I suddenly felt like I was floating. The moths traveled drunken squiggles in the air behind Roomie’s head. The porchlight backlit her hair, turning it the color of an ocean on a postcard.
The rictus grin on my face looked less like me, more like something carved on a jack-o’-lantern.
I watched myself grab for her. My feet didn’t leave the pavement. The vermin-freak lay silently before my shoes. At least it wasn’t staining the patio with…anything.
“Where’s your phone? I mean—they’re discovering new animals all the time—and even if it’s not undiscovered—I see animals that are new to me all the time, like, remember that bird…the…the broadbill? Online?”
“I do.” She spoke solemnly. Her eyes had never been so serious. “But we’re not posting a pic of this.”
“Because of The Ring?” The squeal was leaving my voice, following her lead.
“Yes. And because people will think it’s Photoshopped. Or like the Montauk Monster.”
“Oh. Yeah.” The astral me sank a little lower, closing with my body. “Wasn’t that…it was a real animal, just drowned, right?”
“A raccoon. They think. The point is, if you’re hoping for the Internet to give you something conclusive, it ain’t gonna happen. None of them are here really looking at it. And even if it is just a deformed rodent, there’s the list we just burned, and the…the bell. Or whatever it was.”
In the silence that followed, I finally sunk, settled back into my skin. I looked at the thing at my feet. I thought of the bloated corpse of the Montauk Monster, still a mystery.
No one’d ever believe us, I realized. They’ll think we faked it. We’re on our own.
Magpie weaved between me and the vermin. He looked up at me and yowled again.
I scooped him up. All three of us looked at the dead thing. The void above its neck grabbed my eye. I squeezed the cat to me.
“Please, Maggie, tell me you didn’t do that,” I said into his neck.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I didn’t want Roomie to see, so I buried my face deeper into the cat’s fur. It still smelled the same. Comforting. No. He wouldn’t have done it. I sniffed, got my game face back on. Shame we’d used up the lighter fluid.
“We’re going to need more oven mitts,” I said.
“No. I’ll take care of it,” said Roomie. “You get Magnum inside. Give him fourthmeal. And keep him indoors. I’m going out.”
“Out where?”
Finally, the grim look gave way to an eye roll.
“Just to Fry’s, Mom. I’ve got a plan.”
When I shut the sliding glass door, I saw, through the moths, Roomie coming out from behind the side of the house, holding our only shovel.
I drew the blinds.
* * *
Roomie surprised me the next morning by being up when I was getting ready for work. I met her by the coffeepot.
“Can you keep Magnum in?” she asked.
I glanced over at the living room. “Well, not forever!”
The cat sat in the clinking blinds, staring outside.
“I know. But…tonight, before we let him out—”
I sighed. I hated the idea. But I knew he’d never let us keep him cooped up.
“I know. But I’ve got a plan. Look.”
She led me to our cell phone charging station. Something new was plugged into the wall. It was black, shaped like a capital “D” on its side, with rounded edges.
“Bought it last night,” said Roomie.
“What is it?”
“A collar cam.”
“A what?”
“Like a kitty GoPro. We clip it onto Mag’s collar, turn it on before he goes out, and—assuming the portal to hell is less than two and a half hours away—we’ll get vid of wherever it is he’s going.”
I sighed again. “How’s that going to help?”
“Well…It’d be nice to know that we’re not scaring ourselves over…Idunno, some special effect artist’s castoffs.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“Nuupe. But I do believe forewarned is forearmed. And if it just ends up he’s at…Idunno, a trash heap, maybe the authorities can take over?” Her eyes squinched upward with the question mark in her voice.
Man, that’d be nice.
But I was—allegedly—an adult. I knew better. It wouldn’t work out so easily.
I just nodded. “OK. Sounds like a plan.”
In the living room, Magpie scratched at the glass.
* * *
Today was the day I talked to answering machines all day, trying to drum up clients for the insurance agent who paid me ten bucks an hour.
It was tedious work, perfect for leaving a corner of my mind free. Free to worry about what would happen tonight when we released Magpie. Free to wonder what the collar camera might reveal. Free to wonder when the nightmare would be over.
* * *
When I got home I was careful opening the door, fearing Magpie would come shooting out the way he did whenever he’d get kitty cabin fever. But luckily, Roomie was already there, distracting him with some smelly anchovies.
“I didn’t know he liked those,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the salty tang.
Magpie glanced up at me, a brief pause, then bent down to lap at the current anchovy he was working on.
“Me neither,” said Roomie. “Which is why we are now the proud owners of a tin of sardines and a can of tuna.”
“Groovy,” I said. “More to donate to Foursquare come Christmas.”
She held up his Hawai’ian print collar, now with the camera attached. “I’ll distract him, you put it on?”
I took it from her and knelt down.
Magpie balked a second when I came at him with his newly-augmented collar, then forgot all about me as Roomie shoved a palm of anchovies under his nose. While he schlorped it up, I fastened the collar around his neck. The camera dangled in the middle of his chest, curved-side of the “D” down.
After his snack, Roomie washed her hands, then followed me as I carried Magpie to the sliding glass door.
“OK, you hold this button here for five seconds. That’ll start the cam.”
I reached for the machine. Magpie blinked stoically. A light on the camera blinked, once, twice, then stayed on, steady and blue.
“Looks good,” she said.
She turned towards the sliding door.
Click went the lock.
Magpie jolted to in my arms, sniffing the fresh air. He squirmed. I closed my eyes, breathing in the comforting smell of his fur. I gave him a squeeze—hopefully not a final one.
Roomie patted the cat’s back. “Godspeed, little buddy.”
I set him down, and he streaked towards the back wall, striped fur disappearing into the juniper bushes before he reappeared in a spectacular leap that landed him atop the cinder block wall. There wasn’t even time to admire his handsome silhouette against the blood-red sunset.
I blinked, and my cat was gone.
* * *
I didn’t grow up with pets. Sure, they were neat to read about, or to see at friends’ houses, but they didn’t capture me until I met Magpie, saw what an oddly rich inner life this animal had all on his own. He was tough to figure out sometimes, sure, but the affection he gave me was real…and just what I needed in this stage of my life. It hadn’t been my plan to be forty, single, and broke, after all. I wouldn’t go so far to say he was a therapy cat, but some days, he was as good as therapy!
So when he didn’t come home the night we put the camera on him, a chunk of dread lodged in my throat.
I stared at the faint lines of streetlight on my bedroom ceiling, not sleeping and asking myself what have we done?
I should have kept him inside anyway. What was I thinking, sending him out there to scout for us? He was big for a housecat, but a cat isn’t a very big animal. Really, he was just a little
guy! We should have gone out with him.
I crumpled the top of my comforter in my fists and swallowed back tears.
He’ll be there in the morning. You’ll see. And the mystery will be revealed.
I repeated it like a mantra until I fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning, a vision of the sliding glass door clear in my head. I threw on my robe and flew downstairs to the living room.
Roomie sat on the sofa, a herd of knitted ponies accumulated on the table.
Ponies were her least favorite thing to knit and she never did them unless she had an order to do…or unless something was bothering her.
Morning light shone in beams through the decorative shapes carved into the topmost cinder blocks that made up our yard’s wall.
There was no Magpie at the door.
I turned to Roomie. There were greenish circles under her eyes. I would have bet money she stayed up all night knitting ponies, waiting up for Magpie.
“Is he…?” I asked.
Her needles clicked. “Nope,” she said softly. “Haven’t seen him.”
I groaned and collapsed on the cushion next to her. I bent my head to hide my face in my hands, then fought the urge off.
“Ponies, huh?” I asked.
The corners of her lips turned up in a smile that wasn’t a smile.
“Gotta make up the hundred bucks I spent on the cam.”
A new wave of guilt belted me in the stomach.
“Oh—I—I’ll reimb—”
She shook her head. The knitting needles never broke rhythm. “Nah. My idea, my…treat.”
We sat in silence, save for the clicking of another pony being brought into existence. The Cthulhu/frog was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if she’d picked it apart.
“You don’t think a coyote got him, do you?” Roomie asked.
I studied her to see if she’d asked the question on purpose.
“No,” I said. I was certain of it. “I’ve never seen a coyote out here. I saw some once, back when I worked as a maid—saw them on the golf course that backed up to the woman’s house—but that was closer to the city, believe it or not. I’ve never seen them out here.” I frowned. Did that fact make me more worried, or less? What would scare off coyotes?
From the way Roomie’s glance flicked away when I looked at her, I figured she was wondering the same thing.
She swallowed, a sound I heard over the chirping birds outside.
“Well, he’s a tough kitty. He’ll make it back.”
“Maybe he just stopped off at his second family’s house for a bite.”
She snorted. The needles stopped. “My cat’s been seeing another family! Next, on Jerry Springer! Jer-ry, Jer-ry!” she chanted.
We laughed. But both our eyes glistened.
I rocked myself onto my feet before any tears could fall. There was still the workday to get through.
* * *
Magpie didn’t show up that night. Or the next morning. Now the pony herd was up to a dozen. They stood on the table, pointed every which way.
“Should we cancel the barbeque?” Roomie asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m off today and there are still decorations to do and buns to buy.” The thought of all the neighbor kids all asking me, “Where’s Magpie?” made me lose my appetite. But I wouldn’t cancel. It was planned. It was normalcy. It would get my mind off things.
“Do you want me to go instead? To the store?” Roomie asked. “One of us should be here—”
“And I want it to be you.”
“He might not—”
“I can’t sit here waiting. At least while you’re here, you can work on your herd.”
“But what if he’s injured?”
“It’s just buns!” I said, and raced out of the room to grab my purse.
* * *
It was the hottest part of the afternoon. The summer sun glared wickedly through the kitchen window. I ignored it, double-checking our bun-to-meat ratio when Roomie shouted from the other room.
“He’s back!”
I turned to see her hauling the sliding door open. Magpie squalled. His fur was puffed up, making him look twice his size. He rocketed inside, and only because I’d just stepped out of the kitchen and was in perfect position did I manage to catch him. He yowled and struggled in my arms, trying to push off me with claws extended, but he never slashed at me.
I yanked at his breakaway collar and it came off in my hand, camera dangling.
I dropped the cat, who fled upstairs, too quick for the eye to see.
I looked at the collar cam in my hands, then up the stairs.
Roomie shut the slider and crossed the living room to me.
“I’ll upload the video,” she said, taking the collar off my hands. “You look after Magnum.”
I grabbed a couple of his bowls and filled the food one downstairs with his favorite, Sheba Salmon Cutlets in Gravy, then went upstairs to fill the water dish in the bathroom sink. I only slopped three times getting the water to my room.
Magpie’s fortress of solitude was located under my bed. With the bed skirt draped over the gap beneath the bed, there was no evidence of a cat underneath, not unless you knew. There was also no way of reaching him when he holed up, not unless you planned on moving the whole bed.
I got on my belly and lifted the bed skirt.
His claws gripped the carpet and he stared at me, wide-eyed, shaking.
“It’s okay…you’re okay…!” I slid the sustenance in as far as I could reach, babbling calming coos the whole time. He didn’t move. His pupils filled his eyes, but he made no sound.
This wasn’t the Magpie I knew. My Magpie might howl on his way to the vet’s, but seemed to forget every scary thing done to him the moment we let him out of his cage back home.
Something was very wrong.
I replaced the bed skirt and creaked to my knees.
I paused for a second, belly leaned against my comforter. I was kneeling against the bed.
For too long, it felt like my prayers for employment weren’t making it past the ceiling, so I’d given up a few months back. But this was different. Magpie needed more help than I could give him. Tonight I needed to reach Someone.
I bowed my head and prayed that my kitty would come through this all right. I paused for a moment, adding on a silent prayer that my spiritual neglect wouldn’t hurt his chances of divine help.
Then I pushed myself to my feet. Time to see the video.
* * *
I joined Roomie in her bedroom, where an entire wall was full of cubbies, each stuffed to the brim with patterned shoelaces—all arranged by color, including neon rainbows, purple galaxies, black splotched with green aliens, and more.
Her leaf green sneakers sat out on top of the cubbies, the purple laces having been removed and replaced with yellow pineapple laces in honor of tonight’s cookout.
Roomie sat at her desk, a cord slinking from her laptop into the side of the collar cam. The blue Hawai’ian print collar curled on the white desk in a C-shape, metal ID tags glinting in the afternoon sun.
I sat on the bed behind her left shoulder. The video-playing program was loaded on her screen, paused on an image of the sunset from two nights ago. Long white lines arced over the right hand top corner of the screen, filament-thin. Magpie’s whiskers.
“You ready?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Me neither.”
I hoped the camera caught something with as much fervor as I hoped it’d caught nothing.
She pressed play.
I was glad I hadn’t eaten right before this, because as nauseatingly shaky as human-handheld videos were, they had nothing on a camera dangling from a cat collar.
When Magpie leapt to the ground, the colors melted across the screen before resolving into a jolting image of the cat treading his way across the landscape.
From time to time I had to
close my eyes, breathing through my mouth to force the motion sickness down.
The sights at first were familiar—amusing, even, as the cat crossed other yards in our neighborhood. He once paused on a patch of lawn to coolly look at a hyped-up dog barking on the inside of a sliding glass window. He did tightrope feats across cinder block avenues hardly wider than my hand. I felt a flicker of awe experiencing the feats of agility my cat could do and was astonished by how that agility let him go almost anywhere in this human-built world.
I was lost in the way he climbed up someone’s olive tree, until I saw the sand-colored wall below. That was the barrier between our planned community housing and the start of the undeveloped desert—one of the last chunks of it left in the valley. The desert wild had been shrinking every year I lived here, reduced as the city expanded on the valley floor.
“No, no,” I said, watching my cat use a long branch to breach the wall.
Before him lay the desert—miles and miles of hard, gritty dirt, rough scrub, and even rougher rocks. The purple mountains in the distance formed a darkening backdrop.
We watched him pad over the dirt. Unlike the yard wanderings, he never paused to observe the things around him, not even a lizard scuttling off a rock at his approach. He was a cat on a mission. He made turns here and there, turning me around in no time.
How far does this cat travel?
“Let’s scrob a bit,” said Roomie. She clicked the progress bar. The image jumped. More desert, but now in shades of green and white. The underside of his pale chin seemed to glow in this light.
“It has night vision?” I asked.
“Why else would it cost a hundred bucks?”
She clicked again. More darkness and green, and the occasional whoof as the wind blew across the microphone.
She clicked further ahead.
Suddenly, the desert is gone, and so is the night-vision green.
A horrible train-like howl almost blows out the laptop’s speakers. Roomie scrambles to lower the volume. The white speaker icon hovers over the image on-screen, then disappears.
Paws pad into what I think is a tunnel. In the distance, I think I see something—a desk?
What the Cat Brought Back Page 3
