by Mark Tufo
“What the hell is that thing?” the deputy asked, looking down at Mike.
“This is all that was in there.”
“Bring it up, I’ll at least try it,” the deputy said.
“Are you sure?” Bob asked. “That thing doesn’t look like it would hold a small child and you have to be pushing two fifty.”
“Two twenty-five, but thanks for noticing,” the deputy said as he took the ladder from Mike.
“You want me to go up?” Mike asked reluctantly.
“No, I’ve got it, but I’d appreciate you holding it in place.”
Mike propped his foot up against the leg until Deputy Caldwell got to the third rung and then Mike moved so that his hands were on each side and his legs were braced out behind him. The ladder was swaying like a suspension bridge in high winds and the deputy was still a good three more rungs from cresting over the floor of the crawl space.
The ladder swayed and Mike held on for dear life…then it was still. Mike could hear the deputy exhale loudly. He looked up to see what was going on, but his view was dominated by the large man’s posterior. The deputy was coming down noticeably faster than his ascent.
Mike hastily moved out of his way before the man stepped on him. The deputy was halfway down the stairs before he spoke. “Nothing there, I’ve got another call.” And he was out the door, the cruiser started up and spit rocks from its rear as the police car took off for its ‘emergency’.
“I wonder if it has anything to do with Kylie?” Mike asked wryly.
“Anything else you need to check out?” Bob asked, not really waiting for a response as he also headed for the door.
“What about the swimming pool in the basement?” Mike asked, but the storm door was already closing. Mike quickly turned back around when the wooden ladder fell to the ground. “What the hell did that?” Mike asked. But he didn’t go up to investigate, instead he followed Bob outside.
“Are you still set on this house or should I set up some new showings?” Bob asked, his hands fidgeting for a pack of smokes he had dropped more than fifteen years ago.
“Why wouldn’t I want this one?” Mike asked.
Why would you? Bob thought, but he let the greedy side of himself take over. “Well, it is a good price. We should get going or we’re going to be even later to the closing.”
***
Mike spent the first evening in his new house in the great room on an air mattress he had picked up at a local sporting goods store. It was about as comfortable as the floor and had the added bonus of making a particularly loud squelching noise whenever he moved, up to and including breathing. At first he was positioned so he could stare out the french doors and to the lake beyond, but even with a three-quarter moon shining bright, he couldn’t make out much past the tree line about fifty yards in that direction. He repositioned so he was looking at the staircase and subsequently the dark black maw of the loft opening. Somehow the hole the deputy had looked through a few hours earlier was even darker than the surrounding area.
Mike didn’t sense anything sinister or evil, but he sure wasn’t getting any warm and fuzzies either as he stared at the opening, confident something was staring back. Mike finally drifted off, his sleep troubled. He kept having the feeling someone was standing over him and he would start awake, compounded with his sudden movements, causing increased noise from his mattress. He rested some that night but not nearly the quantity or quality he had hoped for before morning reared its ugly head.
“Well, that sucked,” Mike said as he sat up. Light from the french doors streamed in, warming his exposed feet. Mike rechecked his orientation, confident in his memory that he had been positioned with the top of his head to the back of the doors. “How the hell did that happen?” he asked as he got up quickly. He thought he heard the remnants of laughter, but it just as easily could have been the house settling.
Mike went to the front door, deciding today he was going to buy real furniture, this Spartan shit was for the birds. He had no sooner walked out the door when he heard heavy rustling in the exact same spot as yesterday. His apprehension grew, a deer was one thing, but if it was a moose or a bear, or even a mountain lion he was as defenseless as a cow in a slaughterhouse.
Trees, not necessarily saplings, either, were thrashing violently about. Mike had his hand on the door handle and was a moment away from barricading himself in the house. He began to figure what his options might be from that point. He had no phone service yet and he wasn’t planning on having any visitors pretty much ever. He could scramble up to the loft and push the ladder over so whatever came in couldn’t get to him and then what?
Would the animal get sick of waiting for its meal? Mike thought it might be better to hop in his car and go get some back up of the .30-06 variety. He was frozen in indecision when a black and white mottled feline bolted out from underneath the brush. Mike had one foot back in his house by the time his mind had a name from the intruder on his land.
“A fucking cat. Are you kidding me? There is no way that thing did that.” He had no time to dwell on it, though, as the cat made a beeline for him. Rabies? Mike thought. Fleas at the very minimum. The cat paid Mike absolutely no heed as it brushed past him and in through the open door. Mike followed as the cat stopped at the bottom of the stairs. It had seemed prepared to scale the wooden steps and then thought better of it. The animal headed toward Mike’s rumpled blankets and slipped beneath them so that all that was visible were two ears, one of which was thoroughly chewed up.
“Make yourself at home, fleabag,” Mike said as he walked back into the house. The still slightly swaying trees were now forgotten.
Mike rooted around until he found an old piece of Tupperware. He turned the faucet on, waiting until the brown-red rust water turned a more civilized brackish gray and then to something almost potable.
He filled the container halfway and walked over to the cat. The animal finally pulled its gaze from the loft and looked at Mike like it finally realized there was someone else with him.
“Want some water?” Mike asked.
The cat got lower, the hair on its back bristled. It showed all of its teeth and hissed. Mike stopped his forward progress, he wasn’t excessively concerned that the cat was going to attack, but if the thing had rabies he would be forced to undergo a series of painful injections and that did concern him.
Mike put the container down where he stood and backed away slowly. The cat stopped hissing, its fur laid down a little as it stood and looked over the edge of the bed to see the container. The cat stood up on the bed to get a better look.
“Just put your claws away, okay?” Mike asked. Almost immediately following was a heavy whooshing of escaping air from his mattress. “You suck, cat,” Mike said as the cat ran away from the new noise. The cat ran to the kitchen. Mike went to see if there was anything he could do with his now ventilated bedding. He picked up the rapidly emptying bed and found at least three perforations. At some point the cat had realized Mike wasn’t a threat or its thirst needed to be slaked, but either way it had come back to the water bowl and was contentedly lapping away as Mike walked past with his now useless pile of plastic. He saw no need to replace the thing.
“Well, I guess a bed rises to the top of the list,” Mike said. The cat looked at him as he spoke but kept drinking. Mike threw the thing onto his porch and was about to head out when he wondered what he should do with his uninvited guest. He did not need to worry as the cat again brushed past and went outside.
“So you pretty much came in just to destroy some of my shit then?” Mike asked. The cat sat and began to lick its right paw. “Fuckin’ cats, you know you’re basically just a rat with a ‘c’ at the front of your name, right?” The cat paid him no attention as it moved on to its left paw.
Mike headed toward his Jeep, the cat watched his every movement. As Mike hopped in the cat began to mewl loudly on the porch.
“What? I’ll get you some food, you mooch,” Mike said as he placed the key
in the ignition. The cat ran off the porch and was now at his door, meowing incessantly. “What do you want?” Mike asked loudly, opening his door so he could see the cat directly. The animal lunged, its claws finding purchase in his thighs as it hopped onto him and then deftly onto the passenger seat. “Motherfucker!” Mike yelled from the razor barbs that had been injected into him. “You did that on purpose, you vermin.” The cat was again licking its paws, Mike figured it was cleaning his blood off them.
“I wonder how far the shelter is from here. I’d drop you off in the woods, but I’m afraid you’d just come back.” The cat was fast asleep and purred heavily, he couldn’t help but pet the top of its head. Even in sleep the cat hissed at him.
“I can see this is going to be a one way relationship, I’ll basically give you everything you need and you’ll ignore the living shit out of me. Perfect. You know I’ve dated girls like you.” Even as he said it, Mike smiled. Even the small bit of companionship the animal offered was welcome and his first stop when he got into town was not a furniture store but rather a pet one, he spent roughly equivalent to what he thought he would on furniture that day in the pet store.
The cat had remained asleep in a pool of sunlight on the passenger seat and had not been able to be roused until it reluctantly accepted a liver flavored snack from Mike which it ate contemptuously.
“Whatever made early man decide you would be something worth having around I’ll never know,” Mike said as he pulled away from the store, the owner of Pets Are People Too now confident he could get his son those braces he’d been needing.
Mike spent half the time and half the amount of money in the furniture store as he had in the pet store, but he had paid a premium for a rush delivery to such a distant location. Mike grabbed some food and was heading back to his house when he got a sudden inspiration to just keep going, to put as many miles as he could from this place. He quickly dismissed the notion, but the idea did not leave him for many more miles, well until the point where he was turning into his long and winding driveway.
The cat finally began to perk up as the house came into view. Mike pulled up and opened his door, but before he could swing his legs out, the cat walked over his lap, somehow finding the exact pathway it had used before. Welts of blood began to seep into his jeans. The cat jumped down, took a cursory glance at the woods from which it had emerged and sprang up onto the porch. It seemed to be telling him to hurry up, that it wanted to get back in the house.
Mike noted the trees were slightly swaying, but did not notice there was no breeze with which to stir them. He grabbed a bunch of bags from the rear of his vehicle. “At least you’ll have somewhere comfortable to sleep tonight,” Mike said, hefting the large cat bed inside. Mike almost stepped on the cat that had stopped, hesitant to go in and now so was Mike. His sheet and blankets were halfway upstairs, like he had interrupted a sleepy robber.
“Hello?” Mike’s voice rang out. “Tell me again why I didn’t stop at the sporting goods store?” he seemed to ask the cat.
He wondered if his real estate agent Kylie had possibly stopped by, but couldn’t imagine in what scenario she would let herself in and move his meager bedding supplies.
“Hello?” he asked again.
He thought he heard scampering and even the cat’s head swiveled toward the sound and then all was quiet. The cat waited a moment longer and then strode in as if it owned the place. Mike followed suit.
Mike would have pondered on the problem longer if the cat hadn’t made it known vociferously that it was hungry. He pulled out the set of bowls, found some salmon and kidney chunks and poured it in. The cat sniffed at it as if it couldn’t believe it had been reduced to eating this swill that had cost Mike two-fifty a can and was probably of better quality than the fast food hamburger he had gotten for himself at ninety-nine cents. It was all for show though as the furry critter ate ravenously.
“I’m going to have to call you something besides cat,” Mike said as he leaned against the counter, watching the cat eat. “Are you a male or a female?” he asked as he approached. The cat stiffened, stopped eating and hissed loudly at him. “Whoa, no need to thank me for the food, asshole. Maybe that’s what I should name you.”
The cat was still eyeing him warily. “No, that probably won’t work because I’ve got to sleep at some point. Well, since I’m not sure if you have little kitty balls or not I’ll have to go with something unisex. Wait, let me just check.” Mike tried to circle around to check the cat from the rear but the cat kept pace. “Fine, have it your way. Okay, let’s figure this out, you look like a quilt made out of discarded rags. How about that? I’ll call you Rags.” The cat hissed. “Scratch that one, not literally,” he said, involuntarily reaching for his thighs. “Patches? How about Patches? That sounds good.”
The cat may have purred momentarily or it could have been a burp, but it didn’t hiss, so Mike took that as a positive. “Patches it is, you cantankerous fuck.”
Mike walked out of the kitchen and back out the door to grab the rest of the stuff he had bought in town. He dropped a bag on his way in when he noticed the red blanket was now all the way at the top of the stairs.
“What is going on?” Patches was again at his side. “This is bullshit,” he said without much conviction, but he was trying to psyche himself up for a potential encounter with a trickster. “I’m coming up, and I have a vicious animal with me!” Mike yelled up the stairs. “He or she is not afraid to attack on command!”
Patches looked up at him as if to ask, ‘Who me? Don’t get me involved in this’. Patches started toward the door.
“Are you kidding me?” Mike asked Patches. “Fair-weather friend,” Mike said as he climbed the first couple of risers.
Mike was three-quarters of the way up when he was able to grab the trailing edge of the blanket. He quickly ascended, balled the covers up and tossed it on the landing, wanting to make sure his hands were free for whatever might come his way. He quickly climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, looking to his right and checking his office. It was empty. Here goes nothing, he thought as he headed down the hallway into the master bedroom.
He put his arms up, fearful whoever was there would have a weapon and would try to club him with it. As he walked into the bedroom he couldn’t help but notice as the hair on his arms began to rise. Great, now I’m freaking myself out. He quickly scanned the room, looking for a perceived threat. There was nothing and nowhere to hide, the two closet doors were open and unless they had false backs that led to Narnia they were empty as well. I guess that leaves the bathroom.
“I’m coming in!” Mike told his intruder. Maybe I shouldn’t have warned them. A direct conflict was unavoidable now, Mike had half hoped that, by leaving the front door open and going into the kitchen, whomever or whatever—Where did that thought come from?—would find its way out without any guidance from him. Mike stepped into the bathroom, the once opaque shower curtain now covered with a thick coat of mildew, stirred slightly.
“This sucks,” Mike said out loud, not meaning to.
His heart was thudding in his chest, threatening to crack a rib. His hand reached out slowly, he felt detached from the whole event as if he were a voyeur. His hand had just brushed up against the plastic when someone shrieked. He was chagrined when he realized it was himself and that he had betrayed the code of man.
“Fuck, cat, you scared the shit out of me,” he said to Patches who had brushed up against his lower leg.
The cat continued past and rubbed up against the curtain, Mike reached out and pulled it back quickly, the small shower stall empty. A breeze from the window across the bathroom was most likely the culprit of the earlier movement. Too bad the window is closed, Mike thought. He took the overused, under-cleaned curtain and rusted out shower rod down.
“What is going on here?”
Mike would have pondered longer if he hadn’t heard the rumble of a large diesel engine. “Sounds like we have company, cat,” Mike said, heading ba
ck downstairs. As if in confirmation, a blat from a large horn sounded. “Yeah, like I couldn’t hear the damn truck, you idiot,” Mike walked outside.
“Yo!” a burly barrel-chested man yelled as he came down off the passenger side of the truck. “You Michael Tolbot?” He scanned the order sheet in front of him.
Mike was under the impression the man did this to fool others into believing he could actually read, but in reality he had heard Mike’s name earlier and was merely reciting it like a parrot.
“Talbot, Mike Talbot. Not Tolbot.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” the man said, squinting at the piece of paper as if this would make it yield the truth.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Mike said, realizing this was the furniture store truck.
“Wells…we’re here today,” Burly said as if he were a mobster coming to collect his points early. “Unless yous want us to come back tomorrow.”
“You’ll have to excuse my partner,” the driver said as he gingerly climbed down off the truck. The man was stooped over a bit, holding his lower back, he had a hernia girdle on. Mike didn’t think the man could move anything bigger than a lamp without hurting himself. “He gets cranky without lunch.”
“I was just sayin’ that we could have stopped and at least got a sandwich, Lenny.”
“Dana, I don’t like driving this truck at night, you know that. And we’re out in the sticks.”
Barrel-chest had the unfortunate moniker of Dana. That was a lot to bear during the ‘mean kid’ years. Mike decided he would ease up on his opinion of the brute. “Yeah, whys you want to live out here—yous a hermit or somethin’?”
“Dana, you’re from Spokane why do you insist on talking like you’re from Jersey?” the driver asked. But Dana was already opening the rear of the truck and operating the lift gate.
“Do you want some help with that?” Mike asked Dana as he grabbed the sofa. The driver had asked Mike if he could use his bathroom and hadn’t returned as of yet. Dana didn’t look like he cared as he grunted non-committally.
