Things were never the same after that. Bridget had uncorked an envious specter in her heart, and it started to consume her.
Be content with this little house? With these few filtered rays of sun? With this boring food, artificial furniture, and deadwood surroundings? With these unimaginative giants and their controlled, one-sided affections?
And you call yourself a warrior. You’re NOTHING.
Don’t think Bridget buckled under such attacks from their start. Far from it. At first, she found it easy to keep a proper perspective. Though she didn’t realize it, Bridget was maturing both in body and mind. She understood more of the world around her. She saw the dangers in jealousy and discontent. And Jessica never hid her undemanding love. In her beloved’s shining presence, that truth shredded all doubts.
But when Bridget was alone, temptation gnawed at her – little by little, with ever sharper teeth.
As the fall settled in, and Jessica’s studies resumed, Bridget found her favorite giant disappearing more and more. One day Bridget saw how it happened, via a massive rectangular hole in the wall. She couldn’t believe it – Jessica was leaving the house! That rocked the growing cat. To think that her Jessica and John had moving walls just like the older, hound-loving giant had!
It was so simple, Bridget had to wonder why she’d never realized it before. But of course, deep down, she knew the answer to that one. Scarface had said it, more or less – in her overwhelming joy, Bridget had blinded herself to what was going on around her. All this time John had been leaving by day, and she’d never caught on. He’d been coming back at nightfall, and she’d never figured it out. Not even when Jessica did it, as Bridget knew she had.
That knowledge created a wound inside Bridget. She didn’t know what to do about the weight on her heart, so she turned to Jessica, curling up to her whenever she could, following her every step, meowing in longing for her attention and purring her thanks at the least bit of affection.
Jessica tried to accommodate her beloved cat, for she recognized something was amiss and wanted to help. But time was quite precious now. Jessica’s class work had started anew, putting a heavy burden on her mind, and of course, the household chores remained ever steady. So in the end, Jessica found herself setting Bridget aside more and more – which only made the young cat hurt even more.
The wall holes began to fascinate the cat. Whatever was beyond these things occupied both of her giants, so it only made sense that if Bridget found a way to get out, she could follow them. She could share what they did, and she could escape the great limitation this house put upon her. She would no longer be a prisoner.
Freedom… it had called to her ever since she’d been dumped into that paper sack, which was as far back as Bridget could remember. Now she was determined to win her liberty!
But how?
Day after day, night after night, Bridget went over the possibilities. Many a time she thought she’d worked out a plan, only for it to unravel on some small detail. Then one plot worked to perfection. Seeing John off in the morning, Jessica stayed by the swinging wall to chat with him of beloved things, and so doing, she kept the portal wedged open. Bridget had only to slip by her feet to the great beyond! So she crept up to her giant’s bare toes. There she paused to bask in the fresh, grassy air, which was only a bit tainted by the scent of Jessica’s bare soles. She heard the echoes of Scarface’s harsh voice calling to her, beckoning her on, even as the urge to bound away gripped her from her shoulders to her paws. And yet Jessica’s voice was there, full of grace and hope and beauty, and the young cat felt a chilling emptiness just thinking about leaving. So she didn’t.
That brought some satisfaction, but it also raised the volume on the Scarface memories. Bridget began to hate the dim shadows, for in each layer of twilight she saw that tempter’s face, and heard his accusations.
You’re nothing. You’re NOTHING. YOU’RE NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING!
Now all pleasures turned perverse. Bridget no longer found joy in sliding across the kitchen counters or attacking the wavy curtains. Tossing the pillows only aggravated her. Even taunting John had no flavor.
It all came to a boil with one full moon. Bridget sat on a pile of artificial skins atop Jessica’s dusty deadwood drawers, watching her beloved giant fall asleep in John’s cherished arms. Bridget waited, and waited, and waited. But for some reason, John seemed content on holding his mate. He wasn’t rolling about and snorting out his usual thunderous racket!
Bridget couldn’t believe it. Here it was, near the peak of blackness, and she’d wasted it waiting for the opening notes of his blow-horn pipes that he’d decided not to play!
How could things possibly get worse?!?
In frustration, Bridget kicked off some boxes and things that John liked to unload atop the drawers for some unthinkable reason. They landed with a muffled groan on the deadwood planks.
Jessica snapped alert, going in an instant from a restful sleep to an upright, timid cringing. Bridget enjoyed seeing that whenever it happened, though it was small consolation now.
“John!” the beloved giant whispered. “John!”
He smiled in his sleep, nudging closer to her.
“Not now, John! Wake up! Someone’s on the porch!”
That drew a moan, but little else, so Jessica jabbed his gut with her elbow. He groaned much louder that time.
“Come on, honey!” she urged. “Wake up! I heard someone on the porch!”
Bridget didn’t know what to do. This should have cheered her up. The silly things Jessica often asked John to do usually set him up as Bridget’s plaything. But the developing feline didn’t feel like herding him tonight.
She couldn’t help noticing that John might be figuring this out. “Ah, dear, it’s probably just the cat.”
That heightened Bridget’s frustration. That’s all she was – “just the cat.” She didn’t know just what that meant, but the droll feelings he placed on the words were unmistakable.
Torn by indecision, Bridget stretched her arms and legs. Her left paw pushed aside a set of bound metal pieces. They fell with a dull thud.
“You hear that?” Jessica snapped, only to muffle her voice. “There’s something at the door! They have keys!”
“Oh, think about it! Why would a burglar try a set of keys on our door?”
“What’s he going to use – ear swabs? How should I know?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, you John Michael Ferguson you! Go check that porch!”
“Dear, I think that came from in here.”
“No, it wasn’t!”
“Probably that cat,” continued John, glancing about the shadows.
“Just go check the porch, honey! Please?”
Bridget had long ago learned that all Jessica had to do to get her way was to say “Please?” in that sweet, subtle, seductive way of hers. It didn’t work when Bridget tried that. She could never quite get the sound right – and besides, she had difficulties grasping subtlety.
With a little hesitation and some grousing, John dragged on his robe, rammed his feet into his slippers, and shoved them through the hall to the front room – keeping a careful eye all the while for any sign that sly cat was on the prowl. That gave Bridget some comfort, and yet she still felt a restless anger inside.
That’s one reason why she charged.
Like most of God’s great mysteries, it happened before Bridget ever realized it could happen. John turned the grinding metal bits that allowed the swinging wall to open – but instead of going outside, he just stood there, holding the wall ajar with his arm. That was her opportunity. Bridget took one look at the cloaking darkness beyond the deadwood and ran past him. Even as John called out in distress, a cold, wet breeze refreshed and fulfilled her. She leaped off the outside paint-chipped planks into long, vibrant grass up to her ears, and felt God’s own soil beneath her pads. A peaty aroma enveloped her. Invigorated in a way she’d not felt before, as if she was experiencing God’s creation for the first time, Bridget charged helter-skelter through the dark. The tall elm reared before her. Dashing up Sebastian’s grave, she threw herself against that proud tree as high as she could and dug her claws into its thick trunk.
Hanging there drove every trace of anguish out of her soul.
At long last, she was free!