12

Door Darter

I have never been a “door darter.” That is what Mother used to call Jasper when he’d see something outside and try to scoot out the door, between her legs or under her feet.

My entire world is in this old house. Why would I want to go outside, where it is too cold or too hot and the air is overwhelming with scent? Inside, I have my water bowl, my scratching post, and lots of comfy sitting places. I can run up the steep stairs and sit on the landing, looking down to watch the humans. I can prowl under the stairs, chasing after a loose paper clip. Once in a while, I even go down to the damp basement to slink around on the cold cement.

But now, all I can think of is what I might be missing. I have this strange urge to run out the door. To see what’s out there in the world.

I know I have thought a lot about going out to find Mother, and now I do not need to. I know where she is. She is with Robert, and she is safe. But this information doesn’t comfort me like I hoped it would.

Usually at this time of year, we have a warm kitchen where lots of baking is going on, creating sweet and savory smells. There are bright balls on the pine tree and crumpled paper to dive into.

This year, the house is quiet and still. It does not feel right.

I wonder if I should run away, just like Mother did. Away from this whole family. I can’t help but think it is their fault she left. They didn’t take care of her. They demanded too much of her. I still love my family, but the humans remind me of our staggering failure to keep Mother here. And I want to punish them somehow.

One night Father tells Jimmy and Mary that they have to go out with the baby. I think he insists they go somewhere special, because they get dressed up in fancy clothing, although my brother and sister drag their feet and complain about it. It feels more like they are in mourning than celebrating.

The next day, Mahmee comes over bright and early with coffee cake and muffins, and several loads of gifts. Good, sweet Mahmee.

Father sits on the couch and watches most of the morning, the baby in his arms. He will not put that baby down. He will not eat and he will not open a gift. He keeps repeating that it is Finn’s first Christmas and it almost brings him to tears a few times.

Mary senses his distress and at one point asks to hold Finn and has Father take a few photos of her and the baby together. She puts wrapping paper around the baby’s shoulders as if it were a cloak, and a bow on his head. Then she poses with her cheek up against Finn’s cheek.

Finn’s face looks more like Mary’s face as he gets older. He has blond hair to match Mary’s hair, and it is the same silky texture. Their cheeks flush the same shade of pink. They are clearly related.

Mahmee watches her son. I can see that Father is suffering. I think Mahmee is going to offer to hold the baby next, but she does not. I believe something about clinging on to Finn is bringing Father comfort, and maybe she sees that too.

I watch the steam rise from Mahmee’s mug as she pours herself another cup of coffee. She gets through the day by making fresh pot after fresh pot.

Mary helps her set out a lunch. Mahmee brought a chicken to roast, along with some of those other plants that humans eat. Cooked plants don’t interest me at all. It baffles me that humans like to eat such things. They eat at the kitchen table like it’s any other meal, and not anything special. Jasper and I get a little chicken in our bowls when they are done.

After lunch, Jimmy surprises us with gifts. First, Jasper is presented with a giant bone, bigger than his head. He can barely pick it up, never mind get his jaw around it to gnaw on. I am given a little furry ball that perhaps represents a small mammal. It smells sharp and zesty, and makes me a little crazed. I bat the toy around, then grab and chew on it, kicking it with my powerful hind legs until it rips open, sending shreds of herbs all over the floor. My legs run a mile a minute as I zip around from room to room while Mary cleans it up. I must admit, it’s all very exciting. My little heart beats hard until I calm down.

Finally, it is time for Mahmee to go home. She and Father sit in a corner of the living room, and Mahmee has a thick book open in her lap. Their heads bow over the book. Father puts a hand over his eyes and holds it there while Mahmee talks. He walks her to the door and hugs her good-bye. The children run over and thank her for everything.

Jimmy finds an old black-and-white movie on the TV and relaxes on the couch with Mary. The dirty dishes still sit on the kitchen table, so I jump up while no one is looking to lick a few plates.

Mother never let dishes sit out like this. She enjoyed cleaning, and took pride in a tidy house. Standards have dropped dramatically around here.

I feel like they may never recover.

Later, when Father goes out the back door to fetch some firewood, and leaves the door cracked open, I sit on my haunches and look into the darkness. Maybe. Maybe I’ll go. Maybe I’ll dart. It just washes over me, this strange impulse, this desire to run.

Tentatively, I stand up. I glance back over my shoulder, at the golden glow that bathes the entire kitchen. And then, moving forward, I dash out.

I glide silently over smooth stones and frozen dirt. Afraid, I jump behind a bush. It is very dark, but my eyes slowly start to adjust. I see a shape moving near a large pile of wood, and I see it is Father.

He tromps past me, his arms full of wood, boots crunching in the deep snow. The door swings shut as he enters the house again, and then it gets very quiet.

The first thing I notice, once I am alone, is that my mouth and eyes sting with cold. The rest of me feels okay, though, padded with fat and fur. Then I realize that the earth under my paws is damp, and icy. But it doesn’t hurt, as I expected. It just feels odd.

Our backyard is woods, so there are very tall trees and large spaces under the canopy where not much grows other than weeds and brambles. A variety of granite rocks, some as small as a loaf of bread but others as big as a kitchen table, are scattered between the trees. I would like to climb those rocks one day.

Or, maybe not.

You see, huge, vicious turkeys roam around here. Tall deer with tremendous antlers. And other odd monsters that are unfamiliar to me. Sometimes I look out the back sliding glass door that leads into the dining room, and I freeze, seeing a pair of marble eyes peering in at me. Gathering my courage, I stare back. I hiss and attack the door with my paws, as fierce as I can, ready to defend my home.

But I’ve never had to meet any type of wild creature face-to-face. I’m not sure if I would fight or flee. I don’t know what I am supposed to do, or how strong my claws are compared to those of other animals.

I wonder where Mother is. I wonder if she is sitting with Robert at this very moment. I do not know if Robert has his own children, or nearby relatives, or if he celebrates this holiday like we do. I hope Mother is surrounded by people on this day, but there is no way to know. My heart sinks a little.

I am angry at Mother. But also, today in particular, I just miss her.

For a moment, I wonder if I could find her. If I could somehow sniff out her scent. But I have been an indoor cat for so long, I don’t think I have those skills. Or if I did at one time, I don’t think I do anymore. It’s disheartening.

I take in a deep breath. The cold sears my lungs. No, no scent of Mother. I smell only the smoke coming from the chimney and the sharp, crisp dampness of the snow. And I can smell Father. Yes, he was out here with me.

And now he’s not. I am alone.

Have they even noticed I am gone? How long will it take before someone looks around and realizes I am missing?

I am feeling sorry for myself. But I cannot help it.

I sit, watch, and listen. It is still and peaceful. Yet I don’t dare move from behind my bush.

Time goes by. It might be minutes, or it might be an hour. Time for me is fluid, often measured by the movements of the sun and the grumbling of my hungry stomach.

Finally, the door swings open. I see Mary stick her head out and tentatively call my name. “Boo? You there, Boo?” She looks confused. I have never gone outside before. I’m sure she thinks this can’t be right. She withdraws.

Through the trees, I can see little sparks of light in the black sky. I wonder how far away they are.

Now Mary comes back outside, and this time she has on a warm hat, and coat, and mittens, and boots. She slowly treads through the snow, looking right and left. “Here, kitty.” She makes kissy noises. “Sweetie. Hey, sweetie.” She makes her voice soft and kind. I can see the warmth of her breath hanging as a mist in the frozen air. “Hey, baby.”

Now she starts walking away from me, out toward the trees. I watch her, and feel unable to move. I can’t go out there. It’s dark and scary, and I would feel exposed. I’m sure a creature would attack me immediately. But I worry. I don’t want anything horrible to happen to Mary.

Jimmy trudges out, pulling his wool jacket tighter around him, and then he decides to zip up. He takes gloves out of his pockets and slips them on.

Father is last, and he has the baby all bundled up. I watch him through the needles of the bush that conceals me. I am grateful and pleased that the entire family is out here. I can’t believe Father took the time to get Finn dressed and bring him out here.

I realize Father is the one I’ve really been waiting for.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Jimmy tips his head back and stares up at the sky, blinking against the cold.

Father glances at Jimmy and then follows his gaze up to the twinkling stars. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It really is.”

Finn looks content. Father knows how to hold the baby tight against his shoulder. I think Father is really getting good with that baby.

I meow, as loud as I can manage. They all spin around. Only Father turns his head in the right direction, toward where I lie under the bush. Maybe this is because he is used to listening for creatures when he puts out fires. Or maybe it is just because he is a father and his instincts are sharper than the others when he hears a living thing in distress.

“Shhhh,” he tells the others, and they freeze.

“Boo?” He takes a step toward me. “Hi, Boo. C’mon. Come out. It’s okay. Come on. You must be cold. It’s okay.”

I think it’s safe to emerge, now that my human family is all around. No wild animal would dare come into our yard right now. The voices and movement of the humans would frighten them. I slowly slink out from under the bush. In the shadows, they don’t see me right away.

“Oh, there you are!” Mary is very excited. “Boo! Why are you—?”

“Wait.” Father turns to Mary. “Don’t scare her off.” He looks at me again. “C’mon, Boo. It’s cold out here.”

I take a step closer to them. While my eyesight is good in the dark, there is nothing about this scene that is familiar to me. The humans look like strange shapes to me, all bundled up and profiled against the deep, snowy woods. Father is right; I worry I may jump back involuntarily just from fear of getting stepped on. I have no sense of how close or far away people are against the white snow.

I meow. Take me inside, I want to say. I think it is as simple as walking back in the door, but I’m disoriented and not sure.

“Mary. Mare. Just crouch down and move up to her slowly.” Father nods at her to go ahead.

Mary gets right down on her knees in the snow. “C’mon, Boo. Let’s go. Nice treats are inside! Yummy yum yum for Fatty Fat Cat.”

I walk up to her. The snow feels delicate under my paws. Mary runs a hand over my back. The next thing I know, I am being picked up. I am like jelly in her arms, melting into her chest. She carries me swiftly inside while Jimmy holds the door open. We swoosh into the bright kitchen, and I close my eyes tightly for a moment because I’m temporarily blinded. Mary sits right down in a kitchen chair, keeping me on her warm lap. She snuggles her face into mine.

“Your nose is cold. You bad thing. Bad, bad kitty. Don’t go out like that again.” She turns her head to look up at Jimmy and Father. “She’s never done that before. Isn’t that strange?”

Jimmy scratches his head. He says something in response, but I am not listening closely. I am just happy to be on Mary’s lap. I start to purr. They all pet my head.

Mary doesn’t need to worry. I won’t be going out again. I’m not sure why I ran out in the first place. We have not been ourselves lately, none of us.

I wonder if we will ever be ourselves again.

Or maybe we will change into something else. Something better. I hope.