The Mewling Cat: An Ill Omen Greeted with Warmth

It was simply too brilliant for her old eyes to take: light streamed into her lonely room— dancing radiance— but Fanny Burgess’ mind was as capable as ever. She didn’t need to look to see their pictures in perfect clarity.

Photographs on the window sill, little slices of nostalgia propped up in 3 by 6 frames, each one a treasure-box full of memories.

And memory was where she spent her hours these days. Her body might shuffle up and down the carpeted hallways, or it might rest in the common area of the Munich Tower Senior Community Home, or even wander out to the garden benches, and linger in the sunlight and the fresh air….

But her mind— the part of her which was really her-- hardly spent any time at all in or around the grounds of Munich Tower.

While her body roamed and rested, her mind ventured through the shimmering landscape of her memories, some were happy others were sad— but even those were cherished lately.

The sunlight beckoned her.

She started to climb out of her bed, her feet groped for her old worn slippers. Worn might not do them justice, they were ratty. But replacing things at this stage in her life seemed a little… Well it seemed a little ridiculous in concept, to outfit a rundown body with brand new accessories. Soon she’d leave Munich Tower in both mind and body. It would be a bit too pitiful if she left behind something brand new. New things fit better on the young.

It's not to say that she felt terribly ready for the big sleep, but she was too old to pretend it wouldn’t soon settle on her. Her body was as heavily worn as her slippers…

But the future— morbid as it was— wasn’t worth the worry. She preferred to spend her time in reminiscence. She supposed some young people might rebuke her for that, perhaps they’d tell her that she ought to live in the present.

Carpe diem— as silly as new slippers. Either one would be a silly look on her.

No. The present could bang its drum and carry on, her joints could ache and her stomach could groan and all that noise and pain would simply wash on past her.

Her past called all the louder.

She shuffled through the sunlight and over to the smiling faces on her sill. She leaned against her walker and picked up the a frame

She fumbled on her glasses to bring the photo into slow focus.

Her parents smiled at her from a picture taken on her 12th birthday. They wore pink party hats. Their smiling faces conjured up happy feelings.

She held her mother and father in her arthritic hands, and let her mind wander the fields of yesterdays long gone- where they were still alive. She could smell her father’s aftershave. She could hear her mother’s laugh it was pure and reassuring. She could feel their embrace.

Those who said it was wasteful to dwell in the past were idiots….

Maybe that’s as too extreme. Maybe they just didn’t know what it was like to have a ‘here and now’ be totally empty.

She picked up another picture- her husband. Confident, charming, handsome- sexy.

He had been her one and only, and their marriage had been a success— in that it taken death to part them. And it wasn’t stubbornness or desperation that kept them together for their 40 years.

In the wanderings of her mind, she could still feel his embrace, still hear the sound of his voice.

He had passed early and that hadn’t been fair. He hadn’t deserved to die, and she hadn’t deserved to lose him. But then… they hadn’t deserved to be together from the start. Love and companionship and heart attacks were all equal in that none were due.

She closed her eyes and let herself journey to a happier time— But then she heard a noise.

It was faint, and high, and she didn’t know what it was.

It was like a laugh, or a cry, and though she couldn’t quite pin the source she knew it wasn’t coming from her room.

It must be a grandkid visiting one of her neighbors...

She shrugged and let her trembling, knobby fingers dance over the next frame. She let go her walker, so as to grasp this image with both hands.

Her emotions were laid raw— sadness and joy mingled in their naked intensity. The muscles in her face melted and and quivered and fought each other.

Her child. Her greatest joy in life and her greatest sorrow.

And there it was again, the same sound as before, oddly insistent.

She cocked her head to the side and cupped a hand to her good ear.

Silence.

She went back to the image of her son- he’d been a beautiful boy. He’d been a good boy too, who never hurt a living soul.

He wasn't a straight A student, or a star athlete, but he was kind to everyone he met and that always made her so deeply proud.

And he'd made her even prouder in his adulthood. He'd been a coordinator of sorts, for a network of food pantries and soup kitchens.

... Then he had been killed by a drunk driver- a hit and run… This had happened two years after her husband’s death; and though it had practically killed her she had been happy about three things: first, the fact that her husband had died first so he didn’t have to feel the pain of losing his ‘best bud’, second the fact that the coroner told her he hadn’t suffered, and third the fact that his funeral was so well attended... Everyone- from the city’s poor to the city’s mayor- all spoke their admiration of him.

She held his image close. She could hear his voice, see his smile. The love she held for him was so heavy and real even though he was gone.

…. Everyone she loved had already gone. Bingo night and tacky game shows simply couldn’t distract her from the fact that she was alone—

There it was again, the noise she couldn’t place. It sounded like a hungry baby.

Was it coming from outside?

She turned the window crank and it creaked open. A sound spilled into her room clear as crystal: ‘meeeeow’.

It sounded fragile, and desperate.

She worked the window with as much knotted speed as her boney wrist could muster.

Then she let out a delighted gasp as the creature came into view: A sleek gray cat, with white paws and a white throat.

It boldly leapt to the sill, accidentally knocking down the pictures of her parents and husband.

“Careful now my darling, some of these are fragile.”

She set the pictures delicately aside, out of the cat’s way.

“My name is Fanny Burgess, what’s your name little dear?” His fur was beautiful. She let her hand venture forward, and he brushed against it with an almost frantic affection.

His fur was so soft!

He brushed his face against her withered skin, and began to purr.

“No collar on you, my darling? Well we don’t know what your name is then do we?For now, why don’t I just call you my mewling cat, because you like to mew?”

His eyes were so big and open, friendly even.

He ventured a paw forward, hesitating only briefly, then scooped her hand towards his neck.

He wanted chin scratches!

“It’s ok my mewling cat, I won’t hurt you. I don’t bite.”

She sat in her rocker, and tapped her thighs by way of invitation. The mewling cat slid forward with fluid grace, carrying his weight on raised haunches.

Such sleek beauty! He called to mind the universal image of a predator on the quiet hunt.

He climbed onto her lap, padded a bit, did a once around, then plopped himself down, the very image of perfect comfort.

Fanny’s heart melted. For a moment she forgot to live in the past.

“Meow, my beauty!”

The cat rubbed his head against her, then delicately licked her hand.

She giggled the same way she had many years ago, when her father had come home with a surprise puppy— the sense of heart-hurty adoration she’d felt for such a cute and helpless and doting creature.

She stroked his fur, and scratched behind his ears, and her soul was happy.

Munich Tower had a no-pets policy, but to hell with the rules! She was an 85 year old woman, she wasn’t going to let some condescending nursing aide this joy from her.

The cat stretched his forelimbs and yawned. He had made himself quite at home.

But then there was a knock at the door, and the cat-- fast like lightning and without a sound-- leapt off of her lap and through the open window.

In his haste, his little class had torn her skin, but it was seeing him go that caused the real hurt. Fanny’s high spirits fell.

“Miss Burgess?”

“Come in Sarah.” Fanny recognized the voice of the morning nurse, one of her favorites.

The door swung open, and Sarah’s pudgy face beamed: “Good morning Fanny. I won’t keep you too long, I just wanted to swing by and make sure everything was ok, breakfast just started and I was expecting to see you there. How are you feeling today?”

Fanny shrugged, “About the same way I felt yesterday.” Breakfast had already started? She had really lost track of time.

Sarah nodded but her eyes narrowed with concern. “You look different today Fanny, is something the matter?”

She gestured to her photographs. “I’ve been reminiscing.”

The nurse smiled, “I understand. Well do you think you’ll be joining the other residents for breakfast? If you’d prefer I can bring you a plate.”

She wasn’t hungry, but a thought occurred to her, and while it was frightfully juvenile, she just couldn’t shake it: maybe she could coax the cat to return if she left some breakfast on her open window. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind a bit to pick at.”

“Great! Eggs and bacon and toast sound ok?”

She nodded. “May I have a glass of milk too?”

“Absolutely, I’ll be back soon.”

The very instant she left, there was a gentle call from the open window.

He sounded hungry.

The cat’s head popped into view, and Fanny clapped her hands as though he had performed some wonderful trick. He sauntered back in through the opening.

Fanny scratched his ears to show her affection. “What a beautiful animal you are, my mewling cat! But you can’t stay too long- she’ll be back soon and they don’t like animals here.”

The cat meowed, softly.

Fanny leaned in and whispered, with a hand cupping her mouth— like a little kid sharing a secret— “But don’t go too far, because she’ll be coming back with some breakfast for you!”

He rubbed his face against her hand and rolled against her-- clearly in the throes of some kind of cat-ecstasy, and that made her feel proud… accomplished.

Another knock at the door, and same as before the cat leapt from her lap- but this time rather than passing through the open window, the clever boy landed silently on the floor and slunk into the shadows under her bed.

She clapped her hands in delight!

“Come in Sarah!”

The nurse entered and the room was filled with the smell of bacon, “Wow you look happier for food than I’ve ever seen you Miss Fanny!”

“Hungrier than I thought I suppose.” But she worried. What if the smells of bacon and eggs should entice the cat out of his safe hiding place?

But to her wonderment and relief the animal kept himself well hidden. Quote an intelligent creature!

“Please ring if you need anything else.”

Sarah shut the door and the mewling cat emerged once more.

“Are you hungry today, little cat?”

The cat walked up to her and brushed his body against her ankle.

She laid the plate down on the floor, offering him the bacon and whatever else he might eat, she also placed the milk beside him.

But the cat didn’t so much as sniff the food, instead he leapt back up into her lap.

She was disappointed, she wanted him to have a treat, he deserved it! But these concerns were overshadowed by the brimming happiness she felt when he leapg back to her lap.

She realized it was her attention which the animal most craved and that made her feel, once again, proud.

The cat sniffed her face. His whiskers tickled her lips and she laughed.

She spent the entire day in her room, every time someone approached the door, the cat disappeared- sometimes out the window but most often under her bed…. But all day long he rejected the foods she offered.

When night time came, Fanny made sure to leave the window open when she climbed into bed. But still, he never abandoned her. No, he curled up beside her, and he stayed there! He purred close beside her- until she fell into an easy asleep.

When her breathing slowed, he raised his head. Then he sat in the dark, staring. His green eyes as twin lamps, watching her through the hours.

Acold breeze swept through the window and caused her to stir.

She wrapped her gnarled fingers around the hem of her bedding and pulled the blankets higher, right to her chin. Or rather, she she tried.

There was something heavy near her feet.

She opened her eyes.

It was a moonless night, and there wasn’t much to see by. The only light was the meager portion that spilled through the crack under her door.

But still, in the dim she saw two green shimmers.

Eyes.

Staring at her from the dark.

They were unnervingly steady and intent- as the eyes of a demon narrowed around the weight of a malign purpose….

her heart galloped, and she began to tremble but she couldn’t look away.

Her own eyes were pried wide, all she could do was stare and quake.

After a long, silent agony she finally let out a frail cry, and her hands groped blindly for the bedside light.

Her fingers fond the nob and she gave it a click. Compared to the darkness, the light was intense, even painful.

She squinted forward and saw the mewling cat, perched at the foot of her bed. The same creature that had already given her so much happiness.

“Oh, my mewling cat! It’s you! You don’t know what a scare you gave me, looking at me like that...”

She could still feel her old heart slamming against her ribs, but it was slowly regaining a tenuous calm.

“Why are you seated so far away? Don’t you want to cuddle up with me again?”

The cat carried a look of waiting. He meowed, but it wasn’t as sweet or as soft as the sounds she’d heard from him earlier that day. It was drawn out, almost… expectant, nagging. A simultaneously mournful and insistent sound.

He reached a slender paw forward, and he looked so much like a shadow stretching long in retreat of the setting sun.

“Yes that’s it my beauty, come up here and keep me warm. I’ve left the window open for you, and it’s getting chilly.”

The cat stepped onto her thigh, then her pelvis. Where before his steps had been gentle and soft, they were now mildly painful, almost aggressive.

Unkind.

But she bore him with patience.

He moved from her pelvis to her belly, then finally her chest, where he settled down, his face very near hers.

He sniffed her as he had before, and his whiskers tickled her once again.

She started to giggle, and he sniffed again.

“Oh stop it, my dear! You’re tickling me!”

He sniffed, his whiskers played across her lips.

She laughed hard, almost a belly laugh… but with the weight of the cat on her chest this was an exhausting effort.

She gasped. But she couldn’t stop laughing, any more than she could understand why the cat was so persistent.

Her chest was heaving, and still he remained on her, whiskers against her shuddering face.

What a bizarre but lovely creature!

She panted and between bursts of wracking laughter, she begged him to stop.

But oh— she was happier than she had been in decades!

She reveled in this bizarre comfort and cherished the wonderful mewling cat.

Her voice grew hoarse and she begged: “Please! You’re killing me!”

He sniffed her lips some more, all the while watching her with those unblinking green eyes.

Her lungs were fully empty, but her body still shook with convulsions of laughter.

Some vital spark in the back of her mind realized that this innocent exchange could turn quite dangerous for a woman of her age.

She tried in earnest now to stop laughing, but his whiskers held her hostage.

She tried to sit up, but now she had grown too weak from the long effort of such a good, hard laugh- she was spent.

And she knew it.

Her head started to spin, she started to feel dizzy, though she was still lying down.

She reached for the cat, her hands moving according to one frantic imperative: self-preservation.

If it came to it, she might harm him- even though she adored him so- just to protect herself from his accidental harm.

But her hands were arthritic. They were perfectly weak. The cat was young and tense, and for an old woman who was pitifully winded, he may as well have been a cow.

The lamp stayed on, but the room faded to black, and her body shook with ever weakening convulsions.

Her pulse slowed, and the neurons Thad worked so hard over the last stage of her life keeping happy memories alive fired their last…. It was a sputtering grand finale that amounted to little more than a flash of nonsense images: warped faces of the people she loved, staring at her with steady green eyes.

====

“Miss Burgess?” Nurse Sarah knocked on the door, but there was no response from within.

It was strange that the old woman would be missing breakfast two days in a row.

It worried her.

“Miss Burgess, I’m coming in.”

No response.

She swung the door open on a scene which was far more grizzly than she could have expected, even were she warned: Fanny Burgess was half eaten. She lay on a bed dampened with her own blood. There were bite marks across her lips and her face, but it still betrayed an expression of utmost pain. A drawn back grin of terror.

Sarah knew better but…. But it almost looked like Fanny had been laughing.

She saw no signs of Fanny’s attacker- but she noticed the open window and she understood the tragedy. A wild animal had made its entry in the night, and made a meal of a defenseless old woman.

The idea was revolting.

====

Sarah Albright was a little girl- and not just because she hadn’t turned seven yet- even among girls her age, she was tiny.

But what she lacked in physical mass she made up for with dynamic presence.

Her parents always knew what everyone else told them; she was special.

Her teachers, their neighbors, the girl scout leaders… even her doctors were impressed and moved by her after the briefest meetings.

Nobody came right out and said it, but they all hinted that they couldn’t believe she was so vibrant, so alive, so big considering her diagnosis.

They found it hard to believe she really had cancer in her bones.

But Mr. and Mrs. Albright believes it. They had no choice, they couldn’t reject that knowledge no matter how badly they wished to.

They were full of despair. Agony.

But they managed a heroic, some would say miraculous effort to stay positive for her, and it was in no small part because of her. That they had that strength.

She positively glowed despite it all. She was so strong, that they had no way to be weak.

Besides her un-diminished spirits and her endless smile, one other thing helped the Albrights cope: a fairly hopeful prognosis…. She really might pull through-- it would be a hard fight, but she had a good chance. That’s what they said.

Hers wasn’t a death sentence. Not quite.

But they still worried, how could they not. The stress which was heaped on their plate…

That morning they stood holding each other in the hallway. They were going to peek in on Sarah. They did that often, when she was sleeping they just watched.

Those moments were bitter and wonderful-- painful and beautiful all at once. They loved watching their beloved daughter rest so peacefully and they hated the harsh reminder that she might not be around much longer for them to adore.

Most mornings, when they peaked in they let their tears flow quietly. Unless she was awake.

If they saw her bold smile and her unshakable courage… they’d dam the tears long enough to smile with her. After all what was her smile if not a request? And how could they deny their little girl anything her big, brave heart desired?

Mr. Albright gave his wife a long, hard embrace. Then he delicately turned the nob to Sarah’s room. The door swung open faster than he’d been intending- and the curtains by her window flapped in the breeze.

They were surprised to see Sarah petting a strange cat- he was grey with white markings.

When Sarah saw them she beamed, “Mom! Dad! Look at my visitor! Can we keep him?!”