The letter is C. Guess what my inspiration was for the letter C.
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Cats are the epitome of freedom. They come and go as they please. Despite our efforts to domesticate them they have proved far superior. For which I am glad. Cats live a secret life that we will never know about, one which came upon me in the strangest dream a fortnight since. It happened as such as I will explain to you, but I am afraid that my story may seem displeasing to some so please read at your own risk.
My story begins at the doors of St. Bartholomew’s as an orphan, banging upon the large cast iron doors for entry.
“Please, sir, let me in. It is quite cold out here and I am quite hungry.” My cries went unheard for some time until I thought I could bang my fists no more. Then finally the door creaked open a tiny bit and as I went to enter, thoroughly filled with joy and relief, a single cat walked out. Her back arched gracefully, her tail was fully extended in the air and twitched like a madman’s seizure. She scampered out of the crack and ran between my feeble legs down the steps to the street. I turned to watch it go but as I faced forward to walk in I found to my astonishment that the door had closed again in the quietest fashion! Unsure of how to proceed, I turned around and sat down on the steps. My little hands were quite red from the force it took to hit the door and quite raw from the rubbing.
As I sat there cradling my hands I heard a distant mewing and looked up. The small gray animal sat regarding me with eyes that seemed to say, “How long are you going to keep me waiting?” Seeing that she had finally gained my attention she got off her haunches and petered down the steps. Curious. A hand seemed to push me out of nowhere down those stairs and I followed the cat.
We walked along the street, me and the cat. No people paid us any mind. In fact, there were hardly any people out at that late hour. The sky was already reddening as it does when the sun disappears and the streetlights were being lit from down the street by the lamp lighter. Still the cat continued walking. I followed her right and left and down an alley, through a garden, and up some stairs, not wondering as to why I was following this animal. It never occurred to me that it could have been leading me to my maker, but I persisted and she led me.
At long last we came upon a small hut with only one small wooden door worn at the handle from frequent opening. A single candle lit the interior.
“Hello?” I called. “Sorry for the intrusion.”
Silence followed my call for a few minutes. Finally a flap near the back opened, one I had not seen, and out walked an old lady. I shouldn’t really say old. She was probably old enough to be my mother at my age in comparison to hers, but to any child any adult is old. She walked over with a large kind smile that dimpled in her cheeks.
“Hello. I see the child has brought you here tonight.” She gestured to the cat now licking its paws and scrubbing its face. “Come, come. Please sit. I’ll fix you up something to eat. I’m sure you must be quite famished. Cats, you know. They only do things at their leisure. Never ours.”
She ambled away behind the curtain but returned with a bowl of soup and some bits of soft bread. She told me to eat my fill and to not hesitate asking for more. The soup was warm and chunks of potato floated within. After a few refills and more bread I sat content and dozing by the small fire that warmed the hut.
I found out much later that only the special few who are deemed in need by the cat will be led to this abode and if you set out to find it yourself you will never seek it. It’s true. Years later, when I was better off than in my previous years, I ventured to find the woman again but as I retraced my steps the way seemed to grow hazy and I could not remember whether I should have turned or gone straight. I have never found her. If you happen to be so lucky as to see a cat with the bluest eyes and a twitching tail, be sure to follow it and take care to note where you walk and please come back and tell me.
As it was, I began to nod off to sleep in that chair. She roused me only gently and led me to a small cot on the other side of the hut, away from the flap that led to the kitchen. She tucked me in under coarse but warm blankets and I fell asleep. The next morning I woke to find myself in the church I had been outside of the day before. When I inquired about the woman the priest and nuns thought I had gotten a shock to my head as well as my system and sent for the doctor. Indeed I had a bit of a cough and fever but I knew the events had transpired because when I looked in my clenched hand hours later there was a note. Its contents are the only thing that keeps me believing, otherwise I might have considered myself mad too. On the note was written the simple words “Cat-ch you later.”
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I am currently on the letter E. I should actually be farther along but I went to Paris last weekend and then forgot to write yesterday so I am a bit behind, but at least I am still writing, so to me that is a victory.
I am currently waiting for the washing machine repair man to come to our flat to fix our washing machine. It blinks its glowy red lights and refuses to wash or dry our clothes. How depressing. That probably explains why everyone smells so much. Kidding! No one smells at all. It’s just a big change from constantly seeing someone’s laundry in the machine. I swear, someone is always using the machine. It’s kind of like a game. If you see it empty you need to snatch it up right away just so you can get your own laundry done. But that’s alright. There’s only five of us so as long as you pay attention to the machine, eventually there will be a time when no one is using it.
Going to go be productive now [as opposed to the last hour where I just read articles on geek drinks and geek drinking games].
Crawlspace Sleepyhead 