached to this little orange fur ball. Marmalade crawled into my lap, laid down, and fell asleep. This felt right. I leaned back against my propped-up pillows and started reading again with Marmalade curled up on my legs.

By the time several weeks passed, Marmalade and I had become best friends. She would walk me to the door when I left for school and be watching for me in the window when it was time for me to come home. I couldn’t play with her until after homework and dinner, so I got to it immediately. During dinner, she waited patiently for me under the table. Afterward, we would play in my room until it was time for bed. As soon as I was under the covers, she would curl up in a ball at my feet.

In the back of my closet was a cubbyhole. I kept my most prized possessions in a shoe box there, but Marmalade also liked to hide in it sometimes and jump out at my feet when I came close. I would scream, and that was the reaction she was looking for. Then she would rub against me, purring, and I would laugh.

Marmalade didn’t like the snow, but the backyard was our playground when spring broke. We had a particular tree with a low branch that we would climb onto. It was just the right height to see above the fences for almost the whole block on our side. We were the masters of all we surveyed!

One day after school, I ran into the house to get Marmalade. One of my friends, Kyle, was going to test some firecrackers in his backyard for his birthday party. If we were on the branch, we could see them.

“C’mon Marmalade!” I dropped my backpack on the floor and ran towards the backdoor in the kitchen.

“Just a minute Mo! Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the tree in the back!” I answered impatiently. “Kyle’s got some firecrackers, and Marmalade and I are gonna watch!”

“No, Mo, not today. Besides, the branch is gone.”

“Gone?!”

“Yes, I was worried that you would fall, so your father had Mr. Coleman cut it off.”

“But that was our branch!” I couldn’t believe that she had done that.

“I’m sorry Mo, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I put my head down and stomped out of the room. Marmalade followed but hesitated and looked back at my mother.

“C’mon Marmalade,” I said grumpily.

“Do your homework!” she called after me.

“I don’t have any homework!” I yelled back and stomped up the stairs. I was treading on dangerous ground with my attitude, but I was mad! I went to my room and shut the door, careful not to slam it. That definitely would have crossed the line. I looked out of my bedroom window at our tree, and sure enough, the limb was gone. I could also hear Kyle’s firecrackers going off. I was miserable. Marmalade began rubbing against me and purring, but I didn’t respond. She ran to the bedroom door and started meowing, so I let her out.

At dinner, I was quiet, only saying please and thank you. My mother was obviously annoyed as well. My father tried to be the peacemaker.

“So Mo, how was school today.”

“Fine.”

“Are you looking forward to Kyle’s party?”

“Yes.”

After a few more one-word answers, he finally gave up trying to engage me. After dinner, I silently helped to clear the table and retreated to my room.

“I have to finish up some paperwork,” my dad said as he left the dining room behind me.

“Okay, go ahead. I’ll take out the garbage,” Mom called after him.

Although still disappointed, looking back now, I understand my mother wanting to ensure I was safe. I’m not sure that Marmalade was as understanding or forgiving. In fact, I know she wasn’t.

I was teasing her with a toy mouse attached to a string when I heard my mother shrieking.

“Moad! Come here right now!” I knew I was in trouble because she called me by my proper name, although I had no idea what I could have done. Marmalade had run off into the closet.

When I got downstairs, my mother was standing on one foot, and my father was on his knees, wiping her other one with a paper towel.

“What happened?” I asked, wondering how I was responsible for whatever this was.

“Your mother went to slip her shoes on to take out the garbage, and it looks like Marmalade got sick in her shoe.”

“What?!” Why would Marmalade do that?

My mother looked at me as if we were in on it together. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know she did that.”

She waved me away and told my father she was getting a shower and going to bed. Back in my room, Marmalade still had not come out. When my dad poked his head around my door and asked where Marmalade was, I told him.

“Good, keep her away from your mother for a while.” I nodded.

A little later, Marmalade came out of the closet and jumped on the bed.“Marm, why did you do that?” I looked into her eyes, and she stared back defiantly. I guess she was still upset about that branch.

It wasn’t long after the shoe incident that certain items started to go missing, but oddly, never anything of mine. My father’s watch, my mother’s favorite bracelet, and her wedding ring, to name a few things. I found them all in the cubby hole where Marmalade stashed them. She loved shiny, and the shinier, the better. Of course, I never tattled on her. Still, I didn’t want to be suspected, so I would wait until it wasn’t too obvious and place the stolen item close to where it disappeared to be found later. I chided Marmalade and told her she would get us both in trouble, but she looked back at me sheepishly like she didn’t understand. Deep down, I knew she did.

Sometime that summer, not too long after school let out, my mother, who had been working from home, announced that she would have to go to the office two days a week. For those days, she hired Mrs. Bishop to come over and “supervise” me. The kids who lived near Mrs. Bishop didn’t like her at all. One complaint was that she would yell at them to stay off her yard, even when they were clearly on the sidewalk.

“I don’t need anyone to stay with me,” I grumbled.

“Eight hours is too long for you to be home alone, Mo.” And that was that.

Mrs. Bishop was a tall round woman with gray hair and always had a stern expression. Even when smiling, you were never sure if it was sincere. She also wore thick glasses and took them off several times a day, rubbing her eyes and complaining about them.

My friends were right. She was always yelling. Yelling at me to wash my hands, yelling to come for lunch, wipe my feet, and pick up my toys. It was never-ending. She also did not like Marmalade. She chased her with a broom one day; another time, she was locked in the basement. I was pretty sure Mrs. Bishop did that on purpose. Marmalade wasn’t a kitten anymore. She was a beautiful orange snowball and had very definite likes and dislikes. Mrs. Bishop was on the don’t like list.

The events that led to “The Tragedy” occurred on a hot summer day and began with a tuna fish sandwich. I hated tuna back then. I could have sworn my mother had told Mrs. Bishop that. I was playing with Marmalade in the backyard when she yelled, as usual, for me to come in for lunch. Marmalade was walking behind me, and as soon as I walked through the door, Mrs. Bishop slammed it before Marmalade could come in.”

“Hey, Marmalade was coming in!”

“That cat can stay outside! She doesn’t need to sit at your feet while you eat.”

I frowned. Marmalade had jumped on the garbage can and was peeking through the kitchen window, looking very annoyed. I sat down at the table and looked at my plate. A tuna fish sandwich. It was thick and had so much mayonnaise in it, it looked more like a thick soup. Just thinking about putting it in my mouth caused me to gag.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t like tuna fish.”

“Well it’s a little too late now, I’ve already made it!”

“But I don’t want it!” I yelled back and slid the plate away from me.

“Now you listen,” she sneered as she grabbed my arm. “You eat that sandwich right now.”

“I’m not!”

“Ugh! These glasses give me such a headache!” she yelled, taking them off and rubbing her temples.

“I thought it was because you’re always yelling!”

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m not eating that! I’m going to Crystal’s house.”

I ran to the back door, and as I opened it to leave, Marmalade ran in. I didn’t stop but ran to the front yard, crossed the street to Crystal’s, and rang the bell. Her mom answered and directed me to the backyard.

Crystal was playing with Tripp. I joined her, and then we got on the swings. We had heard the sirens but were so busy playing we didn’t really pay attention. Crystal’s mom came out after a while and seemed upset. “Come inside, kids.”

Once inside, she sat us down.” There has been a horrible accident.” She hesitated, “Mrs. Bishop had a fall. She was hurt very badly. She called your mom at work to say there had been some trouble. She came home and found her.”

I ran to the front window, and there were 4 police cars and an ambulance. I could see my parents standing outside. My father had his arm around my mother, and she looked like she was crying.

“Is Mrs. Bishop okay?”

She looked at me sadly. “No Mo, she’s not. Your parents want you to stay here tonight, okay?” She sent us to Crystal’s room, and we played video games, but I kept thinking about Mrs. Bishop. I shouldn’t have yelled like I did, even if she did grab my arm.

Crystal’s mom came in a little later. “Mo, your parents are here, and some…other people. They want to talk to you.”

“Okay.” I put down the controller and went downstairs. I saw my parents and some other men. My mother hugged me, and I could see her eyes were red from crying.

“Mo,” my father explained, “these men are from the police. They want to talk to you about Mrs. Bishop.” He said that Mrs. Bishop had called my mom at work to tell her I was being bad, and she said she would come home and talk to me.

I told the police everything - how she yelled at me, grabbed my arm, and tried to make me eat nasty tuna fish, so I went to my friend’s house. At the end of my story, I added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be bad.”

Besides reassuring me that what happened wasn’t my fault, my parents never told me exactly what occurred except that she fell and died. I managed to find it on the internet a few days later. She died from falling down our stairs. Mom came home and found her at the foot of the stairs, the broom lying next to her.

A few months later, my dad announced we were moving. My mother couldn’t stand living in the house after finding Mrs. Bishop. Before we moved, my dad got a call from the police. Mrs. Bishop’s sister asked about her glasses, but none were found near her body or on the stairs. I was pretending not to listen to them talk. My mother told him she had never seen her glasses, and the house had been cleaned several times since then. I looked down at Marmalade, who was licking her paws. She looked back at me and then ran out of the room. I started to get a weird feeling.

After dinner, I went to the cubbyhole. I reached my hand in and felt around. Nothing. Then my fingers brushed against something hard further back. I crawled up closer and grabbed it. It was Mrs. Bishop’s glasses. I looked towards the closet doorway. Marmalade was watching me. Did she do it? She took her glasses, but did she cause her to fall down the stairs on purpose? Marmalade saw Mrs. Bishop yell at me and grab my arm. A sense of dread started to grow in the pit of my stomach.

That night, after my parents went to bed, I tiptoed downstairs, the glasses in my hand. I unlocked the backdoor and shut it quietly behind me. The garbage can was on the side of the house by the fence gate. I sprinted across the grass, opened the can, grabbed the closest bag, and pushed the glasses through the small opening at the top. I replaced the lid and then ran back to the house. Marmalade was waiting for me on my bed. I laid down next to her and began to pet her.

“You’re safe now, Marmalade.” She rewarded me with purring, and then we both fell asleep.

I never brought up Mrs. Bishop to my parents after that night or accused Marmalade of causing her death. Who knew what happened after I left the house? I knew that if Marmalade did do something, it was to protect me. Now years later, she is not as bright orange as she used to be. She still likes to play but doesn’t run as fast, and I am not a little boy anymore. Now, I take care of her—loyal friends for life.