by Paula Guran
When I stood up to go to my bathroom, I found my body covered in scratches, welts, and bites. My member seemed to have shrunk back into my body in an attempt to escape my lover’s demands.
Weak, I drew my own bath and lay there for some time, blinking in the steam. I had never felt so utterly complete. The sexual urge had been drained from me. I had filled Simew’s cup to the full and now my vessel was empty, but the experience had exhilarated as much as sapped me.
I knew that I could not keep Simew a secret, nor did I want to. I had no women’s clothes for her and this must he attended to before anything else. As I went back into the bedroom, drying my tender flesh with a towel, I gazed upon her lying amid the tangled sheets, her damp hair spread around her shoulders. She was sleeping now, but for how long? I dared not leave her alone, because Simew was accustomed to having the run of the house. If I locked her in my chambers, it was likely she would awake and then howl at the door until one of the servants came to her aid. Medoth had keys to my rooms. He would no doubt be summoned to let the cat out. It had happened before in my absence. I dared not think about the consequences of that.
In the end, I woke her with a gentle caress and told her we must go out of the house and purchase garments for her. As always, she appeared to understand my every word, although I sensed she was not altogether pleased with my suggestion. I remembered the occasion a previous lover of mine had bought her a jeweled collar, and the manner in which that gift had later been found shredded under the dining table, its expensive gems scattered by playful paws.
I dressed her in one of my own robes, using sashes to create a suitably fitted garment. Simew growled a few times as I made her hold out her arms to assist my adjustments. I bound up her hair as best I could, then led her from my chambers. Medoth had clearly been lurking nearby, and now came forward to hear my orders. Without explaining the presence of the oddly dressed female at my side, I demanded my carriage be made ready for a trip to town. Discreet as ever, Medoth bowed and obeyed my word.
The trip was not without its awkward moments. The proprietress in the dress shop we visited seemed to accept my story of a visiting relative having had an accident with her luggage, but unfortunately Simew was unable to behave in the way that women usually do while purchasing clothes. The noises she made, the attempts to bite from her body the gowns she found most offensive, plunged the staff of the establishment into silent horror. I laughed nervously and explained she had an hereditary affliction of the mind. At length, the proprietress suggested frostily that we take one set of garments now and that the rest might best he examined and tried on in the privacy of my home. Someone from the shop would be sent round the following day. I understood her desire to get rid of us, because several other customers had already vacated the premises in alarm at Simew’s behavior. Spilling coins from my purse into the tightlipped woman’s hands, I agreed readily with her suggestion and Simew and I fled the shop. She was dressed now in a simple gown of soft green fabric, and wore emerald slippers on her feet. The outing had been a trial, but at least my lover was now dressed.
In the carriage on our way home, I tried to explain to Simew that it might be best if she remained silent in the presence of other people. Clearly, I had a lot of work to do with her regarding etiquette and good manners.
The story I concocted for the servants was that Simew was a distant cousin of mine, who had arrived in the night, having escaped a brutal father. I could do nothing but provide sanctuary, and indeed had even extended my services to offering her marriage, so that she would he forever safe from paternal threat. The servants were all stony-faced as I told them this story, and it was Medoth who ventured to tell me my cat was missing. I think he guessed the truth at once, because Pu-ryah was his goddess, but he did not voice his suspicions to me.
So the transformed Simew became part of my household. I decided that once I had trained her enough to be presentable in company, we would be married and all of my friends in the city would be invited. To the servants, I repeated the story that Simew— who I now called Felice—had been ill, because of the treatment she’d received from her father. Her mind was slightly damaged, but it could be cured and patience and love were the medicines she must receive. Because she was still essentially Simew, it didn’t take long for the household to learn to love her. Everyone became conspirators in my plan to transform this wild girl into a young woman of society. To her, I think it was all a game. She was playing at being human and thought it was hilarious to ape our behavior. She learned to laugh, and it was the most thrilling expression of joy any of us had ever heard. It brightened every corner of that vast house; she was like an enchanted light buzzing, through its halls and chambers. No one could have overlooked her catlike habits, but they were prepared to tolerate and then to change them.
The portrait of Pu-ryah was hung in the main hall, and Simew would often stand before it, staring into that feline face, as if remembering with difficulty the days when she had looked the same.
One of the strangest things about Simew the woman was her incomparable clumsiness. As a cat, she had always seemed a little heavy on her feet, and no fragile things had ever been safe in her presence, but now she seemed unable to enter a room without knocking something over. At dinner, wine glasses were spilled with regularity, quite often onto the floor. Medoth arranged that a servant equipped with a pan and brush was always stationed near the door. We got through so much glassware and crockery that eventually I bought Simew a set of her own, crafted from gold. These, she could not break by accident. It took a while to teach her to eat using cutlery. She found that these implements simply delayed the consumption of food and would sometimes lash out at me and growl, when I pointed out a young lady of breeding would never eat food directly from her plate without even the agency of fingers. “Simew,” I murmured one night, with fraying patience. “You are here to be my wife. The Lady herself has arranged it. I’m doing all I can to keep my side of the bargain, please oblige me by keeping yours.”
Then, she laughed and shrugged. “All right,” she seemed to say, but there were still lapses.
Neither could she take to immersing herself in water to bathe. The shrieks and clawing that occurred when we tried to enforce it became too much, and eventually we had to compromise. At morn and eve, her personal maid would clean her body with a damp sponge. This she tolerated—just. The maid was often scratched.
It was also difficult to accept Simew’s gifts, which invariably she brought up from the cellar or in from the grain store. I would hear her muffled chirruping as she made her way to my studio, and then she would fling open the door with a dramatic gesture of her arms. A mouse, or even a rat, would be hanging from her mouth. It was worse when they were still alive. Her eyes would be shining and she’d run to me and drop her prey at my feet. I suppose she expected me to eat it with gratitude. It took some weeks to rid her of this habit, and I ached to see the sadness my disapproval conjured in her eyes.
She loved perfume though, and I indulged her craving for it. Scent was like a religious tool for her. She never wasted it, nor mixed aromas but, after her bathing routine, chose with care which perfume to wear. This she would apply with economy to her throat and wrists, lifting her hand to her nose to take little, contented sniffs from time to time throughout the day. It was an adorable habit.
At night, she would he waiting for me in my bed-chamber, clothed only in delicious scent, purring softly in her throat, kneading the pillows. She rarely offered herself to me submissively now, but grabbed me bodily and threw me down onto the bed to begin her pleasure. I taught her technique perhaps, but she taught me something more powerful—the instinctual sexual drive of an animal. I realized that cats had their own beliefs and that sex was very much a part of their devotion to their spiritual queen. They had a language we could not understand, that functioned nothing like a human tongue, but it was language. In time, during our lovemaking I too began to make the sounds and Simew displayed her approval with purrs. Pu-ryah w
as always very close to us in our bed-chamber.
Simew the cat, the house mourned. The housekeeper decided she must have been stolen or killed, and I went along with this idea, but my grief could not have been that convincing. Perhaps no one else’s was either, for as time went on I have no doubt that more than one of my staff suspected my new love’s origins and then passed their suspicions around, but we all had to pretend.
Eventually, I decided that Simew was ready to present to society. The household was put into a frenzy by the preparations for our grand marriage. My friends already knew I was betrothed to a mysterious distant relative, and more than a few had been most insistent about meeting her—especially the women—but I had remained steadfast in my refusal. ”She has been very ill,” I said. “She cannot yet cope with social occasions.”
“I have heard,” one lady remarked at a soiree, “that she was locked by her brute of a father in a cellar for years on end. Shocking! Poor dear!”
I inclined my head. “Well, that is an exaggeration of her trials, but yes, she has suffered badly and it has affected her behavior.”
“How dreadful,” another murmured, touching my hand. “You are so good to take her under your wing in this way.” I could not say that had I possessed wings, it’s unlikely I would still have been there to accept their sympathy.
I do not know what my friends expected when they finally met “Felice,” but I know the experience amazed them.
Our nuptial banquet took place on an autumn evening. During the day, we had undergone a quiet wedding; a priest from Pu-ryah’s temple had come to the house to officiate at a ceremony that had been written especially to accommodate my bride’s inability to speak.
In the early evening, Simew’s maids dressed her in a splendid gown of russet silk. Her hair was twined with autumn leaves of gold and crimson and I adorned her neck and wrists myself with costly ornaments of amber, topaz, and gold. She appeared to be as excited as any of us at the prospect of being introduced to my friends.
I waited downstairs to receive our guests as they arrived, while Simew underwent the final primpings and preenings in our chambers. I wanted to present her once everyone had gathered in the main hall. I wanted them to see her descend the stairs in the caressing lamp light.
Ultimately, the hour arrived. My friends were clustered in excitement around the stairs, and I signaled one of the maids to summon the new mistress of the house. I continued to exchange pleasantries with the guests and it was only when the assembly fell silent that I knew Simew was among us. I turned, and there she stood at the top of the stairs. I shall never forget that moment. She was the most radiant, gorgeous creature ever to have entered the hall. My heart contracted with love, with adoration. She stood tall and serene, a half smile upon her face, and then with the most graceful steps slowly descended toward the company. I heard the women gasp and whisper together; I heard the appreciative, stunned murmurs of the men.
“May I present my wife,” I said, extending an arm toward her.
Simew dipped her head and glided to my side. She smiled warmly upon the gathering and together we led the way in to dinner.
Bless my love—she behaved with perfect decorum as the meal was served. Nothing was tipped over or broken; she ate modestly and slowly, smiling at the remarks addressed to her. Those sitting nearest to me lost no time in congratulating me on my fortune. They praised Simew’s beauty, grace, and warmth.
“You are a lucky fellow,” one man said with good-natured envy. “All of us know you’ve nursed a broken heart more than once over the past few years, but now you have been rewarded. You’ve earned this wondrous wife, my friend. I wish you every happiness.” He raised his glass to me and I thought that I must expire with joy.
The meal was all but finished, and Medoth was supervising the clearing of dessert plates. Soon, we would all repair to one of the salons for music and dancing. Simew loved to dance; I was looking forward to showing off her accomplishment.
Then, it happened. One moment I was conversing with a friend, the next there was a sudden movement beside me and people were uttering cries of alarm. It took me a while to realize that Simew had not only vacated her seat in a hurry, but had disappeared beneath the table. For a second or two, all was still, and then the whole company was thrown into a furor as Simew scuttled madly between their legs down the length of the table. Women squeaked and stood up, knocking over chairs. Men swore and backed away.
Again stillness. I poked my head under the tablecloth. “Felice, my love. What are you doing?”
She uttered a yowl and then emerged at full speed from beneath the other end of the table, in hot pursuit of a small mouse. Women screamed and panicked and, in the midst of this chaos, my new wife expressed a cry of triumph and pounced. In full sight of my guests, she tossed the unfortunate mouse into the air, batted it with her hands, and then lunged upon it to crack its fragile spine in her jaws.
“Felice!” I roared.
She paused then and raised her head to me, the mouse dangling, quite dead, from her mouth. “What?” she seemed to say. Tiny streaks of blood marked her fair cheek.
At that point, one of the ladies vomited onto the floor, while another put a hand to her brow and collapsed backward into the convenient arms of one of the men.
I could only stare at my wife, my body held in a paralysis of despair, as my guests flocked toward the doors, desperate to escape the grisly scene. Presently, we were left alone. I could hear voices beyond the doors, Medoth’s calm assurances to hysterical guests.
“Simew,” I said dismally and sat down.
She dropped the mouse and came to my side, reached to touch my cheek. I looked up at her. She shrugged, pulled a rueful face. Her expression said it all: “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It’s what I am.”
And it was, of course. How wrong of me to force human behavior on the wild, free spirit of a cat.
The news spread rapidly. I told myself I did not care about the gossip, but I did. For a while, I was determined not to abandon my position in society and attended gatherings at usual, although without my wife. I felt I should spare her any further humiliation. Whenever I entered a room, conversation would become subdued. People would greet me cordially, but without their usual warmth. I heard remarks through curtains, round corners. “She is a beast, you know, quite savage. We all know he’s an absolute darling to take her on—but really—what is he thinking of ?”
I was distraught and blamed myself. Simew should have remained a secret of mine and my loyal staff. I should have kept her as a mistress, but not presented her publicly as a wife. How could I have been so blind to the pitfalls? We had never really civilized her. I know Simew sensed my anguish, although I strove to hide it from her. She fussed round me with concerned mewings, pressing herself against me, kissing my hair, my eyelids. The staff remained solidly behind her, of course, but she was not their responsibility; her behavior could not affect them. The terrible thing was, in my heart I was furious with Simew. Public shame had warped my understanding. I suspected that she knew very well what she’d done at the marriage feast, but had wanted to shock, or else hadn’t cared what people thought of her. She had despised them, thought them vapid and foolish, and had acted impulsively without a care for what her actions might do to me. My love for her was tainted by what I perceived as her betrayal. I wanted to forgive her, but I couldn’t, for I did not think she was innocent. I made the mistake of forgetting what she really was.
One night, she disappeared. The staff were thrown into turmoil, and everyone was out scouring the gardens, then the streets beyond, calling her name. I sat in darkness in my chambers. I had no heart to search, but sought oblivion in liquor. Steeped in gloomy feelings, I thought Simew had gone to find herself a troupe of tom cats, who like her had been turned into men by the imprudent longings of cat-loving women. No doubt I, with my over-civilized human senses, could no longer satisfy her. She would return in the morning, once she thought she’d punished me enough.
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But she did not return. Days passed and the atmosphere in the house was as dour as if a death had taken place. I saw reproach in the faces of all my servants. Dishes were slammed onto tables; my food was never quite hot enough. One evening, my rage erupted and I called them all together in the main hall. “If I don’t see some improvement in your duties, you are all dismissed!” I cried. “Simew is gone. She is not of our world, and I am not to blame for her disappearance. Her cat nature took over, that’s all.”
They departed silently, back to their own quarters, no doubt to continue gossiping about me, but from that night on, some kind of normality was resumed in the running of the house.
After they had left, I went to stand before the portrait of Puryah, resolving that in the morning, I would have it taken down. I heard a cough behind me and turned to find Medoth standing there. I sighed. “If she is a mother, she is cruel,” I said.
Medoth came to my side. “You put much into that work, my lord. Some might say too much. It has great power.”
I nodded. “Indeed it has. I thought I could brave Pu-ryah’s fire, but I was wrong, and now I am burned away.”
“Your experiences have been distressing,” Medoth agreed. He paused. “Might I suggest you make a gift of this painting to the temple of the Lady? I am sure they would appreciate it.”
“Yes. A good idea, Medoth. See to it tomorrow, would you?”
He bowed. “Of course, my lord.”
I began to walk away, toward my empty chambers.
“My lord,” Medoth said.
I paused and turned. “Yes?”
