Will Larry's new cat be a blessing…or a curse?
The popular superstition says that you will have terrible luck if a black cat crosses your path. But for me, that wasn’t the case. What brought about my downfall was a calico.
It began late on a Monday evening. Earlier that afternoon, my wife of twelve years had stormed out the door, carrying a hastily packed suitcase, screaming at me for not listening to her…or something.
That night, I found myself sitting alone in my ragged recliner, staring blankly at the television, tuned to some program about dysfunctional marriages. In my left hand was an empty glass. In my right hand, I held an almost empty bottle of whiskey. I decided to bypass the frivolity of mixing it with cola this time and simply get straight to the point.
I had just finished the last of the bottle when I heard the distinct, “Mew!” come from the front porch. I rolled my eyes and ignored the call, desperately attempting to extract just one more drop from the dry bottle. “Darn neighbor cats,” I thought. “Probably that stupid tomcat. I should go out there and show it the underside of my boot.”
The mewing graduated steadily to loud, plaintive meowing, and I became convinced the cat was not about to leave anytime soon. I heaved a sigh as I pushed my body up out of the armchair, then trudged to the door, determined to put an end to the racket one way or another. I flung open the door, my foot at the ready, but I paused in mid-kick.
Sitting on the doormat, looking up at me, was not the mangy old tomcat that constantly yowled outside my bedroom window, always looking for another cat in heat. Instead, I looked down to see a beautiful little calico cat. The brown and black splotches contrasted brilliantly against her snow-white backdrop of fur. What stopped me cold, however, was her piercing gaze. She stared knowingly at me, looking deep into me, with bright, emerald green eyes. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stepped lamely to the side, holding the door open as the cat walked casually inside the house.
The calico followed me into the kitchen and jumped onto the table, watching me expectantly. “You hungry, girl?” I asked. “Sorry, I don’t have much in the way of cat food around here, but, wait… Francine did always take a liking to tuna. Maybe I can find some of her stockpile in the pantry.”
I dug through the shelves and finally came up with one dusty, slightly dented can. I used the handheld can opener, and then dumped its contents into a dish. The cat stared at me, blinked once slowly, and then licked her lips in thanks before diving head first into the bowl and devouring the food. I watched her eat, still somehow mesmerized.
When she finished, making sure to leave a few morsels of food behind so as not to appear desperate and pathetic—as proud cats are so prone to do—she jumped off the table and sauntered into the living room, with me following. I lowered myself back down into my recliner, while she curled up neatly on the couch, her eyes on the television. I wasn’t all that invested in the TV program anyway, so I switched it over to the nature channel so she could marvel at her brethren.
Looking at her sitting comfortably on the couch, I couldn’t help but laugh, in spite of the earlier events of the day. Francine had always wanted a cat, sometimes even begged me for one, but I wasn’t interested. “It would give me someone to talk to, someone to listen to me when you’re too busy watching your sports,” she would plead.
“Francine,” I would tell her, “if I wanted to invite something into my home that pukes up hairballs and poops in a box, we might as well have your mother move in!”
With that, she would usually curl her lip in a disgusted look, give a haughty sniff, then turn on her heel and storm from the room.
“Look at that!” I said to myself from the recliner. “It took Francine leaving for me to finally give her what she wanted. If she could see this now, she would have a fit!” Then I was suddenly struck with a thought. “That’s it! That’s what I’ll call you. New Francine! That’s a nice bit of karma for that broad. I like getting the last laugh!”
On that thought, I chuckled again and leaned back in the chair. New Francine slept soundly on the couch. Lulled by the soothing voice of the documentary narrator, I soon fell into a deep sleep myself.
o0o
The sun made its way through the blinds at 7:30 the next morning and shone directly into my eyes. I woke up groggily, wiping the drool off my chin and shoulder, and stood slowly, stretching off the stiffness from a night spent sleeping in a chair. My throat felt like sandpaper, and my stomach was gurgling sickly from the hangover that was only just starting to rear its ugly head. I knew I needed something in my system to stave off the worst of its effects, so I trudged into the kitchen to start the coffeepot and pop in a couple of pieces of toast.
While I waited for the toaster to release my breakfast, I heard a faint and unusual sound from below. Wap, wap, wap, wap. I looked down in surprise, and then smiled when I discovered the source of the noise. The little calico cat had followed me into the kitchen and discovered the twist-tie from the bread bag, which she was now batting enthusiastically around the floor.
“You like twist-ties, huh?” I said to her. “Here, how about this?”
I pulled open the nearby junk drawer and grabbed a fistful of the twist-ties that Francine liked to collect for God-only-knew what reason. I held my hand in the air above the little cat and opened my fist, letting the small bands float down in a rainbow of colors around her, much to her obvious delight. New Francine went crazy, batting at everything that moved and hopping in a circle, determined to hit all of them.
“It’s not like Francine’s going to be here to yell at me for not using twist-ties anymore! Might as well get some use out of those ridiculous things,” I said to myself as I spun the newly opened bread and placed it on the counter, tucking the open end at the bottom.
The next two days passed without much incident. New Francine and I were getting used to each other, learning the boundaries and setting up our own routine. I actually managed to scavenge a few more cans of tuna, which meant I didn’t have to leave the house to go to the store for a while, and that made me happy.
Early that Thursday afternoon, I was sitting in the recliner with New Francine on my lap when the doorbell rang. I groaned as I pulled myself to a standing position, New Francine sliding gracefully to the floor. I continued to grumble to myself as I made my way to the front of the house and flung open the door. “What do you want?” I snarled.
“Hi, Daddy!” cried the beautiful nineteen-year-old blonde as she threw herself into my arms and planted a kiss onto my cheek. She pulled back quickly in disgust. “Ugh, Dad, gross! Toothbrushes. Ever heard of them? They’re not expensive.”
I chuckled with astonishment and joy, ignoring the insult. “Candice! What are you doing here?”
Candice pushed past me into the living room. “Aunt Charlotte called. She said Francine left and you were having a rough time. I’m on Spring Break now, and I had some spare time, so I thought I would come spend a few days with you and see how you’re doing! I have to leave on Sunday to get back to school, but Aunt Charlotte will be here then to stay with you. She can’t get here any earlier than that; her cat sitter isn’t available until then.”
I rolled my eyes. The only thing that could dampen a spontaneous visit from my daughter was the thought of my nosy spinster sister invading my house and ordering me around. She had been hinting, and not very subtly, about wanting to move in here, since there wasn’t much room for her and her seventeen cats at her tiny rental home. “She’ll take any opportunity she can to weasel her way in here, won’t she?” I thought to myself as I watched Candice float around the kitchen, picking up discarded beer bottles and microwaveable dinner containers.
“Oh, my God, Dad, when did you last clean this place? Here, why don’t you run upstairs and get a shower, and for the love of God brush your teeth! I’ll stay down here and tidy up. It’ll make you feel better!”
Candice had a point, so I made my way up the stairs to the sound of her cleaning and dusting below. I turned on the bathroom faucet, and in a few seconds I was stepping into a steaming shower. She was right: I was already starting to feel better.
Candice had always been a sore spot between Francine and me. The two of them never quite got along. Francine, for some reason, did not like to think about the fact that she was the second wife, and Candice was a constant reminder of the life I lived before her. Francine always tried to create excuses for why Candice couldn’t visit, but she was my daughter, and God help the person who tries to stand in the way of me seeing my daughter.
I stood under the water until I felt the first hint of cold rain down. I reluctantly turned the faucet off and stepped out of the tub, making my way over to the sink. I wiped a streak through the fog on the bathroom mirror and took a close look at my face, releasing a sigh at what I saw.
Dark brown eyes, bloodshot from all the beer and whiskey I had been consuming as of late. Dark brown hair, with more gray at the temples than I remembered. Still no crows’ feet yet—thank God for small favors. But the dark stubble on my chin and the deep frown lines flanking my lips made me appear much older than my forty-two years.
I grabbed at my toothpaste and toothbrush and scrubbed as hard as I could at the layer of grime coating my teeth. Once I got all I could, I spread foam across my face and carefully shaved with my dull razor. After patting my face dry with a towel and slapping on some aftershave, I took another look into the newly fog-free mirror. I offered up a tiny smile to see a small glimpse of the young man I once was, before Francine and I started going downhill. “You clean up rather nicely, old guy,” I whispered to myself.
I finished drying off and pulled a t-shirt over my head, the first clean shirt I had worn since Monday. Stepping into a fresh pair of sweatpants, I padded barefoot down the stairs to the kitchen, where I found Candice sitting at the table, petting the calico.
Candice turned as she heard my approach. “Look at you, Daddy! Looking good!” she squealed.
I kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, darlin’. I guess your old dad still has a few good years left!”
Candice stood up to ruffle my hair, and then turned to do the same thing to the cat. “What a sweet kitty, Dad! When did you get her? I thought you didn’t like cats!”
“I didn’t. I don’t. She just showed up on my doorstep Monday night after your step-mother left— and I don’t know, I just felt like I needed to let her in. I’ve named her New Francine.”
“New Francine?” Candice lifted her lip and stuck out her tongue in a grimace. “Dad, that’s kind of sick. You’re using a cat to replace your wife?”
“You’ve been watching too many indie movies, sweetheart. I just thought it would be funny: now that Francine’s gone, I get the one thing she always begged me for and I name it after her? It’s about time I get the last laugh!”
“I guess…” Candice conceded, still with her lip curled. “It still just seems weird to me, though. But at least it’s good you have someone to keep you company now! Well, besides me and Aunt Charlotte.”
I groaned inside. I had almost forgotten about Charlotte’s impending arrival.
“Let’s head into the living room and have a chat,” I said, changing the subject. “Bring a couple of beers for the two of us, and we’ll put a saucer of milk down for New Francine, and you can tell me all about what’s going on at school.”
“Daddy, I’m only nineteen!” Candice protested.
“Yeah, and I happen to know your college has been ranked one of the top party schools in the state. You mean to tell me you haven’t already had a beer or two?” I teased.
“We-ell, I guess you’re right…” Candice looked sheepish as she snatched two bottles from the fridge and headed to the living room, with New Francine close on her heels and me with the milk following behind.
“So? How’s school?” I asked as I settled into my recliner.
Candice perched on the sofa next to New Francine, who happily lapped up her milk. “School’s great, Daddy! I’m taking some really interesting classes this semester. I’m almost done with the basics, so now I’m starting to get into classes that actually relate to my major!”
“Imagine that,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “Only a year-and-a-half and $20,000 later, you’re finally getting to learn what you wanted to learn in the first place!”
“I know, right?” Candice nodded. “It’s all a big scam. Anyway, there’s this really nice guy I met in my biology class…”
“Oh, no, I don’t think I’m ready to hear this!” I interrupted as I playfully clapped my hands over my ears.
“Daddy! It’s not like that!” Candice threw a sofa pillow at my face, which I caught with ease. “He’s a great guy, so nice and smart, and he’s pre-med, just like me! He wants to be an orthopedic surgeon. His name is Jimmy, and we’ve been seeing each other for about three weeks now. I would love for you to meet him sometime, I think you’ll really like him!”
“Okay, darlin’, if you say so,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sure he’s a perfectly sweet guy with no ulterior motives. Just let me know when you want to bring him around to meet me, and I’ll have the shotgun ready and loaded.”
“Oh, Dad, you are just the worst,” Candice stuck her tongue out at me again and grinned.
We settled into an awkward pause, the only sound to break the silence being the low vibration of New Francine’s purr as Candice gently stroked and scratched her head. It should have been a lovely moment, but something about watching the two of them interact left me with a gurgling sensation of unease in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe it was just the last remnants of my latest hangover.
“So, Dad…” Candice began apprehensively. “Do you, you know, want to talk? About Francine or…whatever?”
I slumped in the recliner. “Not much to talk about, really,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. “She screamed at me, I screamed at her, she packed a suitcase, and then she left. Same stuff, different day, you know? And that’s the last I heard of her.”
“You haven’t tried calling her? It’s been three days. Hasn’t she always come home before now? You don’t think she’s gone for good this time, do you?”
“Nah, I haven’t tried calling her. I’m not about to go crawling to a woman on my knees. I tried that with your mother and I’m still looking for my dignity from that after fifteen years. If she’s gone for good, then it’s good she’s gone.” I snorted and took a big gulp out of my bottle.
Okay, so maybe that was a little bit of a lie, but Candice didn’t need to know about my weakness. I did try calling her once, late Tuesday afternoon, after the haze of Monday night’s date with the bottle of whiskey had a chance to clear a bit. It went straight to voicemail with not even a single ring, so I slammed the phone down on the receiver and vowed not to resort to such stupidity again. If she wanted to talk to me, she could darn well turn her phone on and call me herself.
The little calico cat sat on the couch next to Candice, staring at me with her head tilted to the side, as if she could sense the little white lie I had just told. Or maybe she could. She was, in fact, in the room when I attempted the call, and I suppose cats are probably more perceptive and intelligent than we give them credit for. Still, though, I wished she would quit staring at me like that. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as memories of Monday afternoon came flooding back to me.
Francine and I had been on the rocks for some time. The first few years of our marriage had been great, filled with love, passion, and romance. Then, old habits started creeping back into my life: first the beer, then the hard liquor. Francine took my drinking in stride at first, but it slowly took a toll on her as my increasingly constant inebriation became harder to ignore.
It didn’t help matters when Candice hit puberty and began blossoming into the stunning beauty she was to become. This only compounded Francine’s jealousy of my daughter. The years and our marriage were playing a part in her looks, and Francine’s fiery red hair became a dull orange. Body parts began to sag and others expanded as the tumult of our relationship drew lines on her face. She was still a lovely woman, at least in my eyes, but women are always the most critical of themselves, especially when in comparison with a perky blonde co-ed. Her growing hatred of my daughter only succeeded in driving a wedge further between us, and I began retreating to the comfort of televised sports to complement the alcohol, leaving Francine alone in a house with no one to talk to. Not even a cat.
The fight on Monday had been the worst. Francine came home from her women’s empowerment group, or whatever they’re calling it these days, to find me in my natural environment, leaning back in the recliner, bottle of beer in hand, football on the television. She stood in the darkened doorway, hands crossed tightly over her still ample breasts, and stared hard at what she could see of me illuminated from the glowing television screen. Several minutes passed before a commercial break began and I became aware of her presence.
“Good Lord, Francine!” I yelled out with a jolt. “How long have you been staring at me like that? You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself,” Francine replied with her disgusted sniff. “All that alcohol and sitting around is going to come back to get you one of these days.”
“Oh, good, apparently they’re teaching medical science at your group along with all that feminist garbage. Keep it up, and in a few years after Candice graduates, we can have two doctors in the family!” I sneered at Francine and turned back to the television as the football game resumed.
“Don’t you dare call my group garbage!” Francine screeched. “Those women have done more for me in the past month than you have in the past six years!”
“And just what have I not done for you, Sweet Thing? Have I not worked hard, providing you with a paycheck that you can spend on crystals and metaphysical whosits and whatsits and all that other self-help nonsense you seem to think will fill this imaginary void in your life? Have I not remained faithful to you all these years, even through our increasingly expanding dry spells? So what have I not done for you, huh?”
“Oh, please,” Francine dismissed my last statement with a wave of her hand. “If you had half as much energy for me as you do for drinking and sports, we wouldn’t be having any dry spells!”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I countered, really getting irritated. This was an important game, a playoff! Why did this nagging shrew not understand that? “You saying I’m not a man?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what you are anymore,” Francine replied, deflated. “You’re certainly not a friend, a companion, or a lover. We’re just sharing the same space, and barely at that. I just don’t know; I think we need to talk to some-”
“Go, go, go… Touchdown! Yeah!” I jumped from the recliner, beer still tightly in my hand, as I raised my arms toward the television in victory.
“Are you serious?” Francine resumed her screeching. “Are you seriously more interested in your stupid game than you are in our life together? That is it!”
Francine stormed up the stairs, and within seconds, I heard the sound of frantic scurrying up above in our bedroom as she opened the closet and pulled out her suitcase again for what seemed like the hundredth time. I rolled my eyes and continued watching the slow motion replay.
Minutes later, Francine blew down the stairs like a hurricane, lugging her suitcase at her side. “I’m done, Larry. I’m done! I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back until I take this house from you! Do you understand me? We are through!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t tempt me with a good time!” I retorted.
Francine whipped around, showed me her finger, and flung open the front door. The last I saw of her as she blazed past was a white shirt sleeve hanging out of the back of her suitcase, waving at me as if in defiance. I stared after her for a second once the door slammed shut, then shrugged and turned back to the television. It was the fourth quarter, and I’d seen this charade before. She’d be back.
I came back to myself to see both Candice and New Francine staring quizzically at me from the couch. Their almost identical looks of concern forced a laugh from my lips, which only served to deepen Candice’s frown. “Dad, you okay? I thought I lost you there for a second!”
“Yeah, I’m fine, darlin’. Just got lost in my thoughts. Hey, I got an idea. How about I go put on some real pants and we go out for some ice cream?”
Candice’s frown turned into a grin. I knew she could never resist ice cream. “You got it, Daddy! It’s a date!”
After two cones of Rocky Road and an invigorating walk in the park, Candice and I returned home to see the little calico cat waiting expectantly at the door for us. “Sorry, girl,” I told her. “They were all out of tuna-flavored ice cream!”
New Francine sniffed at the air and then did an about-face, walking away stiffly with her tail straight in the air, giving it a slight twitch in rhythm with her stride. I rolled my eyes and looked at Candice. “Cats can be so sensitive, can’t they? They’re a lot like wives!”
Candice giggled, punched me playfully on the arm, and then continued on into the house.
The next two days with Candice were some of the best days I’d had, as of late. We spent a great deal of time talking and catching up. I got to hear all about her classes and her friends, and even more about this new boyfriend of hers. She opened up to me in a way I hadn’t seen since she was thirteen and I married Francine. We had always been close, but now I was starting to see her as my friend and not just my daughter.
While we talked, Candice was constantly on the move, flitting from one room to the other with a trash bag or a dustpan, making sure every corner of the house was spotless. “Just because a woman doesn’t live here anymore, that doesn’t mean it can’t look like it’s got a woman’s touch!” she would gently chide me.
“Hey, now, don’t forget, a woman does live here!” I grinned and pointed at New Francine.
Candice bent at the waist to give New Francine a pat. “Well, until she starts pulling her weight and learning how to run a vacuum, I guess someone else will have to do it!”
Similar exchanges went on throughout Friday and Saturday. Saturday night was especially lovely. After dinner, we retreated to the living room, Candice and New Francine taking their respective places on the couch. I, however, remained standing. “Since this is your last night here, I thought we would celebrate,” I said with a grin.
Candice cocked an eyebrow in question. New Francine blinked slowly. I turned to the closet in the hallway and made a production of digging through the stacks of junk buried in there. Finally, I found what I was looking for, nestled among the multitude of winter coats and empty clothes hangers still waiting for their phantom sweaters: Candice’s old Super Nintendo system. I pulled out the gray box and blew the dust off the top.
Candice yelped with joy and excitement. “Oh, Daddy, you still have it! I can’t believe it! I haven’t played with this in years!”
“Wait up,” I told her. “I think I still have some of the old games in here, too!”
I dug around some more and finally came up with a black shoebox filled with game cartridges. “Aha! Here we go!” I handed the box to Candice. “So, what game shall we start with?”
We settled on the classic Donkey Kong Country and spent the rest of the night fighting our way through the jungle, playing well into the early morning hours. New Francine simply slept curled up on the couch, lightly purring, her tail twitching on occasion, either content or bored, or somewhere in between.
I awoke the next morning very reluctantly. Though the brilliant sun streamed through the window onto my bed, I struggled with the resistance to keep my eyes closed. Candice was heading back to school that day, just as we had really started to bond, and I held the misguided hope that if I prolonged my waking, it would somehow prolong her leaving. Eventually, I knew I could put it off no longer, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pressing my feet to the cold hardwood floor.
Candice had beaten me to the punch and was already in the kitchen frying up some bacon and eggs for our last breakfast together. She smiled sweetly at me as I descended the staircase and kindly avoided making any cracks at my disheveled appearance. New Francine was on the table, enjoying her breakfast of tuna mixed with a scrambled egg.
“You’re going to spoil my cat, you know,” I grumbled unconvincingly at Candice.
“Well, someone has to! You better get used to doing so yourself. Cats tend to expect a certain level of luxury. It dates all the way back to the Egyptians, when they used to be worshipped for their alleged metaphysical attributes.”
I groaned. “You, too, with the metaphysical mumbo-jumbo? You’re starting to sound just like Francine. Anyway, can we postpone any more of the history lesson until after I’ve had my coffee? I just don’t think I have the brain power to focus on much of anything right now.”
Candice rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove.
After breakfast, Candice retreated upstairs to begin packing for her trip back to college. I sat sullenly in the living room, wishing I could prevent the inevitable. Soon, the only company I would have left was my cat, and, God help me, my sister Charlotte.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “Aw, man, no, she’s here already?” I moaned to myself. “I was hoping I would at least be able to say good-bye to Candice before that harpy showed up!”
I made my way slowly to the door and opened it unwillingly, my eyes cast downward, just waiting for the nagging and the lectures to begin. They always began rather immediately the moment Charlotte showed up. However, with my eyes trained on the floor, I noticed something different. I did not see Charlotte’s practical brown flats. Instead, I saw shiny black boots. The type of boots normally worn by…
“Excuse me, Mr. Cochran?” the police officer asked.
I looked up to see a solemn, yet kind-looking young officer holding a badge, his eyes full of sympathy and regret. Puzzled, I cleared my throat. “Ye-yes, that’s me. Lawrence Cochran.”
“Husband of Francine Cochran?”
I was now on full alert. “Yes, that’s my wife…”
The police officer briefly shifted his eyes downward, as if he had to gather the strength to say what he was about to say next. “I’m sorry to tell you this, sir, but your wife is dead.”
The news hit me like a blast of heat from an erupting volcano, and I was physically pushed back a step. “Dead? How? When?”
“May I come in, Mr. Cochran? I’m afraid I have some rather upsetting things to tell you.”
I grudgingly stepped aside, allowing the officer to enter the living room. New Francine stared at both of us intently.
“Mr. Cochran, my name is Officer Williams. Your wife’s car was found this morning in the ravine below the cliff that runs past Old Latham Road. Your wife was still in the car when we found it. I’m sorry but…there was nothing we could do for her when she was found.”
I swallowed hard, and then asked what I needed to know. “How…how did it happen?”
Officer Williams lowered his head a moment before raising it to meet my eyes. “There were no signs of skid marks and no signs of a struggle. I’m afraid we are having to rule this…a suicide.”
This pushed me another step back. Suicide? I knew she had trouble with depression in the past, but I thought she had been doing so much better. Wasn’t that what those infernal women’s club meetings were supposed to help her with?
My voice came out barely above a whisper. “When did she die?”
Officer Williams slowly sucked in his breath as if to steel himself for this next answer. “Well, Mr. Cochran, I’m afraid that is the difficult part. From what the coroner could tell from his initial investigation, he has time of death estimated at Monday around 4:30 p.m., cause of death a severe blow to the head from the windshield. The toxicology report has been sent off and won’t be back for a few weeks. And, in any event, I’m afraid—”
“Please, stop stalling and just spit it out already!”
Officer Williams coughed and took a deep breath to steady himself. “You see, sir, when the responding officers answered the call that a car had been found in the ditch, there was a rather large feral cat colony in and around the vehicle. I’m afraid…I’m afraid there wasn’t much left of your wife for the coroner to autopsy.”
My room started to spin and my knees buckled. Had I not thrown out a hand to catch myself on the back of the recliner, I just might have collapsed at the officer’s feet. “Please leave,” I told him feebly. “I really need to be alone right now.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Cochran, I understand and I am very sorry for your loss. There is just one more thing.” Officer Williams reached into the small case he had been holding. “When the officers found your wife, they found this clasped in her hand. I thought you might want to have it.”
I looked down at the object the officer had just handed me. It was a well-worn, slightly crumpled photo of our wedding day. Tears sprang to my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered, as the officer discreetly showed himself out and shut the door behind him.
Staring at the photograph, I sank into the recliner. Gone. She was truly gone. I couldn’t believe it. Yes, times were rough these past few years, and there were times that I couldn’t stand the sight of her, but deep down, I’d never stopped loving Francine.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the happy couple in the photograph, beaming widely at the unseen photographer. God, but Francine was beautiful. Clad in her mother’s heirloom wedding dress with the high lace collar, her fiery red hair cascading in waves around her face, her piercing green eyes, her dazzling smile. And now, she was gone forever. I put my head in my hands and began to weep.
“Mew.” The noise came softly from the other side of the room. “Mew.”
I looked up to see the little calico cat sitting on the couch, staring at me. “Mew,” she said again.
A dawning realization struck me at that moment. Her time of death was thought to be Monday around 4:30, not long after she walked out of my life, and only a few hours before this cat entered. There had not been a sign of a struggle. Francine had always loved cats and would go out of her way to avoid harming one. There were feral cats all over the area where her car had been found.
“You,” I uttered in a low growl. “You did this. You ran out in front of her car, causing her to swerve! You killed my Francine!”
I lunged at the cat, who darted from the couch with a loud screech. I chased the demon into the kitchen, where I grabbed the first knife I could find.
“You killed her!” I screamed. “Why did you do it? Who are you?”
The animal escaped my attacks with the ease known only to cats, disappearing from the corner of the cabinet, and then reappearing on top of the kitchen table. I knocked over pots, pans, and chairs in my lumbering attempt to exact revenge on my wife’s murderer. I took a giant swing at the table, and she disappeared again.
“Daddy!” screamed Candice in horror as she hurried into the room. “What are you doing? Don’t hurt the cat!”
Startled, I swung around to face my daughter and began to walk toward her. At that moment, I felt soft, tickling fur pass across my shins, toppling my balance and sending me sprawling, the knife flying out of my hand. I heard a sickening crack as my right ankle twisted and snapped, the pain shooting up my leg and instantly becoming unbearable. I landed on the floor with a thud, heaving and gasping as I attempted to catch my breath through the pain.
“Agh!” came the cry from across the room. There stood Candice, eyes wide in disbelief, clutching desperately at the knife that protruded from the middle of her chest in a growing stain of blood. “Daddy…?” Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped to the floor, lifeless.
“Candice! No!” I reached helplessly for my daughter, knowing there was nothing I could do for her.
Sitting on the floor, just far enough out of my grasp, was the little calico cat. She simply stared at me, almost smirking, peering into me with her piercing green eyes. As I stared back into her eyes, my room once again began to spin.
They used to be worshipped for their alleged metaphysical attributes.
I’m never coming back until I take this house!
Francine with her never-ending love for cats. Francine with her new, almost obsessive interest in the metaphysical. Francine with her piercing green eyes. Oh, my God.
“You,” I said once again to the cat. “You…you didn’t kill Francine, did you? You are Francine!”
The cat blinked at me, looked deliberately over at Candice’s body, then back at me, again with that almost smirk on her face. She had finally come between me and my daughter. She had won. With a twitch of her tail, the calico skipped gracefully out of the kitchen.
“Come back here, you wretch! I’m sorry I ever loved you!” I screamed after her, attempting to belly crawl my way into the living room. The pain was so immediately intense, all I could do was lay my sweat-soaked forehead onto the linoleum and sob in despair. “I love you, Candice. Daddy will always love you.”
The doorbell rang. Knowing I couldn’t answer it even if I wanted to, I ignored it, praying they would go away. Moments passed before it rang again.
“Knock, knock!” a singsong voice lilted into the house. “I rang the doorbell but no one answered. You know, it’s really not safe to leave your front door unlocked…”
The sentence was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream as Charlotte stepped into the kitchen. She looked from Candice, to the knife in her chest, then to me with a look mixed with shock and disgust.
“You monster!” she shrieked. “How could you murder your own daughter? Did you think in some sick way that this might win Francine back? How could you?” She raced from the kitchen to the telephone in the living room.
“Charlotte, no! Wait! You don’t understand! It was the cat!” I called after her. But it was no use. There was no way she would ever believe me.
I heard the frantic murmur of Charlotte on the telephone from the other room, explaining the situation to the police. “Come quick!” I heard her yell before she slammed down the receiver. Once again, I knew all I could do was lower my head to the floor and wait.
Within minutes, the sound of sirens filled the street in front of my house. Paramedics rushed in with two stretchers, one for my beloved Candice, who was quickly covered with a sheet, and one for me. Officer Williams himself handcuffed me to the railing while he read me my rights, the whole time staring at me as if I was a disgusting slug he had found on the bottom of his shoe. I only half-listened, resigning myself to my fate. After all, my wife and daughter were both gone. What was left for me now, anyway?
As Charlotte stood by to watch the circus in my kitchen, the little calico cat slipped into the room and jumped into her arms. “Ooh!” she cried out in surprise with a coo in her voice.
“Hi there, little girl! Ohhh, you must be so upset and scared with all this excitement. And now your daddy is going away for a very long time, and you’re worried no one will take care of you. Don’t you worry, little sweetheart. Auntie Charlotte will stay here with you, and she’ll bring all her cat friends with her, so you’ll always have someone to talk to!”
As the paramedics wheeled me out of my house toward the ambulance, I stared into the piercing green eyes of the little calico cat one last time.
I’m never coming back until I take this house!
I guess Francine was the one who got the last laugh.
About the Author—Brandy Herr
Born in the Dallas/Fort Worth, Texas area, Brandy Herr attended the Pennsylvania State University where she received her Bachelor's degree in public relations. Her book, Haunted Granbury, was released in February 2014 by The History Press. She is also the co-founder of the Granbury Ghosts and Legends Tour and is a member of Research and Investigation of the Paranormal, with whom she has participated in many ghost hunt investigations. Brandy has a passion for animal welfare causes and currently lives in Granbury with her husband, their two rescued dogs, and two rescued cats.