4

Ghosts

I am especially worried about Mother now because the weather has changed and the evenings are cold. The humans call this October. It does not seem to be a good time for Mother to be lost in the woods, if that is what has happened to her.

The first day she was gone, everyone slept late and spoke in whispers. No one left the house, and no one came by. The house phone rang a few times, and Man spoke to several people. Mary spent a lot of time in her room talking quietly and rapidly into her small phone. The words just seemed to fly out of her mouth.

Jimmy stayed in his room too, pacing and twirling the orange ball on his finger. Unlike the others, he spoke to someone on his phone only once, and he closed the door when he did.

I wonder who he talked to.

It was strange to me at first that the family did not go out and look for Mother—or what was left of her. I realized that my first assumption that she’d been attacked or killed by a wild animal was just a foolish, childish thought.

But there were still evil things that could have happened.

Later in the day, everyone went in and out of the kitchen like ghosts, scavenging for food. But they didn’t seem particularly hungry. Man went out the back door and a crisp wind whipped in and down the hall. He returned carrying an armful of wood. He took his time making a fire and sat by it, silently staring into the heat. When the baby cried, Man brought him downstairs and held him while sitting on the floor, not too close to the fire, looking pensively into his son’s tiny face as if looking for clues to some great mystery.

I sat on the windowsill. Many of the leaves outside had already turned blazing orange and fiery red. Some were knocked loose by the wind and lay on the ground. Where we live, autumn arrives quickly, with a fierce determination. I enjoy watching the leaves flutter in the air and the squirrels outside scurrying back and forth. The air that moves through the screen is crisp and rich, while the sun feels hot on my fur.

But nature is just teasing me when that happens. We’re always in for a long winter.

By the end of that first day, it occurred to me that maybe the family knew where Mother was but for some reason weren’t allowed to go to her. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they be out looking for her? That thought put me in a dark mood. I sat under the stairs all night, thinking it over.

The next day, an older woman came by. She’d been to the house many times before. I’d figured out from previous visits that she was Man’s mother. I knew this from the way my siblings ran to her and hugged her. “Mahmee!” They sighed, holding her, as if it was a great relief.

I also knew it was Man’s mother from the way Man didn’t make eye contact with her when she was in front of him, yet stared at her when her back was turned. He seemed desperate to get her approval and hear what she had to say but couldn’t admit it to her face.

Mahmee’s attitude made me wonder if this was all Man’s fault, if perhaps he was to blame for Mother’s disappearance. Mahmee scolded and pointed at him while he sat at the kitchen table and stared guiltily at his hands. My siblings drifted upstairs, as if they knew the adults needed time alone. “Tommy. Tommy. It was just a matter of time.” Mahmee seemed to be frustrated, and Man sat, not responding to her. She took a book out of her large bag and pressed it into his hands, which he accepted and stared at, but I could tell from his glazed expression that he was not in a reading mood.

“Ma.” That was all he had to say. He was too upset to talk.

Mahmee marched upstairs and took the baby into her arms, then sat with him in the rocking chair. I followed her and watched from under the crib, curious, as Mahmee frowned at the baby, shaking her head. “Now, now.” She held that baby tight. Later, she went home, and I was sorry to see her go.

That second day, all was strange and too quiet once again. I was lying on a pile of stuffed pillows on the floor in Mary’s room when she came in and slammed the door, long blond hair flying behind her. She threw herself down on her bed and stared at her favorite poster. Just as quickly, she jumped up on her knees, then touched and kissed the face of each of the boys on the poster.

Mary’s movements were always quick, dramatic, decisive. I had to be careful around her, never knowing when she would suddenly spring up.

She was like a cat, in that way.

My sister didn’t see me on the floor, and I was startled when she jumped down from the bed and tore across the room. She grabbed scissors from her desk, then ran back across the room to stab her poster with their sharp end.

The poster with her Gods on it! I was shocked, and felt my eyes widen, the fur bristling down my spine.

Again and again she stabbed the poster, jamming the scissors into the wall. She then tore down the poster and took her time cutting it up into a hundred little bits. “Good-bye, boys,” she said calmly. “Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye.” Once there were many little pieces of paper in front of her, she threw them out all over her green rug, as if it were snowing inside.

She buried her face in her pillow a long time. I stayed right where I was, watching her.

Eventually, Mary sat up and wiped her eyes, and her mouth twisted into a half smile as she observed the paper-snow all over the place. I imagined that she found something satisfying about making a great mess.

Mary pouted at the gouges in the wall. I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking: Man might not be pleased. Suddenly, Mary looked over—probably my twitching tail caught her eye. Sometimes I have no control over my stupid tail. It goes crazy when I’m nervous.

Sister smiled at me, but her eyes were still sad. I soon came to see her plan: cover it up. She went over to her bookcase, slid out some papers, and unfolded them. She tacked a few pictures to the wall to hide the mess.

I think we both felt better after that.

I wanted to join Mary on the bed, but little, precious, fluffy “Jasper” (the creature that is Not a Cat) was up there, and he and I can’t share a bed. It’s fine. I know he’s Sister’s baby.

I used to be Mother’s baby.

Where is Mother? I mused again. I was as frustrated as Mary.

At the end of the second day, Man and Jimmy went out and brought back hot food. The scent of the steam got Jasper and me worked up. We paced under the table, rubbing against legs. Jasper jumped up to beg. I meowed, begging too, though I prefer to think of it as vocalizing my needs rather than begging. My family didn’t seem to know what I needed, so I had to tell them. Only Mother anticipated my hunger.

Our bowls got filled, and for a short while it was almost as if everything was okay again. There was a fire in the fireplace, the way Mother liked it. There was clean, cold water and food in our bowls. But the family didn’t talk. Until suddenly Jimmy did.

I was just starting to doze off when I heard Jimmy start to mutter something in a bitter, hostile tone. My ears pricked up.

“What did you say to her, Pops?” Jimmy asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, come on. What the hell did you do? You must have done something really stupid this time.”

There was a long silence.

The next thing I knew Man was on his feet, and Jimmy was looking up at his father, mouth hanging open. A bang filled the room as a chair tipped over and slammed against the floor. I ran out, turning to watch from a corner of the living room.

The baby, in a basket on the floor, started screaming. Man whirled around and, seeing that his chair had fallen close to where the basket with the baby lay, grew even more enraged. “You need to GROW UP,” he shouted at Jimmy. “Do you think that attitude helps the situation? Don’t open your goddamn mouth if you don’t have something helpful to say. DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO ASK ME?”

He was so angry. I’d seen it before, his face red and fists clenched. The humans are so big, and I am so small. It frightens me when Man is in a fury. But there was something in his eyes that made me realize he was also very sad.

Jimmy shrank back from Man, his face pale. He shook his head no.

I ran upstairs and hid under Mother’s bed. I was grieving too. I missed Mother.

I just wanted to disappear. I thought I could possibly run out the front door and take off into the cold wilderness. Maybe find Mother, dead or alive. I wondered if that would be possible, to find her scent and follow it to her.

I curled up between two boxes in the darkness under the bed, and I didn’t come out for a very long time. I didn’t want to get in Man’s way.

On the third day, my siblings rose early and got dressed and went out, grabbing shoes and apples and pastry and gloves. There was a loud flurry of activity, music playing and water running and mumbled comments, and then with a slam of the door they were gone.

They were going out? Back to school? I was confused. Were they going to look for Mother? It didn’t seem so. They had packs on their backs, just like any other day.

Man sat on the couch, bleary eyed. The baby had been up for hours but now slept again. He carried the baby up the stairs and put him down in his crib. “Finn,” Man whispered as he stared at him and stroked the baby’s fine hair, and I understood that Finn was the baby’s name.

I followed Man back to Mother’s bedroom. He fell back into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chest. I jumped up to the edge of the bed, watching. Man put a hand over his eyes. I love the smell of the quilted comforter, and I padded quietly up to sleep on Mother’s pillow. I started to purr, loudly. I couldn’t help it. I was so happy on her pillow!

Man swatted me away with a heavy hand. I jumped and scooted to the end of the bed. But I didn’t leave.

How dare he push me! I squinted at him, bristling with indignation. This was my bed too. If he was going to kick and prevent me from sleeping on the bed at night, I had the right to sleep on it during the day.

It was only fair. It was Mother’s bed too. And my bed.

I gave him an unhappy yeow.

Man leaned up and looked at me. And I mean really looked at me, making eye contact. He didn’t look irritated. He seemed upset.

“Boo. I’m sorry.”

I stared at him, and it dawned on me that he was speaking to me. He was looking and talking and saying my name. That never happened.

For a moment, I froze. But as I watched him, I realized he meant me no harm. He even slid his hand out on the bedspread, inviting me to come toward him.

Why would I ever interact with him? I’d always had all I needed with Mother.

I didn’t approach him. I didn’t trust him yet. He had done nothing to earn my trust. And he didn’t deserve my friendship.

Man lay back down and pulled the sheet up right to his eyebrows so I could no longer see his face. We both fell asleep.

A few hours later, a loud knocking and ringing of the doorbell startled us both. We sprang up. Man grabbed jeans and a belt and tucked in his shirt, then hurried downstairs.

It was Missus Davenport. She was all great smiles and enthusiastic nods, and shook Man’s hand with energy when he opened the door. Her suit was a very striking blue, the color of a bird that I cannot name. Man followed her up the stairs, straightening out his hair.

The fact is, he didn’t look so good.

When the Missus picked Finn up out of his crib and had him securely in her arms, Man stood with his arms crossed and explained things to her. I watched from the hallway, my tail twitching, too nervous to go into the room.

I couldn’t hear Man because he spoke quietly to her and his back was to me. But I could see Missus had a happy demeanor that faded, as first her eyes grew wide in surprise, and then I watched her struggle to quiet her facial expression. Her cheeks grew pale, and her eyebrows knit together as she squeezed Finn tighter against her chest. She listened and nodded, until finally Man finished his little speech and left, walking past me to go into Mother’s bedroom. He closed the door.

I stayed, to see what the Missus would do. She was young, and usually spoke to the baby in a chipper, singsong voice. Missus was all fluttery hands and oversized gestures and loving touches.

But now, she placed Finn back down in his crib. I got up and padded my way into the room, watching her stare at the baby as Man’s words sunk in. At first, she didn’t move, as if puzzled about what to do next.

And then her eyes teared up. Her hand flew to cover her mouth.

Her face convinced me that whatever had happened to Mother was something horrible.

But Mother could still be alive. I fear I cannot survive without her. She’s my one true partner who feeds and cares for me, who strokes my head and holds me all night. I worry that the stupid baby needs her too, even if it may somehow be his fault that she left.

I am determined to find out exactly where Mother is.