The next day seemed normal enough. John went back to work, happy to have money for lunch once again, while Jessica, who would soon take the summer off from college, settled into her housekeeping chores. Each time she passed through the living room, she’d give her new figurine a gentle pat, and after that, she’d often pause to gaze out the front window. She could see Sebastian’s grave from the windowsill, its grassy top basking in the sun.
It was a lovely spot they gave him to rest in, among the lilacs and daffodils under the spreading elm. The windowsill was pleasant, too, especially when the sun rose over the shady oaks to shine its warmth into the house, as it did then. Jessica recalled Sebastian taking to the spot at first sight, sitting there to brush his long silver fur and gaze out upon the outer world. The wood still carried his scent, though she didn’t realize that, and there were other, more visible reminders – like the claw marks where Sebastian had stripped away most of the wood’s smooth finish. But that no longer bothered her. She would often come to stand there, thinking of him, sometimes saying a prayer, then continuing on with her work.
It was during one of those pauses that Jessica noticed the new holes in her curtains – long, streaking runs like those Sebastian used to make when he’d take one of his irritating slides down the fabric, only to bound away laughing when she’d come yelling at him.
Jessica pulled the pale brown curtains out of their bindings, studying these latest scars. The tears did indeed look like claw marks – yet that made no sense, unless these were old, long forgotten slashes. Jessica didn’t want to accept that (she had the mind of a steel trap, she liked to tell John, which he’d often add was rusted out or needed oiling), but it was the only logical answer she could see. And the holes did resemble those her gregarious tabby would have left.
She could picture that in her mind… his broad, serpentine snout twitching from side to side, his extended ears frozen at alert, his long, speckled fur at attention, knots and all, as his tail spun itself into a corkscrew. Then, when he was sure the time was just right, the primed muscles in Sebastian’s wiry frame would strain against the barrel of a belly born of the lazy life most women provide their cats, and he would attempt liftoff. He’d miss orbit, of course, but make the high peaks of their curtains, which would please him since that had been his objective anyway. Then he would hang there, dug in, waiting until Jessica or John would enter the room. At that point the arrogant cat would pull in his rear claws, allowing his imposing bulk to drag his front nails through the fabric like scissors through paper. And he’d count off how long he could fall before they realized what he was doing and chased after him. The longer the better.
The thing was, Jessica had been sure she’d seen all of his claw marks – not only on the curtains, but the paneling, the door moldings, the wall trim… everywhere her frustrating yet beloved feline had decided to taunt them. The curtains, in particular, she had watched because they’d cost a lot of money to replace, as John often reminded her in his insistent, husbandly way.
That made her take a deep breath. When he sees this…
Sighing, she rebound the curtains with their rope ties, trying to hide the new runs. Yet it pleased her, remembering Sebastian.
That night John came home happy, which also pleased her. He said nothing of the curtains, which pleased her even more. But as the moon entered their bedroom window, Jessica’s suspicions awoke her. The loud crash from the dining room had helped, of course.
“John!” she snapped, yanking the sheets around her. “Wake up, John!”
This time he had less trouble breaking his slumber. Practice makes perfect, you know. So with a yawn, he mumbled, “What now?”
“Get up! I heard something.”
“Again?”
“Yes, again! You think I’d make something like that up?”
“Well,” he yawned, having never thought about it, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know!?!”
Only then did he realize he’d said something wrong. “Now I do.”
“Good. Then get up, John Michael Fergus – ”
“Now what’s with this saying my full name out loud like it’s some sort of guilt proclamation? I do happen to know my name, you know. I was born with it.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And if I ever forget, it’s on my driver’s license, my Social Security card, our marriage license – ”
“I know!”
“So I don’t need you to remind me, dear.”
“John, I heard something!”
“Again?”
“Now honey, I’ve already answered that – haven’t I.”
“Yes, dear,” John acknowledged. So he crawled once more into his robe and staggered about the house, keeping himself in the center of the floor just in case Sebastian tried to snag his toes. And once again John found nothing, although the dining room chandelier was swinging in an odd pattern, as it used to when that crazy cat would leap for the spiders that inevitably nested there. The curtains also hung free – with moonlight glowing through what looked like a new set of running holes.
Aggravated, John almost yelled at the blasted cat. But it couldn’t be Sebastian, his weary mind realized. No, it couldn’t….
Regaining his rest was difficult, though eventually sleep did come. Yet the puzzle plagued him. Sebastian stalked his dreams, fading in and out of every image, every thought.
That rascal’s still here, John decided.
He awoke to the smell of hot muffins and coffee. Scrambling to get ready for work, John rambled into the kitchen to kiss his beautiful Jessica before getting to what troubled his heart.
“Honey,” he asked, fixing his collar, “have you adopted that alley cat?”
“No… why would you think that?”
“Well, I told you the curtains were pulled out again. There are new tears on them, too. Just like Sebastian used to do.”
Jessica took a deep breath. John felt her apprehension.
“I have fed him,” she admitted, pouring them both a cup of java, “but that’s it. I’d be afraid to let that cat in without getting him washed and dipped. And his shots. And we can’t afford that.”
Actually, the thought of that spotted garbage can veteran prancing about their house just plain bothered Jessica. He seemed a friendly enough cat, but he wasn’t gentle. How could he be, having lived in the wild all this time? Even if he somehow were made perfectly clean and flea-free, with an exemplary veterinary record, Jessica wouldn’t want that scarred brawler inside her home.
“Well,” John said after a long drink, “that’s what I’d thought. But it doesn’t make sense.”
“I think they’re old tears,” she told him, bringing the muffins and butter to the table. “They must be, dear.”
John thanked her again for breakfast. Splitting a hot muffin with his knife brought forth the invigorating scent of warm blueberries. A dash of margarine and, voilà! Near heaven for his nose and tongue! Grateful for his meal, John savored every bite, thanking God he had such a passionate cook for a wife. But not even that welcome glow could dislodge his wary caution.
“I mean, what else could it be?” she continued. “You don’t think it’s a ghost, do you?”
“No, not a ghost. But something.”
That thought hung on both their minds as John left. With a hug and kiss, he slipped out the front door to almost stumble down the steps, pausing beneath the elm as if perplexed. Only as he restarted his walk to work did Jessica realize he had been staring at Sebastian’s grave.
She too watched the sun’s rays embrace the flowers and soft grass-covered mound, its blue-green leaves swaying gently in the breeze. With a sigh, she lowered herself to the floor, taking comfort in the warm morning. At her elbow rested the curled porcelain figurine, laying on its side against the bare wood of the windowsill, its outstretched legs glowing in the welcome light.
“Well, hello!” Jessica exclaimed, taking the shiny white miniature in her palm. Stroking its smooth back, she asked, “How did you get over here, Sebastian?”
Uttered without thinking, the question summoned revelations as mysterious as the midnight sounds. How had this sleeping figurine gotten off the bookshelf? She hadn’t moved it, and she knew John wouldn’t touch it. Being a man, she doubted he even remembered it existed.
How had it ended up on the windowsill?
Returning the ceramic to its shelf, Jessica unfolded the curtains. There she found still another set of scars – the ones John must have discovered.
A cold, nervous chill ran from her fingertips. Wrestling with the tension, she let the silky brown curtains fall back in place.
“What’s going on here?” she pondered aloud.