Through Cat’s Eyes

As I strolled through the field at the end of the lane by my father's farm, I delighted in the gentle tugging of the tall grasses as they brushed against the hem of my skirt. My father and his neighbors had such neat little plots of land that this small field of wild grass felt like exotic wilderness. The crisp dryness of autumn was still fresh in the air, as the warm sun tried valiantly to keep the memories of summer alive for just a little longer. It had been years since Msr. LeBeau had been well enough to work this land. The arthritis in his limbs shackled him to his front porch as he suffered through his "golden years". I stumbled over stones that lay hidden amongst the tall dry grasses that grew where lavender, garlic and sweet onions used to sprout in neat and colorful rows when I was a young girl.

I heard a rustling of small creatures very close to me and held still for a moment to ascertain the direction. I then crept stealthily in the direction of the noise. What I found there was the most incredible thing I had ever witnessed.

There was a large black cat, her silky fur glowing in the afternoon sun. She lay comfortably on her forepaws with her green eyes fixed upon a small mouse. The mouse seemed to be mesmerized. It showed no fear, and made no attempt to escape. It's small black eyes gazed blankly back at the cat. I crept a bit closer and the sound of my steps brought an icy glare from the cat. The mouse, it's trance broken, tried to slowly slip away. With a slap of five sharp talons the cat retrieved the mouse to her breast. She then released it, only to hold it captive with her steady green-eyed stare once more. The tension was maddening. I think I may have succumbed to the cat's spell as well; it seemed an hour passed, or was it a minute? Before I quite realized what I was doing, I found a stone gripped desperately in my hand as I raised it high and brought it down upon the mouse's head. The scent of blood roused the cat from her own daze as she pounced upon the carcass and began to devour it. I watched in lurid fascination as something old and primal stirred in my belly. It was the first time I had killed. It was the first time I had witnessed first hand the predator feeding on prey. It felt ugly and natural, glorious and repulsive, both wrong and right. I envied the cat as she reveled in her treat, unfettered by conscience.

After this offering, the black cat was my constant companion. I fed her scraps from the dinner table as I cleared the dishes and washed them. She would tap her tiny paw against my bedroom window until I let her in to sleep on my stomach. She would place her chin between my breasts, and the soft rumble of her purring would lull us both asleep. At dawn, she would nuzzle me awake as if to say good-bye and slip out the open window.

A few nights later, the cat nuzzled me awake as usual, except it was still black as pitch outside. The clock in the hall chimed a quarter after some wee hour of the morning. My father snored faintly from his room down the hall. Funny, I don't remember that he ever snored while mother was alive. It must be a sign that he still misses the feel of her body next to his as he sleeps, even though it's been seven years since tuberculosis stole her from us.

The cat's muzzle was wet and sticky. Her green eyes burned into mine with the same intensity that had hypnotized the mouse at our first meeting. I could feel time slipping away; I lost all sense of it as she held my gaze. But this was not the same look that had doomed the mouse, this was more expectant - as if she was trying to tell me something in a language I did not understand. As I rearranged the covers so I could sit up and look at her directly, I realized what she wanted me to see. She had killed a crow and brought it to me as a present. It lay there amongst the covers, it's feathers still looking an oily black, except for the wounds where a few feathers stuck up like a school boy's cowlick. It occurred to me I should have screamed at this discovery in my bed - but I didn't. She wanted me to accept her offering as she had accepted mine. As I picked up the still-warm bird, her eyes followed my every move. I found some brown mailing paper and wrapped the bird in it and placed it in the trash bin. The cat never relented her stare. She looked insulted that I had apparently refused her gift. I felt bad that I could not bring myself to take a bite out of the bird as a gesture of thanks. And yet... There was a tiny spot of the bird's blood feeling sticky on the palm of my left hand. I deliberately brought it to my lips and licked it off. It was more than I ever thought I would do for a friend, and the cat was appeased by the gesture.

I was very tired the next morning and could barely find the energy to dress myself. I could blame it on my late night visitor, but it only got worse the next night and the night after. I slept soundly through each night, even retiring before dinner, yet I could barely raise my head from the pillow in the morning. I saw a hint of concern in my father's stony, stoic face as he announced he would fetch the doctor. I remained in bed all day and around dusk I had the most horrid dream. I dreamt the cat turned into a huge, muscular demon who lay crushingly atop me with huge claws that tore at my night dress and pinned me to my bed. The demon licked my throat with a rough, hot tongue then began sucking my breath from me. I woke to find the very normal looking cat laying on my chest as she was accustomed, eyes drowsy asleep, and I screamed.

My night dress was in tatters and I ached all over as if I'd been run over with a tractor. I changed and bathed and said nothing to the doctor about the dream as he pulled a number of fancy instruments from his black leather bag. Each was shinier and more bizarre than the last, but none of them told him what was wrong with me or how to make me feel normal again.

Now I was afraid to sleep as the cat tapped her paw against my window. I was loath to let her in, still frightened by this afternoon's dreams. Despite a pitiful look I refused to relent.

The unearthly wail of feline caterwauling startled me awake. It came from just outside my room. I threw open the window to see the black cat had been cornered by a large tomcat bearing down on her. She moved from side to side but he would cut off her escape and inch closer. I yelled out the window and the tomcat looked back toward me. Then, with amazing speed and ferocity the black cat lunged at the tomcat, catching him unaware. Her jaws clamped around his neck and he rabbit-kicked furiously at her face trying to jar her loose. She refused to let up, and his struggle slowed. She continued to adjust her grip tighter and tighter until he was strangled. This was different than the mouse or the bird - it was not killing for food but senseless killing out of pure aggression. I found the scene too revolting to handle and shut the window leaving the bloodied gladiators on the field of battle. I did not see the black cat that next morning. I still could not venture far from my bed, and would have known if she was around. She did not show up at dinner time to beg for scraps, and I began to worry that she had been seriously hurt. But just before midnight I heard the familiar tapping at my window and knew she had returned. She had scratches on her nose and above one eye, but otherwise bore no serious scars from the previous night's battle. I let her in and she began to groom herself like nothing had happened. I was surprised by her ability to fall back into her daily routine so soon after fighting a life and death battle.

The next few days, I felt no better, but no worse. I could not get dressed or brush my hair - the thought of it tired me. I couldn't remember the last time I had finished a meal. I spent the day anticipating the company of my nocturnal friend. I gained new strength when the cat came to my window. It was as if I could feed off her energy as she bounded around my room chasing imaginary villains before she settled down for the night.

Two nights later, as I lay sleeping, I felt a heavy presence in my bed. I wanted to cry out, but I couldn't. I wanted to open my eyes, but I was afraid to see what I knew would be there. The demon had returned. The covers pulled tight around my body and I could feel hot breath in my face. Finally, not looking became more terrifying than looking and when I opened my eyes I saw the creature from my dream. Only I wasn't dreaming. He was black and heavy and covered in coarse hair that scratched my skin. He took on the visage of my father, but I knew it wasn't him. I could smell the evil that thirsted for my soul. This was not my father - it was bigger and stronger and menacing in a way my father was incapable. It pinned my right arm back, and my left arm flailed about wildly as I struggled with the only part of my body still under my own control. At that moment, a piercing screech filled the room. The black cat was at my window and her eyes were aglow and her hair stood up all over as she howled at the intruder. My left hand found the heavy porcelain wash basin on the night stand and brought it down on the demon's skull with all the desperation, fear, and anger in me. He was dazed and surprised, and a small trickle of blood started down his temple as I swung the bowl once again. He rolled off me and I swung again with both hands over and over until I passed out from exhaustion.

I woke to find the cat cleaning herself at the foot of my bed, and my father dead on the floor. The cat hopped down from my bed and sniffed at the small puddle of blood beneath his head. She continued walking across the floor, one foot landing in the blood and leaving pink footprints in a straight line to the window sill. I never saw her again.

After that, my strength returned and I left to live with my aunt in Brussels. To this day I hear whispers as I walk past people. They do not understand. They don't know that it was the demon that killed my father and nearly killed me. The demon would have stolen my soul if that cat hadn't taught me about death and killing and how to deal with demons.

I thank God for sending me that cat, and pray for my father's immortal soul.