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Tina emptied the last overflowing litter box into a large trash bag. Thirteen cats, two litter boxes and three days since they’d been cleaned equaled a smell so horrible it made her gag. Why was it that her grandmother had ten grandchildren and she was the only one who ever got stuck doing all the dirty jobs?
“There’s nothing worse than old cat shit and piss.”
Her grandmother called from the next room, “What was that, dear?”
Instead of answering, Tina tied the trash bag and refilled the now clean boxes with fresh litter. Once she’d swept the mess from the floor, she gathered everything together and carried it into her grandmother’s adjourning bedroom. The poor dear had been largely confined to her bed over a year now and depended on help from her close family to take care of her needs. Fortunately, she had the constant companionship of her many cats.
Tina smiled at the sight of her grandmother, propped up against a mound of pillows with cats covering every inch of the bed around her. She placed the broom against the wall and leant down to kiss her grandmother’s forehead. “It’s a good thing the health department doesn’t know about these cats. They might come and take them all away.”
The older woman grunted. “I would like to see them try,” she said, rubbed the head of the nearest cat and grinned. “They’re well fed and have had all of their shots. Besides, I like having them around. It’s gets boring being stuck in bed day in and day out.” A white-socked foot slid out from under the covers.
“How on earth do you get your socks so dirty just going from the bed to the bathroom?”
Her grandmother jerked her foot back and giggled nervously. “I’m certain I don’t know.”
One of the cats jumped off the bed and rubbed against
Tina’s leg. “What you really need is a large, yapping dog. There was another break-in last night, four houses down from here. This neighborhood is going downhill fast. I wish you would take up on
Mom’s offer to move in with us.”
Her grandmother snorted and rearranged the pillow behind her head. “You know how much I hate dogs. They make too much noise and are always having to go outside to do their business. My little lovelies are the perfect ladies and gentlemen.
Besides, you know very well I can’t make it down the stairs to let a dog outside.”
Tina crossed her arms. “But these cats can’t protect you if someone breaks in. You know we would love having you with us.
We worry about you staying here by yourself.”
The low lull of purring steadily filled the air. “I’ve lived here for fifty years. I’m not afraid to stay here by myself, and even if I wanted to move in with you and Mary, you know as well as I do that your mom would never let me bring all of my babies with me.”
“You’re probably right.” Tina glanced around the room, trying to see if there was anything she needed to do before leaving. “Where’s Boots? I haven’t seen him all day.” Of all the thirteen black cats her grandmother owned, Boots was the only one who had four white feet.
Her grandmother waved in the direction of the bedroom doorway. “He’s probably at the top of the stairway pulling guard duty.” A twinkle filled her eyes. “And you think a loud, barking dog would do that.” She giggled as though she were three, not
eight-three.
**
Jason slipped in through a half-opened downstairs window. Once in, a shiver ran down his spine. He looked around the dark kitchen as his eyes adjusted. There was just enough moonlight shining in for him to see there was nothing special about the room, so why did it have such an evil vibe to it? He had checked out the house on several occasions earlier in the week. Each and every time, a large black cat had stared back at him from a second floor window. It was if the cat warned him to stay away or else, but of course that was stupid. Cats didn’t send out warnings.
Before becoming addicted to heroin, he had been good at
sensing things others couldn’t. His grandmother had called it a gift. It had always made him feel special to know something wasn’t right before anyone else did, but mostly these days his addiction seemed to have robbed him of that sixth sense. But still, every now and then it would overpower the worst of his drug induced fogs and break through with a warning. Like now, forcing him to take a second look around the nondescript kitchen.
The very air around Jason seemed to pulsate with a smothering, malevolent force. He was sorely tempted to crawl back out through the window and go home. Before he could move, though, cramp hit his stomach and he broke out in a cold sweat. He bent over, and with great effort, drew in several deep breaths.
He whispered, “Let’s do this and get out of here.” In spite of the sickening pain, he straightened and tiptoed toward an open doorway where he stopped and listened. The last thing he needed was a huge dog bounding out of nowhere to attack him. He rubbed his thigh, a constant and painful reminder that his line of nighttime work came with its own hazards.
Convinced there was indeed no dog, and that no one was up and about, he inched forward until his foot came against a staircase. If he was careful, he could sneak upstairs and check out the bedrooms for jewelry boxes and purses, although he wasn’t expecting much. The yard needed mowing and the house a good painting so whoever lived here clearly wasn’t rich. Besides, all he needed was enough to hock for his next hit.
Anxious to be out of the creepy house, he carefully took the steps two at a time. The last thing he wanted was to be shot by a startled home owner. He had almost reached the top when a movement there halted him in his tracks. He held his breath and tried to make out what had caught his eye. Jason let out a pent-up breath when the silence was broken by a soft meow. He almost chuckled but then checked himself.
He reached up to pat the top of the cat’s head but stopped short when several more joined it. Enough moonlight came in through a landing window to glint back from the assembled cats’ eyes as they stared down at him. That eerie sight brought goose bumps out all over him and his stomach cramps returned.
He didn’t have time for this shit. He needed to get on, but the cats had the landing blocked. They were pressed side by side, their meowing growing louder and louder with each second. If he didn’t do something soon, the stupid pests would wake the house. He tried inching forward but stopped when three of the cats jumped down and began winding around his feet. He tried nudging them out of the way but the rest soon ran down and pressed in around his legs. As he tried stepping out of the mingling mass, something jumped out of the darkness onto the top of his head. Already off balance, his trapped feet and the sudden surprise of having something attached to his head and face made Jason reached out to stop his fall but his hands found only empty air. His last thought was how much he hated cats.
**
As soon as Granny made her way down to the foot of the stairs, she flipped on the hallway light and chuckled at the sight of Boots licking blood off a paw. She stooped and patted the top of her favorite cat’s head. “And Tina thought I needed a guard dog. Silly girl. Who needs a guard dog when I have you?”
She studied the young man, crumpled at the bottom of the stairway, his neck clearly broken. “They get skinnier and skinnier.
But I guess beggars can’t be choosy.”
All thirteen cats gathered around her. She made a point of patting every one of their heads before saying, “Well, let’s get to work. It will take all night to get him chopped up and put in the freezer.”
She grabbed the young man’s feet and, happily chatting away to herself, haltingly dragged him toward the kitchen. “He’s certainly heavy. Maybe there’s enough on him to feed you all right through the rest of the winter. Of course, seeing how bad crime has gotten in this neighborhood, there’s always the chance we might get lucky and bag ourselves a couple more for a rainy day. That will teach them not to underestimate old ladies and their kitty cats.”