The Enigmatic Cat

A peculiar phenomenon unfolded at Lake Walter that summer. Rumors spread about a gaping hole that had consumed the entire lake, purportedly reaching down to the bedrock. The information originated from Lydia, who claimed to have heard it from her teacher, although it was likely just the imagination of fourth-grade misfits. My mother, burdened by her nightly indulgence in alcohol, insisted that the lake drained into an underground river traversing a network of caves. However, her credibility diminished after dinner, leaving me to ponder the unsettling consequences: swimmers struggling for survival, helpless creatures drowning in their burrows, ancient artifacts forever lost in the unreachable crevices or strewn across the hillside. As an eight-year-old whose toys consisted of a pocket knife and a collection of spark plugs, that mysterious abyss held more intrigue than any legendary creature in the county.

With our parents absent until evening, it was up to us to fend for ourselves at lunchtime. My father was toiling away at work, while Mom had taken the car to run errands before her nightly visit to the bar—our little secret. We were left to our own devices, with an abundance of forbidden temptations.

"Do you want to go?" Lydia asked, her voice brimming with anticipation. "James will be there. He claims to have seen his grandma's old cat by the lake, feasting on fish."

That ragged, one-eyed calico had vanished when James' grandmother passed away. It used to frequent the lake, perching on stumps, boats, and dock pilings, basking in the warm sunlight that filtered through the canopy. When aware of being observed, she would reveal one socket devoid of an eye, and the other would glimmer like a radiant, multicolored abalone shell. Despite her uniqueness, she seemed insignificant compared to the enigma that swallowed the lake in a matter of days.

"But won't we be pulled into the hole?" I hesitated, apprehensive about the unknown.

"No, that's just what Mom said to keep us away. There's no water left. James was just there."

"But what if it collapses further with us on it?"

"If it managed to hold all that water without breaking, I think it can hold us too, Eddie." Lydia tugged my shirt down, which had rolled up above my belly button.

"But it did break."

Lydia smoothed my shirt with her palms and adjusted the hem. "Let's not worry about that now. What's so special about James' grandma's cat anyway?"

"He thinks it might be the same one. She supposedly told him something about it. Do you want to go?"

I gazed out the window at the skeletal piers, their stability defying imminent collapse. The raucous calls of seagulls and the faint scent of decay drifted through the closed glass. It was inconceivable to me that the vast expanse of water had vanished beneath our feet, and yet, I yearned to comprehend it fully. What secrets lay within that gaping void? Was it an immense emptiness plunging down to the bedrock, as Lydia claimed? Or did it contain remnants of water, like a thimble filled with raindrops?

"Alright. I'm in. But promise me we'll be safe," I finally agreed.

The terrain revealed itself as we ventured forth. Mud mounds undulated like dimpled cakes, while water grass dried under the scorching sun, leaving faint scars on the mud's surface where foam had once burst. Smooth stones, resembling the eyes of sand crabs, littered the path.

As the lake drained, the basin emanated putrid odors akin to sewage, followed by a sharper sulfurous scent. However, those odors dissipated after a couple of days, replaced by the pungent aroma of decaying fish.

We traversed the dark, drying mud, leaving faint footprints that filled with water as we progressed. The remnants of a ravaged ecosystem surrounded us—randomly scattered evidence of a disrupted equilibrium. Yet, when I glanced ahead, everything aligned, converging towards the heart of the lake and that unfathomable hole.

"What do you think the hole looks like?" Lydia pondered.

"I'm not sure. Just a hole, I guess. What about you?"

"Do you think we can see the bottom?"

"Probably not."

"Do you think it goes that deep?"

"No, there might still be some water in it."

"But you said all the water was gone."

"It's gone from above ground."

James' disbelief was evident. "Did you inquire if it goes straight down?"

"I didn't ask."

Unbelievable.

"How big do you think it is?"

"I don't know. We'll find out."

"If you had to guess?"

The heat intensified as we ventured further. Mosquitoes feasted upon my exposed arms.

"The mud seems harder here. Let's run," Lydia suggested.

She sprinted ahead, but I refrained from chasing. My underwear chafed against my thighs, causing discomfort.

Approaching the center, we encountered police barricades interconnected by yellow tape, some of which hung limply on the ground. A figure skulked just beyond the perimeter, kicking at the mud. It was James.

Lydia halted her sprint after passing a sawhorse, and James crouched near some debris, pointing something out to her.

Crossing under the yellow tape, James stood up. He cradled a motionless, one-eyed black cat in his arms. Its solitary eye stared back at me, unblinking and silver, while a hollow cavity occupied the space where the other eye should have been. The cat's black fur appeared patchy, and blood from its matted tail had dried on James' arm.

"Hey there, Tolls. She just had kittens," James greeted me, using my last name as always.

Nestled beneath a log, a litter of seven kittens frolicked. I crouched down next to them, observing their chaotic yet synchronized movements—climbing, crawling, and playfully exploring their surroundings. The mother cat watched attentively from between James' arms.

And there it was, behind James—the enigma that held the lake. Partially concealed amidst the debris, it appeared no larger than a small car. The ground leading up to it sloped gently, but the kittens had leveled the surface, rendering it imperceptible. I caught a glimpse just beyond the curled lip—an absence of water. The air near the hole felt cool and damp, a departure from the stench of decay. Standing so close, aware of the possibility of a profound abyss beneath me, my senses were overwhelmed by a mixture of vertigo and paralysis.

"It's her. It's definitely her," James confirmed.

"She doesn't even have the same color as your grandma's cat," I remarked.

"But look at her eye, idiot."

"Leave him alone," Lydia interjected.

"Fine. Don't pick on the fat kid. I get it. Sorry, Tolls. You're not an idiot," James apologized half-heartedly, extending a hand to help me up, which I declined.

"Her color is different," Lydia concurred.

"Color doesn't matter," James retorted.

"But your grandma said she grants wishes?"

"My mom insists it was just the ramblings of dementia. But my grandma seemed genuinely concerned about the cat. She asked me multiple times to look after her.