That euphoria lasted a day or so.
Jessica pampered Bridget as the returned Prodigal Son, while John grit his teeth and looked the other way when Bridget rearranged the couch pillows or tossed aside that undesirable food they tried to feed her. But as the days rolled on, all the elements that had bothered Bridget surfaced anew. Jessica’s homework took ever more of her time. John forgot that he’d ever missed “the blasted cat.” And the cramped, artificial world of their house seemed even more barren than before.
Worst of all, a smothering despair settled around Bridget each time she stepped a paw into the front room. It had once been her favorite place, but now, when she curled up in the windowsill, she would look at Sebastian’s grave and remember what it had been like to smell the earth, prance across the dew-rinsed grass, and dig her claws into tree bark. She couldn’t approach the metal air vent without wondering how she might slip through its black tunnels and escape once more to the outer world. She couldn’t look at the bookshelves without thinking of the revelations from that figurine.
That, above all else, made no sense. Protect Jessica? When did the studious giant give Bridget a care anymore!
Many a time Bridget made a grand point of greeting her Jessica as the almost hairless one returned from her classes. The young cat would rub against Jessica’s ankles or leap for her embrace, only to have the lady give her a few half-hearted pats and a gentle but determined shove aside. “Not now, Bridgey,” Jessica would say. “I’ve got homework to do.” Or “supper” or “laundry” or “dusting” or half a dozen other things.
At first, Bridget tried to be understanding. If she couldn’t gain Jessica’s affections, she could at least sit with her. But her lady soon decided she didn’t like having a cat on her lap as she worked. Jessica needed the space for what she called her textbooks, folders, and portable computer, which to Bridget appeared like nothing more than a tiny, clackity picture window. So Bridget resigned herself to rest beside her beloved giant, but that seemed to mean nothing to Jessica. Bridget would take the time to settle into her nest – you know; adjusting her legs and spine just so, cleaning her hairs, making her neck and head comfy, which is all very important to a cat and can’t be rushed – only to see Jessica gather her stuff, get up, and walk away. Just leaving Bridget there alone, for no reason at all.
It wasn’t long before Bridget started doing things just to get Jessica’s attention. Coughing up fur balls proved a natural place to begin, since Bridget had to put them somewhere. At first this worked well; the lady giant learned to come running with paper towels and cleaning fluid when she heard Bridget gagging. But as her studies increased, Jessica stopped worrying about arriving fur balls, figuring she’d just clean them up later. So even though Bridget herself didn’t like their smell, she decided to stop limiting the foul lumps to select areas and started depositing them wherever she figured Jessica wouldn’t want them. Like the pillows on their sleeping board, the kitchen counters, and the dining table.
That started out achieving her objective. Jessica did indeed respond at once to Bridget’s coughs. But it came with a sharp, hostile attitude, one the cat didn’t like. She decided to end this tactic when a soggy mess left atop the giant’s homework almost brought Jessica to tears (however, Bridget did keep the practice up with John’s papers).
That led the spotted feline to race through the house. You see, the deadwood floors ran from room to room in a small circle about the pantry. Bridget soon found that if she threw herself around that weird oval, charging full speed across the slick panels, her giants would sit still and watch her. Jessica would even call out encouragements to her cat. “Keep going – you’ll get them!” she’d say. John also paid attention to “her rampaging,” as he’d refer to it, though he’d never respond unless Bridget lost control and collided with the wall panels or the furniture, to which he’d laugh with gusto.
Bridget soon found she couldn’t do this very often. Her frequent impacts hurt, but beyond that, just running the circle had a strange effect on her stomach and head. Many times she’d discover she had to plop down and rest, to make sense of the spinning world. A nice twist to it all was that sometimes Jessica would bend down and lay the dizzy cat in her lap, petting her, but that never lasted long.
So Bridget took the next step and started knocking things over. The cat had tried to avoid this in the past, once she learned neither John nor Jessica liked picking things up, much less putting them away. But once she gave in to the urge, Bridget was surprised to find that batting down books, picture frames, and sugar bowls had many pleasing benefits. It got her giants’ attention at all hours of the day or night, assuming one of them was there to hear the crash and see what was going on – and if not, it got their attention when they returned home. Even better, it proved quite fun!
Every room offered an abundant supply of targets. Some mornings John would pull on his artificial skins, only to wonder how his pocket doo-dads had ended up on the floor or behind the deadwood drawers. Bridget could have answered him if she’d understood all he’d said. Other days Jessica was left to mop up the shampoo that had fallen off the side of the tub, or refill the flowerpots that somehow slid out of the windowsills.
Bridget was especially amazed at how much she enjoyed watching boxes plunge off the refrigerator top. They would land with a muffled pop and an odd shuffling of their innards, which was a joy to hear, but once in a while, the packages themselves would explode against the deadwood floors, scattering white powder or little pieces of puffed sweets all over everything! That was just fascinating, seeing clouds build inside the kitchen and wondering if it would rain, or trying to figure out what kind of designs the scattering made. And then would inevitably follow the reunion with her giants, who would come into the kitchen on some aimless mission, only to find the floor cluttered with things that hadn’t been there before. Bridget would sit atop the refrigerator, watching the mystery sparkle in their eyes, and then jump down to rub against their legs before they got mad. Still, that only worked a couple of times before her giants started getting angry anyway, so Bridget took to hiding after she knocked things off. It didn’t earn her their affections, but it got their attention. And that, to the lonely cat, was worthwhile.
All this took a dynamic turn one night when John lay entrenched in his cushy lounger, the picture window blazing before him. Bridget came rampaging from the hall, determined to break the John paper toss factor (you see, he had taken to trying to hit her with a rolled-up newspaper as she’d race by), when all at once she spied the steaming mug he’d left on the deadwood counter beside his chair. It dawned on her that combining her attention-commanders might prove interesting, so Bridget pushed herself full-tilt towards the giant, then sprang for the mug. Upon impact the shiny cup flew right into John’s lap, splattering brown liquid all over his chest.
Watching him howl in pain made Bridget want to jump for joy. It had worked far better than she’d ever dreamed possible! But when the feline tried to leap away, she couldn’t slow down atop the polished table. Losing control, Bridget slid full speed into John’s wet chest.
“YOU BLASTED CAT!” he screamed.
Jessica emerged from the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” she exclaimed, although from the light twist in her voice, Bridget suspected she already had a good idea.
Bridget bounded off John’s spongy artificial skin before he could grab her. But the bumbling giant surprised the agile cat, scrambling out of the lounger with unexpected fury. So Bridget scurried past her beloved into the kitchen. John pounded the floor in pursuit, shouting and waving a rolled-up pile of paper. Bridget threw herself up to the kitchen counter, then to the refrigerator top. Before she’d landed, John drew close enough to whack her tail with the newspaper. Bridget spat at him – he’d hit her hard! – and slid smack into a thick box.
“Not the Bisquick!” Jessica cried out as the container sprang off the edge.
Gritty powder billowed up from the kitchen floor. Bridget closed her eyes as the clouds passed by, leaving a thick trail of white dust.
The now-albino John brought his paper club down hard. Bridget dodged, not knowing what else to do. She had never seen him so angry! Gripped by fear, Bridget looked to Jessica, who was reaching for the broom in the corner. The cat had expected that; the lady always used that tool when the deadwood needed cleaning. But this time Jessica held the brush end upward. She pointed it at the refrigerator.
“That was a brand-new box!” she growled.
Bridget felt her heart chill. Her beloved giant was as angry as her volatile mate!
The cat shot into the bathroom as John swatted for her. Bridget couldn’t believe what she saw. They hated her! How could this happen? They hated her! What could she do? They hated her!
She jumped atop the bedroom board. John swung for her bottom. Bridget switched directions and charged off, into the living room. John twisted to follow, lost his balance, and bowled into the bed.
Jessica passed him by, shouting Bridget’s name over and over – but not from love.
In a blind rush, the cat leaped for the bookshelves. John had never been able to find her up there; perhaps Jessica couldn’t, either. Plowing through two picture frames atop the cabinet top, Bridget threw herself to the second shelf, then bounded again to the top. There she curled into the corner, trembling, expecting the club or broom to pummel her at any moment. Instead, she heard something shatter. Jessica gasped, then started crying.
The sound of her beloved’s sudden hurt erased Bridget’s every concern. She rushed to the side, peering down to see what had wounded Jessica so.
Half-bathed in white powder, her favorite giant knelt against the deadwood, weeping. In her hands, Jessica cradled pieces of the porcelain Sebastian.
John laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get another one,” he whispered.
“It won’t be the same,” Jessica moaned.
Breathing deep, John looked around the room, as if he were searching for something. He glanced up. His eyes focused on Bridget. She cringed.
It wasn’t a harsh look his white face cast, or even an angry one, and yet the determination within his gaze filled her with dread.
She sprang off the bookshelf, intent only on escaping. She landed on the air vent. One extended claw caught under its edge and popped the metal up.
Bridget dove inside.