Fiends

Kitty litter

‘She’s here for a kitty!’

My flinch came to an end before the second word was out of her mouth, but my heart still thudded fast and hard. I’d thought I was alone, you see. I was stretched out on my lounger beside my backyard pool, surrounded by redwood fence, enjoying a new 87th Precinct paperback, savoring the feel of the sunlight and the warm breeze.

The invasion took me by complete surprise.

After the jolt by the imperious voice, I jerked my head sideways and saw the girl.

Already, she was inside the gate and marching boldly toward me.

I knew right away who she was.

Monica from down the block.

Though we’d never actually met, I’d seen Monica around. And heard her. She had a loud, nasal voice which she operated primarily to snap back at her poor mother and berate her little friends.

I knew her name because she was often the subject of shouted warnings and threats. I also knew it because she used it herself. She belonged to the odd tribe that refers to itself in the third person.

She was about ten years old, I suppose.

If I had not been so unfortunate as to observe her behavior on previous occasions, I certainly would’ve been struck by the beauty of the girl striding toward me. She had rich brown hair, gleaming eyes, excellent facial features, a flawless complexion, and a slender body. She didn’t look beautiful to me, however.

Nor did she look cute, though she wore a delightful outfit comprised of a pink cap with a jauntily upturned bill, a denim pinafore dress, a white blouse, white knee socks and athletic shoes of pink to match her cap.

She was neither beautiful nor cute because she was Monica.

To my way of thinking, there is no such thing as a beautiful or cute snot.

She halted beyond the foot of my lounger and scowled at me. Her eyes flicked up and down my body.

My swimsuit had never been meant for public inspection. I quickly sheltered myself with the open book. It lay like a pitched roof atop my lap.

‘You are Mr. Bishop?’ she demanded.

‘That’s right.’

‘The man with the kitties?’

I nodded.

She nodded back at me. She bobbed on her toes. ‘And you’re giving them away for free?’

‘I’m hoping to find good homes for them, yes.’

‘Monica will have one then.’

‘And who is Monica?’ I asked, though obviously I knew the answer.

She pumped a small thumb against her chest, dead center between the denim straps of her dress.

‘You’re Monica?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’

‘You want one of my kittens?’

‘Where are they?’

In spite of my dislike for this particular child, I was eager to find homes for the kittens. My ad in the newspaper, and the fliers I’d tacked to several neighborhood trees, had not been greatly successful. Of the four kittens born to the litter, I still had three.

They were not getting any younger. Or any smaller.

Soon, they would pass out of the cute, romping, frisky kitten stage altogether. Who would want to adopt any of them, then?

In other words, I had no wish to be choosy. If Monica wanted a kitten, a kitten she would have.

‘They’re in my house,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring them out for you to… inspect.’

As I leaned forward on the lounge and wondered what to do about my immodest swimsuit, Monica scowled across the pool at the sliding glass door of my house.

‘It isn’t locked, is it?’ she asked.

‘No, but you stay…’

Ignoring me, she skipped off along the edge of the pool.

I took the opportunity to stand, set down my paperback, and snatch my beach towel off the lounge pad. Quickly, I wrapped the towel around my waist.

Corner tucked under to hold the towel, I hurried after Monica. She was already striding briskly past the far end of the pool.

‘I’ll get the kittens,’ I called to her. ‘You wait outside.’

I did not want her in my house.

I did not want her to ogle my possessions. I did not want her to touch them or break them or steal them. I did not want her to leave the taint of her pushy, pestilent self inside the sanctuary of my home.

She reached for the handle of the sliding door. Clutched it. ‘Monica! No!’

‘Don’t have a cow, man,’ she said. And then she rumbled open the door and entered.

‘Come out of there!’ I yelled.

She hadn’t gone far. Stepping over the runner, I spotted her standing near the center of my den. Her fists were planted on her hips as she swiveled her head from side to side.

‘I asked you to stay outside.’

‘Where are they?’

I shrugged and sighed. She was in. There was no way to undo it. ‘This way,’ I said.

She followed me toward the kitchen.

‘Why are you wearing that towel?’ she asked.

‘Because it suits me.’

‘Where’d your suit go?’

‘It didn’t go anywhere.’

‘Did you take it off?’

‘No!’

‘You’d better not’ve.’

‘I didn’t. I assure you. I also assure you, young lady, that I’m on the very verge of asking you to leave.’

A small wooden gate was stretched across the kitchen doorway to keep the kittens corralled. I hiked up my towel as if it were a skirt, and stepped over the gate.

I turned around to watch Monica. ‘Careful,’ I warned.

It would serve her right to fall and mash her impish little nose flat, I thought. But she swung one leg, then the other, over the top of the gate and made it to the other side without misadventure.

She sniffed. Her upper lip reached for the bottom of her nose. ‘What’s that stink?’

‘I don’t detect a stink.’

‘Monica may barf.’

‘You might be smelling the litter box.’

‘Yug.’

‘There it is, now.’ I pointed at the plastic tub. Its desert landscape appeared a trifle bumpy. ‘You’ll have to get used to some rather unpleasant aromas if you wish to keep a cat in…’

‘Oh! Kitty!’

She rushed past me, dodged the table, and pranced to the far corner of the kitchen where the cats were at play on their blanket.

By the time I caught up to her, she had already made her pick. She was on her knees, clutching Lazzy to her chest, stroking the little tabby’s striped head.

Lazzy had a rather frantic look in her eyes, but she wasn’t struggling much.

The kittens rubbed against Monica’s knees, purring and meowing.

‘She’ll take this one,’ the girl said.

‘I’m afraid she won’t.’

Monica slowly twisted herself around. Her eyes said, How dare you! Her mouth said, ‘Oh, yes she will.’

‘No. I offered you one of the kittens. That isn’t one of the kittens.’

‘Oh course she is! She’s the tiniest, cutest little kitty of the bunch, and she’ll go home with Monica.’

‘You may have one of the others.’

‘Who wants them? They’re big! They aren’t cute little kitties. This is the cute little kitty.’

She nuzzled her cheek against Lazzy’s face.

‘You don’t want that one,’ I said.

She started to get up. I grabbed her shoulder and pushed her down until she was on her knees again.

‘Now you’re in trouble,’ she said.

‘No doubt.’

‘You touched Monica.’

‘You’re a trespasser in my house. You came in uninvited even after I told you to stay out. You were preparing to leave with property that belongs to me. So I had every right to touch you.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’d better just let Monica take this cat home, right now, or else.’

In spite of what I’d said about trespassing, etc., her threats could not be ignored. Here I was, a thirty-eight-year-old bachelor wearing next to nothing, alone in my house with a ten-year-old girl.

It wouldn’t look good.

The notion of facing accusations sickened me.

‘All right. If you want that cat, she’s yours. Go on, take her and get out of here.’

With a victorious grin, Monica rose to her feet. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘If you want to know the truth, Lazzy always did give me the creeps.’

‘The creeps?’

‘Never mind.’

Monica narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Tell. You’d better tell, or else.’

‘Well…’ I dragged a chair away from the kitchen table, swung it around, and sat down on it.

‘Is this going to take long?’

Ignoring her question, I said, ‘It all started with Lazzy falling in the toilet.’

She gasped as if the cat had suddenly turned white-hot, and tossed her aside.

Lazzy let out a reeeeooow! as she twisted and rolled through the air. But she did a quiet, four-point landing. Heading for the blanket, she glanced over her shoulder and gave Monica a look that was clearly miffed.

‘You didn’t have to throw her like that,’ I said.

‘She fell in a toilet!'

‘The toilet had nothing in it except for clean water. Besides, this was some time ago.’

‘You mean she isn’t dirty any more?’

‘She’s perfectly clean.’

‘Then what’s the big deal?’

‘She drowned.’

Monica tucked her chin down and gazed at me as if peering over the top of invisible eyeglasses. She folded her arms across her chest. I wondered if she had picked up the stance from an elderly relative. ‘Drowned?’ she said. ‘Puh-leese.’

‘I’m serious,’ I said.

Monica tilted her head to one side. ‘If she drowned, she would be dead.’

I chose not to argue. Instead, I proceeded with the story. ‘It began when Mrs. Brown gave birth. She was a tabby who belonged to my friend, James, in Long Beach. When he told me about the litter, I expressed an interest in taking one of the kittens off his hands. Of course, I couldn’t take one immediately. I needed to wait until they’d been weaned.’

Monica narrowed an eye. ‘What does that mean?’

‘A kitty can’t be taken away from its mother right away. It needs the mother’s milk.’

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes. At any rate, we set a date for me to visit James and select a kitten. Do you know where Long Beach is?’

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. ‘Monica has been to the Spruce Goose and the Queen Mary… oh, so many times that she is totally bored by them both.’

‘Then she knows that the drive takes about an hour from here.’ She nodded. She sighed. She looked over her shoulder, apparently checking up on Lazzy.

I went on with my story.

‘I drank quite a lot of coffee before setting out in the morning for Long Beach. By the time I reached James’s house, I was very uncomfortable.’

This won her attention away from the cat. ‘What?’

‘I had to pee. Badly.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’

‘I hurried to the front door and rang the doorbell. I rang it again and again, but James didn’t answer. As it turns out, he had forgotten about our date, and gone shopping. I didn’t know that at the time, however. I knew only that the door was not being opened, and that my teeth were afloat.’

‘You should not be talking to a child about such things.’

‘I’m afraid the condition of my bladder is integral to the story. Anyway, I was becoming frantic. I pounded on the door and called out James’s name, but to no avail. I considered rushing over to a neighbor’s house, but the idea appalled me. How could I ask a stranger for the use of a toilet? Besides, who would allow me inside for such a purpose? There were no gas stations, restaurants, or shopping malls near enough…’ Monica interrupted me with a sigh. ‘Anyway, I had no choice but to let myself into James’s house. It was either that or…’

‘You are a very crude person.’

‘Not so crude that I wanted to pee outside. And fortunately, matters didn’t reach that stage. At the back of the house, I found an open window. The screen was in my way, of course. But I was too desperate to care about niceties. I fairly tore the screen from its moorings, boosted myself through the window, tumbled onto the floor of James’s bedroom, and raced for the bathroom.

‘As it turned out, the bathroom was where James had been keeping the new litter - with the door shut, you know, so they wouldn’t scamper all over the house. And to confine the aroma of the litter box, I’m sure.’

‘This is a very long story,’ Monica complained. ‘Long and gross.’

‘All right. I’ll make it quick, then. I burst into the bathroom, pranced about to avoid mashing several kitties underfoot, and prepared to relieve myself. But when I looked down into the toilet bowl…’

‘Lazzy,’ Monica said.

‘Lazzy. Yes. Though, of course, that wasn’t her name at the time. At any rate, she must’ve climbed onto the rim of the toilet for a drink, and tumbled in. She was floating on her side, her little face down in the water. I had no idea how long she might’ve been that way. But she wasn’t moving at all. Not of her own accord. She was turning slightly as if being spun by a very slow, lazy whirlpool.

‘Well, I fished her right out and laid her out on the floor. She looked horrid. Have you ever seen a dead cat?’

‘She was not dead. She’s right there.’ Monica pointed, her arm so straight and stiff that it seemed to be bent just a bit the wrong way at the elbow.

Lazzy lay on her side, head up, licking one of her forelegs.

‘She doesn’t look dead now,’ I agreed, ‘but you should’ve seen her shortly after I pulled her out of the toilet. She had that awful look -fur all matted down, ears flattened back. Her eyes were shut, so all you could see were dark slits. And she looked as if she’d died snarling.’ I bared my teeth at Monica to give her the idea.

Monica was doing her best to appear bored and annoyed and superior to all this. In spite of her efforts, however, she had a rather slack look to her face.

‘The kitten was cold,’ I said. ‘Sopping. The feel of it sent chills through me. But that didn’t stop me from examining the poor thing. It had no heartbeat.’

‘I’m sure,’ Monica said. But she was definitely looking a trifle distressed.

‘The little kitten was dead.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’

‘It had drowned in the toilet. It was as dead as dead can be.’

‘Was not!’

‘Dead dead dead!’

Monica pounded her fists against her thighs. Red-faced, she snapped, ‘You’re an awful person!’

‘No, I’m not. I’m a very nice person, because I brought the dead kitten back to life. I rolled her onto her back and covered her little mouth with my mouth and breathed into her. At the same time, I used my thumb to push at her heart. Have you ever heard of CPR?’ Monica nodded. ‘CPR was a robot in Star Wars’

I was glad to find that she was not quite as smart as she thought she was.

‘CPR stands for cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It’s a technique used to revive people who…’

‘Oh, that!' She suddenly looked very pleased with herself. And very prim and very superior. Her head dipped from one side to the other while her shoulders oscillated. ‘So, the kitty wasn’t dead. Monica told you she wasn’t dead.’

‘Oh, but she was very dead.’

Monica shook her head. ‘Was not.’

‘She was dead, and I brought her back to life with the CPR. Right there in the bathroom. Pretty soon, James came home. I told him what had happened, and he let me have the kitten I’d saved. So I named her Lazzy, short for Lazarus. Do you know who Lazarus was?’

‘Of course.’

‘Who?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Whatever you say. Anyway, I brought Lazzy home with me. And do you know what?’

Monica sneered at me.

‘Lazzy never grew any larger after the day I brought her back from the dead. That was six years ago. She has been the size of a little kitty, ever since. So you see, she’s my pet. She’s not part of the litter I want to give away. She’s the mother of the litter.’

‘But she’s tinier than they are!’

‘And she’s been dead.’

Monica stared at Lazzy for a long while. Then she turned to me, no longer looking the least bit shaken. ‘She isn’t either the mother. You made the whole thing up just so you could keep the cute one.’ She rushed over to the blanket, snatched up Lazzy and hugged her and kissed the dark brown M on her honey-colored brow.

‘Put her down,’ I said.

‘No.’

‘Don’t make me take her from you.’

‘You’d better not.’ She glanced at the kitchen doorway behind me. ‘You’d better get out of my way, or you’ll be in very very bad trouble.’

‘Put down Lazzy. You may still take one of the other kittens, but…’

‘Get out of the way,’ she said, and walked straight toward me. ‘As soon as you’ve…’

‘Mr Bishop said, “Come into my house. I have a little kitty for you.” ’ She halted and leered at me. ‘But when Monica went into his house, he told her a urine story and he took off the towel he was wearing and he said, “This is the little kitty I have for you. His name is Peter.” ’

I could only gasp, ‘You!’

‘And he told me to pet Peter and kiss Peter. I didn’t want to do it, but he grabbed me and…’

‘Stop it!’ I blurted, and stumbled sideways out of her way. ‘Take the cat! Take her and get out of here!’

As she strutted by, taking away my Lazzy, she winked at me. ‘Thank you so much for the kitten, Mr. Bishop.’

I watched her leave.

Just stood and stared as she sashayed through the den and stepped over the threshold of the open sliding door. Immediately after setting foot on the concrete, she burst into a run.

Apparently afraid I might find a smidgen of nerve and attempt to retrieve my cat.

But I didn’t move a muscle.

An accusation such as she had threatened to make… How does one disprove such a thing? One doesn’t. Such an accusation, once made, would cling to me like leprous skin for all the days of my life.

I would forever be known as a pervert, a child-molester.

So I let her steal my dear Lazzy.

I stood frozen with terror and let her.

And from outside came a familiar reeooow! followed by a quick harsh yelp - the sort of yelp a girl might make if the cat in her arms decided to claw its way to freedom - followed by a thudding splash.

I still stood motionless.

No longer terrified.

Amused, actually.

The poor dear. Fell and got herself all wet.

Lazzy leaped over the threshold and came scampering through the den, fur abristle over the ridge of her spine, her tiny ears swept back, tail curled up in a small, bushy question mark.

She slowed down, then rubbed her side against my bare ankle.

I picked up my tiny little cat. I held her in front of my face with both hands.

From outside came more splashing sounds.

Cries of 'Help!’ and ‘Help!’

Was it possible that Monica’s bag of tricks did not include swimming?

I dared not get my hopes up.

There were no more cries for help. I did hear some choky gasps and quite a good deal of splashing, however, before silence replaced the disturbance.

I carried Lazzy out to poolside.

Monica was at the deep end. Face down, arms and legs spread out, hair drifting above her head, blouse and jumper shimmering slightly.

She rather looked like a skydiver enjoying a freefall, waiting for the very last moment to pull her ringcord.

‘I suppose I ought to pull her out,’ I told Lazzy. ‘Give her some CPR.’

Then I shook my head.

‘No. Not a good idea - a man my age putting his hands on a ten-year-old girl? What would people say?’

I headed for the sliding glass door.

‘Why don’t we go pay a visit to James? Who knows? Maybe someone will be lucky enough to find Monica while we’re away.’ Lazzy purred, her little body vibrating like a warm engine.