From Fur to Feathers and Forever

I pounded my feet on the doormat to shake the remnants of the yard from my boots and returned to the warmth of the indoors. I entered through the mud room and lingered too long in the doorway of the laundry room, Athena’s last little cat nest and the place she spent her final days. I stared trancelike at her abandoned cat bed covered in white fluff and still sunken in the shape of her tiny body. I felt a pang in my heart thinking that her last meal of kibble in the dish had survived her, simply because it hurt too much to discard it.

I was startled back into the present by aggressive, yet loving nudges to my calf by my other cat, “Tito”. Tito is big and gray, and not very bright, but the most affectionate cat I’ve ever known. Tito steered clear of the laundry room after Athena passed; maybe out of habit (as Athena used to growl at him anytime he set a paw down in the room) or maybe out of grief, I’m not really sure.

Athena had been with me for nearly 16 years, since I was 10 years old. Like me, she lived her entire life in this house. I was raised by my grandparents and inherited this house when they passed, first grandpa, the year I graduated high school; then, Grandma three years ago. I didn’t cry for my grandparents. I still haven’t. When the thought creeps in on me, I just think about something else.

Today, marks 1 week since Athena’s death. I just received her ashes and finished burying most of them in the yard. I chose a spot near a tree under the window where she would perch on the sill inside of my bedroom. I started to daydream and invoke a vision of her in the window where she longed to go outside. I was awakened from my vision as Tito nudged me again with the force of his wet little nose.

“Okay, brat.” I caught his tail gently and smoothed the tip before he whipped it around. “What are we doing?”

He let out a long and whiny “mew” fit more for a 4-pound kitten than a 17-pound giant.

“Okay, treats it is.” I said tossing him a few morsels to get him off my back.

I adopted Tito just days after my grandma died. I guess I just needed some affection and something to care for; something to do besides lament the loss. Athena was never very affectionate, or she was, but only on her terms, like most cats. I was tempted to get a dog, but I couldn’t do that to Athena. Instead, I thrust this clumsy kitten, who grew into a 17-pound hippopotamus. She tolerated him as long as he didn’t cross her. Athena was a tiny white little fluff of a cat with a crooked tail and giant orbit eyes. She looked like a kitten, despite being a senior. She was freakishly smart and stubborn as hell. Athena was like a wise old owl. She was a great companion.

The house had become tomb-like in its silence after her passing. It had started to weigh on me. Sometimes, the silence felt almost tangible, like this oppressive force pushing in on my eardrums. Sometimes it felt like white noise if I “listened” to it for too long. It’s not that Athena made a lot of noise when she was around, but I realized day by day the sounds that I no longer heard: the thump of her jumping on or off the kitchen counter to prey on my houseplants or scavenge for crumbs (Tito was too clumsy to reach the counters, thankfully); the clicking of her toenails on the laminate floors (Athena had talons more than claws- Tito’s didn’t make any noise); the echoing and forlorn midnight meow, like a mother calling to her young (Tito mewed like a kitten unless you stepped on his tail). I missed all of her unique sounds. I also missed all of the little “presents” she used to leave me, usually at my bedroom door, but sometimes on my pillow or in my chair. No, not dead mice or birds- she was an indoor cat after all, but small trinkets like hair barrettes, rubber bands, or stuffed cat toys- and once a dead moth. Tito never gave me “presents”.

I had lost my appetite completely. Every time my stomach convinced me to eat, I thought of Athena’s abandoned bowl full of kibble and lost interest in food. That night, I skipped dinner and opted for bed. Later on, I was awakened by a “thump” in the kitchen. I climbed out of bed to investigate and found my basil plant had toppled over. Despite feeling really freaked out, I pretended for the benefit of no one, to be undisturbed and cleaned up the mess, like nothing happened. I felt the sensation of being watched, though I could not explain it precisely. I ignored my unease and crawled back into my bed and covered my head with the blanket. In the most unproductively restful way, I squeezed my eyelids so tight over my eyes I felt it pull on my hairline. Nevertheless, I eventually drifted back to sleep- that’s when I heard it- the toenail sound. I could faintly hear Athena’s talons clicking on the laminate floor. I stopped breathing. My heartbeat clouded my hearing, but I listened intently. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out where the clicking was coming from. I started to sweat under the fort of blankets I’d made for myself. I laid there, motionless thinking somehow that if I didn’t move or breathe, whatever it was would leave me for dead. Then, I felt it- the sensation of something jumping on my bed. I felt the weight of the jump, then nothing. I nearly wet myself. I withheld both the urine in my bladder and the curdling scream gaining momentum in my chest. I could almost feel my hair turning white at the root and spreading to the tip. I felt my blood turning icy inside my veins- then, the thing on my bed started coming for me. The harbinger of death, the ghost of my cat, or whatever was terrorizing me was finally coming. I could hear its breath near my ear, sniffing, then nuzzling and digging mercilessly into the blankets. Will this torture ever cease? My god…

“Mew?”

“Tito?” I dug my way out of the blankets and popped my sweaty head out from underneath. “Oh my god, Tito! You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing up here?”

Tito rarely jumped on my bed. That was another Athena-zone where he was just not allowed. I scratched his head and exhaled out all of the fear that had built up inside of me. I smiled thinking about how ridiculous I was for being so scared over nothing.

Still, I couldn’t shake that feeling of being watched. It’s hard to describe to someone who’s never experienced it, but it’s just this sense of unease, a fear feeling- like anticipation; the fear of being afraid. It is the sensation you get when you embrace the idea that someone is planning to jump out and scare you. The feeling of not being alone, but a powerlessness that exists when you don’t know who the watcher is, or from where they watch you. Again, I displayed this feigned behavior of calmness and amusement while I stroked Tito’s fur.

Clickety, clack, tick, tick, tick…

Tito startled to his feet. I turned my head instinctively toward the sound. Tito and I both stared motionless at the window in my room. The clicking was louder than Athena’s toenails ever were, and it was definitely coming from outside my window. The curtains were drawn tightly, undisturbed by the clicking. The moment seemed frozen, just like our bodies. Before we knew it, the clicking stopped and the hissing began.

Tito didn’t wait to find out what the noises were. He jumped off my bed, did a Scooby-Doo on my bedroom area rug, knocked over the clothes hamper, and got the hell out of my room without apology.

I was left sitting on the edge of my bed alone, staring a hole through my curtain from behind which, surely a demon and hellfire burned its way through the double-paned window of my bedroom.

The hissing was replaced with screeching. It almost sounded like a distant scream- a woman screaming from far off. The hair on my arms formed a stiff mohawk. It was then that I discovered I had hair on the back of my neck I never knew about, because it stood up like it had been electrified. I was in the throes of full terror. Yet, here was my brain, still calculating in its time away from imagining the demon hellfire- was this my cat? Was this Athena? Why now? Why a week later? I immediately thought of Athena’s ashes just outside my window. Maybe she was unhappy with that spot? Wait no, this can’t be happening. I started to talk myself down from this crazy, superstitious thinking when I heard movement outside my window. I definitely heard something outside my window.

I’ve got to see what’s out there.

I willed myself off my bed. I switched on my bedside lamp, though I hadn’t been in total darkness of course, as I was too scared to sleep in the dark, so I had been keeping a soft light on in the corner of my room. The brightness of the light, however, eased my nerves in just the slightest way, but it was enough to brave my way to the window.

I stood staring again at the curtain. I could almost see through the curtain. The light created a sheer quality to the formerly solid curtain. I was shocked to my soul to see Athena’s eyes peering through the curtain. I could almost make out her eyes, her white face looking back at me. I could hear movement behind the window again, a clicking and a shuffling. I reached for the curtain and quickly tore it open. I breathed in startled, but I stopped my scream.

I saw these black orbital eyes staring back at me and this ghostly white face with…a beak?

It was an owl. A beautiful, ghastly, frightening, white owl. It was perched in the tree outside my window and it just stared back at me. I stared back at it for a long minute and then I closed the curtain. I went to my nightstand to grab my phone in hopes of capturing a photo of this rare wonder, but alas it was gone when I opened the curtains again.

I eventually found sleep again that night, but it was on a wet pillow. Despite my terror, I suppose I secretly hoped it was Athena saying her goodbyes to me. I laughed a little at myself, but I mostly cried- for her, for my grandma, for my grandpa and for my loneliness. Tito jumped back up on the bed at some point and curled up between my legs for the rest of the night.

I woke up the next morning feeling very well-rested and hungry. I made myself breakfast for the first time in over a week and I ate it happily. Afterward, I decided to pay my respects to Athena’s grave and investigate the scene outside my window.

To my chagrin, I did not find an owl in the tree. However, I wasn’t left with nothing; what I did find surprised me: sitting on my windowsill was a tattered filthy little cloth bow about 1 inch long, attached to a barrette.

One last “present”, I guess.