by Pete Lockett
“What do you think? I don’t even know how to use it. How would I start doing things on it all of a sudden? More to the point; why? I think it’s up the Swanee and you need to get a new one. Let’s see how work is over the next few months and see if I have any extra money. I’m not promising anything mind,” said Frank, trying to comfort Ali amidst the strange goings on.
“But if you didn’t do it and I didn’t do it, how could the document have the cat’s name in it? I’m very confused.”
“I didn’t touch the bloody thing, Ali, button it for Christ’s sake,” replied Frank assertively raising his voice.
Ali shut down the word document and computer, closing its upper surface into alignment with the lower and pulling out the plug at the wall.
“Whatever. I’ve had enough of that for one day anyway. Bloody thing,” exclaimed Ali disgruntled, before turning tail, leaving the room and heading upstairs, leaving his father ensconced in the sofa, remote in hand and ready for some light TV entertainment. The last thing Ed wanted was to listen to some hideous soap or comedy show and so he zipped into the kitchen and his secondary basket.
He slumped into recline and began reflecting disappointedly regarding the events of the evening and how his interference had turned out. It was not how he imagined it would be. He just wanted it to be a bit of fun. He also started to feel a little guilty about having to disappear from the duo’s life and give them another loss to deal with. It was a new twist of emotions that he had not foreseen.
I need to move on soon. I’m no clearer as to why I’m embroiled in this cycle of events and I really need to dig deeper, thought Ed, slightly regretful to move on but mindful he couldn’t get caught up in any relationship commitments at this point. He settled down in his basket, still tired even after a sleepy day. He decided to devise a plan in the morning and move on towards the next transience. Maybe he could be 'paused' again, and this time try and visit the mythical Viking warrior?
The morning came round in a flash and the kitchen rustlings of the duo woke Ed from his slumber, coming round just as Frank topped up his bowl of food and saucer of milk. He jumped up from his basket and went through to the living room to find Ali on the sofa staring without interest at the twenty-four hour news channel, volume muted. In the bottom right hand corner of the screen a small superimposed man danced and juggled sign language with his hands and arms, turning round to stare back up at the broadcaster whenever there was a pause, as if they were actually behind them.
Ed jumped up onto the sofa and onto Ali’s lap and sat bolt upright facing him.
“What’s gotten into you, Smunky?” uttered the boy as Ed changed positions and settled down into a curled up ball.
“You don’t know it yet, but this is our goodbye. I’d like to stay with you and honestly feel terrible about leaving, but I have to continue on my journey. I hope you understand.”
“Meeaaooww, Meeaaooww, Meeaaooww! I wish I spoke cat language, little fella. You are a cute little thing,” replied Ali, stretching out his right hand to ruffle the cat behind the back of the head and stroke him down his body.
“I’m sorry, mate, I feel really bad,” meowed Ed before settling into a low rumbling purr, revelling in the stroking for a few minutes.
Soon the silence was broken.
“Dad, I’ve got to go. I have to pick up a spare battery for my phone from Bobby’s.”
With this Ed wrapped both hands underneath Ed and scooped him down onto the floor.
“See ya later, Smunky,” he said, as the cat ambled miserably into the kitchen towards his basket. Soon father and son had gone through their whole morning ceremony and had left the house, leaving Ed alone, lonely and tearful. It was as heartbreaking as seeing Sam disappear into the night just a few days back. The last thing he wanted was a repeating list of lonely farewells. He munched away at his breakfast and slurped up his milk before zipping through the cat flap, along the garden and off into the grey damp day.
He proceeded along the tall fence, past the pond and off through the shrubs and bushes, further than he had been before. His sense of direction felt amazing and he was continually aware of where he was relative to Frank and Ali’s house. It was though he had his own internal GPS system, making it easy for him to move further and further away from his temporary home. He really didn’t want to have them finding his dead body anywhere near and so decided to walk for the day as far away as he could get. Then he would take a decision on what to do next. Time was still on his side, although he could feel some of his human awareness and memories gradually slipping away.
He padded from street to street past the council houses, post boxes and bus stops. He noticed the myriad of strange street names as he proceeded: Winklebury Way, Ludlow Close, Bury Road, Brunel Street, South Ham Way and St Peter’s Close. No rhyme or reason, just strange and disassociated names. He pondered on the American style of naming roads on a number system, north to south and east to west. It gained points in logic but lost them in emotion. It was too machine-like. He preferred the random scatterbrain approach of the British.
He wandered up through the cemetery, stopping to look at the gravestones and their inscriptions, wondering if he would ever meet any of these people on his travels. He wondered if he had a gravestone, what it was like and where he was buried. Had a lot of people attended his funeral and was there an abundance of flowers and greetings? Most importantly, was he missed? He passed from the cemetery into a fenced allotment area, ambling over towards a small plot of land being attended by a hunch-backed elderly woman, grey straight hair, bony features and plain supermarket clothes. He watched her from a distance as she dug at the soft earth, putting in small wooden posts and arranging the greenery with delicate care amidst the grey, dreary and depressing day.
He moved on silently and hopped over the small hedgerow out from the allotment. All the excitement about the spring of his back legs had drained from him as he continued to feel guilty about leaving Ali. He jumped onto a small wall and then further up onto a ramshackle wooden shed. He sat on the top of the pointed roof with his paws and head hanging over the centre divider looking back across the allotment and the busy bee of a green fingered lady.
He felt like he was at an airport waiting for a flight to a far and distant land. Exciting and enthralling when you get off at the other end but boring and uneventful sitting in a departure lounge trying to dissolve time considering pointless duty free purchases. He gazed at the woman going about her activities with methodical determination. He looked back over towards the cemetery and the row upon row of glorified head stones telling of noble deeds and loved personalities. He began to wonder what he was, amidst all this. What was his role and purpose? Why was he being given the chance to look at the world in this unique yet disorientating way?
Slowly he could feel his human consciousness drifting away from him bit by bit, making it harder to focus his thoughts and be sure of his memories. He didn’t know exactly how long he had left, but he was determined to do the needful by the end of the day.
I must stay awake and keep focused, he thought, as he twisted round and sat upright on the roof.
What is this consciousness anyway? Maybe understanding that, is the key? ‘I think therefore I am’. Who said that? As soon as I’m not aware of that awareness, would I stop existing? Is doubting my existence proof I exist? What if this is really a dream and all this is existence in a dream state? What if I am in a coma and dreaming, would I exist then? Would I stop existing if I ceased being aware of myself in the body of this cat; surely the cat would still exist?
Ed meandered through a matrix of unclear philosophical debate, wishing that questions carried as much influence as answers. He watched the little old lady as she wound up her gardening duties and left with her little bag of gloves and tools, only to be replaced by another OAP working a different plot with equal diligence. He mused and mused, tossing and turning between his upright seated position and the reclined regal position which gave him neck ache. Soon his thoughts t
urned to suicide and transition, setting him on his way down from the roof. The sun was getting low in the sky and the late afternoon was being lured into the embrace of evening. He danced off alongside the allotment, through the cemetery and back towards the small area of shops in the centre of the village. He thought long and hard about how he could kill himself this time around.
Once at the shops he wandered over to the small provisimart supermarket and slipped stealthily through the open door. He darted around behind the tills and into the main body of the shop. It was a quiet store and there were just a handful of customers and only one open checkout. He peered up at the packed shelves, row upon row, pile upon pile of various coloured cans delicately organised neatly along the thin walkways. He went to the corner, snuck a peek and darted round and along the aisle to the next corner, giving himself a better view of the signs hanging above the corridors.
Bakery, Dairy, Tinned, Vegtables, Meat / Poultry, Frozen, Fish and Household goods. All the choices one would expect.
Ed was looking for the freezer department. He had a bright idea of a chilly but pain-free suicide if he could work out how to get into one of the super chilled compartments. Then he saw the sign; FROZEN FOOD 15. He tiptoed along invisibly, keeping his arched back held high whilst his path hugged the sides of the shelves.
He proceeded along past fresh meat and dairy and finally got to aisle 15 without bumping into a single soul. He skipped up onto the flat topped transparent lids and sped along, hiding behind a large sign that read; Jumbo Arctic rolls, 2 for 1 special offer. Now it was just a matter of waiting his moment and taking his chance.
He was there for what seemed like an eternity. The shop seemed deserted and very few people came past. He began to get despondent and not overly confident that anyone would shop in one of these freezers. He glanced up at the glowing clock and saw it flashing 5.54. He had seen the sign outside on the door and knew that the store closed at 6.00 so he didn’t have a whole lot of time to play with. He began musing as to possible ways he could prize the freezers open once the store was closed but knew how hard that would be in reality. Even for a human, those doors had a very strong seal. He wasn’t overly optimistic.
The clock continued on its inevitable path, 5.55, 5.56, 5.57. He felt increasingly confused as to how long he had before his deadline. His human consciousness was continuing to dissolve and he was getting worried about being locked in the store, unable to kill himself. The anxiety grew as the clock chimed ever closer to the decisive hour. Then, out of the blue, a small elderly lady, complete with Zimmer frame and pink rinse turned the corner and caught sight of the sign Ed was hiding behind. She got closer and looked enquiringly at it. Ed was sure he had been spotted, as he did not fit behind it entirely, the tail poking out and along the back surface of the freezer.
Eyesight fading, she turned away momentarily before giving a rip roaring sigh and returning to the freezer.
“Ah, that’s one offer I can’t refuse,” she exclaimed delightedly, as she opened a compartment just along from where Ed hid. She reached in and grabbed one Arctic roll, followed by another which landed in the small basket attached to her wheeled silver Zimmer frame. Her hand clasped the lid of the freezer in the open position, as from behind her a voice bellowed ignorantly,
“We’re closing the store; sorry, you’ll have to go to checkout now.”
She turned to confront the young man, long black hair, small black bobble hat and a blue shop assistant’s coat.
“It’s not 6.00 yet. Look, I have one more minute,” she replied assertively looking past him at the clock as she flicked the lid closed behind her. Ed took his chance and in the nick of time skidded across the transparent glass surface and slid into the freezer just before the door came crashing shut.
“Whatever. We’re closing. Anyway, look, it has just gone 6.00,” replied the young man petulantly as they both went their separate ways.
Ed slid along to the end of the cabinet, over the Arctic rolls and Haagen-Dazs vanilla and settled on the cheese cakes and frozen profiteroles. The bitter chill stung away at his soft paws like millions of tiny darts fired from a huge pistol, penetrating through his fur like he was being shot blasted. His breath virtually froze into little steamy clouds as it was expelled into the chamber. He settled down and stretched out as if he was lying on a bed of nails. He rested his head on his front paws whilst the chill crept into his brain, making it ache like a fireball of agony behind his eyes. He thought of Ali and Frank and his transitions, the tortoise, Sam and everything that had been going on in his busy schedule over the last few days.
He soon started to drift in and out of consciousness, the thoughts and reflections becoming more and more abstract and unrelated. Then suddenly, a tornado of a wind, the coldness disappeared in an instant and his journey into a supersonic kaleidoscope tunnel began, like a bullet being fired into a never-ending gun barrel. Gravity ceased to exist. One second he was up, the next down, forwards and then backwards, sideways to the left and then over to the right, all at such a speed that the transitions were hardly noticeable. Then he saw the light, the laser pinprick beam at the end of the tunnel that pulled him with unstoppable power. The noise and wind was deafening as he sped onwards, the light getting bigger and bigger. Then just like before, total darkness and absolute silence. If a pin dropped, it would just fall silently for ever. He had made the shift from deceased to Transient.
Chapter 10
The red leather saddle
Ed awoke to a loud squelching, slapping sound, staccato, like a powerful wet flipper on a marble floor. He was drowsily unaware of his surroundings but vaguely heard a stern voice yelling at him, piercing his dulled senses.
“There’ll be plenty of that for you after, boys; this is just to give you the taste.”
He felt disoriented and unsettled, like he’d been spun into a whole new dimension, blinded by a light and an intensity of sound and smell that overwhelmed him. He raised his eyelids languidly, like the heavy sails on an old clipper ship. Fierce rays scorched through, tazering his brain, reminding him of how he set fire to newspapers with a magnifying glass as a child. Soon, shapes and colours began to assemble into a vaguely comprehensible panorama, gradually focussing and sharpening his perception and confirming once more that he had not awoken in his bed at home with Abella. He also began to realise he hadn't arrived back in the labyrinth of tunnels and reluctantly began to prepare himself for the next unknown and strange adventure in the animal world.
The pain of the glare soon abated and in front of him he could see a small piece of uncooked steak splayed out on the stone floor, stains of blood splattered around its edges as if thrown from a height. His nostrils sniffed at the offering with a sensitivity he’d never experienced. It was as though he could taste every detailed aspect of it.
Just at that moment he saw two enormous feet in shiny black leather boots come towards his face. He was lying flat on the stone and started to wonder exactly what sort of animal he had become. He quickly stood upright before instinctually leaning over and tearing into the piece of steak, instantly devouring it. He had never felt so painfully hungry, as if he’d been starved or something.
“It’s just you two this time,” yelped the man as he bent down to Ed and started rubbing a fox brush in his face.
It’s fox fur; it smells just like Sam but it can’t be?
The man continued to rub the brown fur in his face, causing him to splutter on little bits that came loose. Ed then watched on as the individual wandered over to his left and over to a large, vicious and muscular hunting hound. Light and dark brown patches covered the body apart from a glorious white front and underbelly. The facial expressions went from intensely forlorn with a closed mouth to absolutely terrifying with it open. Ed was shocked with the realisation that he too must be a hunting hound and that they were no doubt being readied for a hunt.
He could feel a tight collar restraint around his neck and soon began to bark violently in tune with the other hou
nd. He glanced down at his powerful front legs and paws, pulling forwards at the restraint so much that the front part of his body lifted off the ground upwards, straining against the leash which pulled his head backwards and up leaving him half upright on his rear legs. Meanwhile the man with the boots moved over towards a fine horse, dark brown all over with a strange white patch underneath a pristine red leather saddle. Steam oozed from the animal as the metallic hooves on his jet black legs scraped at the stone floor, its tail dancing from side to side excitedly as the individual scrambled up and into the saddle.
He looked ridiculous on the animal, his effeminate red jacket, white stockings and dainty looking black soup bowl hat clashing with the beauty and elegance of the beast.
Ed glanced to his left and watched as the other hound was let free by a young boy in tweeds. He raced off like a firework, shooting from the restraint as soon as it was released, catching the boy’s hand slightly in the process.
“I’ve told you a dozen times how to do that, you stupid fool. You only have two dogs to release today and you even get that wrong,” shouted the man angrily from the horse, his face red with overreaction.
“Sorry, Pop,” replied the boy timidly as he reached around and released Ed into an equally jet propelled departure, hastily followed by the mounted clown.
I thought I had a strong sense of smell when I was a cat but this is incredible, thought Ed, realising the sense was so strong he could actually see a red mist trail of the hound that raced in front. Soon a faint yellow trail accompanied it in the distance, gradually getting stronger and stronger, luring both dogs in that direction. Ed was well aware that the powerful muscular legs that propelled him with such haste were the strongest he had experienced so far, even stronger than the spring coiled power of the cat’s hind legs. His feet tore at the ground, tossing up small clumps of dirt and grass as he sped violently across the countryside, steam coming off his body like a boiling kettle covered in a tea towel.
