Dinner for cats - A short story Page 2

2. Charm

  During the following days Steve saw the cat of few times around his house. The first time it was in the front garden inspecting the bin, then later atop the letterbox taking a nap in the sun, and once hunting in the back garden at dusk. He was surprised that he didn’t feel the cat was intruding in his living space. On the contrary, he was looking forward to having his little glimpse of the “wildlife” now and again.

  “God, it’s only a stupid cat, but it’s thousand times better than the lions on TV.” he thought.

  When he didn’t see the little feline after getting back from work he usually felt a pang of sadness. He sat in his favorite armchair, a beer in one hand, the TV remote control in the other, ignoring the lingering smell of the take away of the day, be it Chinese, pizza or kebab. From time to time he would go by the glass doors to look at the garden for a minute or two, just in case.

  Then Steve had a brilliant idea. If he was missing the cat that much, he just had to lure it to his house.

  “It came for food in the first place, it will come for food again.”

  He bought a few boxes of the cheapest cat food at the supermarket, a double cat bowl with space for food and water, and headed home.

  He waited for the night to fall and put the bowl in the rear garden. He didn’t want to attract the neighbors’ attention. The cat might have a legitimate owner after all. Satisfied with his bait, he put his armchair closer to the glass doors to have an unobstructed view at the garden, popped open a beer, and started his watch.

  After the fourth beer he saw something move outside. Holding his breath, trying to stay still, he gazed intently at the small dark shape approaching cautiously.

  “Yes, that’s him ! Come on boy, there's food over here.” he murmured to himself.

  Steve watched, with great satisfaction, the feline dine and opened a fifth beer to celebrate.

  The next evening he dared open the garden door, but the cat took fright and fled in the night. It took Steve a couple of days to manage getting near the cat while it was eating. He eventually managed to stroke the animal a few times. He couldn’t believe how soft it was ! Steve had had a pet or two when he was a kid, but he never had been really fascinated like he was today.

  “I’m getting old and lonely.” he thought.

  The cat came most days and Steve enjoyed his daily routine. Step by step he managed to be able to pet the cat, take it in his arms, have it purring on his lap, play with it using a ball and a string. That's during their playtime that Steve noticed the cat's testicles. “So you're a boy, hey ? Well it's past time we find you a proper name.”

  In the Internet age, the easiest thing to do is to complement one’s lack of imagination with a Google search: ‘popular cat names’ . Steve looked at the list only a brief moment:

  1 - Molly: “Nah, that’s a girl name, don’t want that for my boy.”

  2 - Charlie: “Yeah why not. Not very cool for my uncle Charlie though.”

  3 - Tigger: “Why the hell put 2 ‘g’ ?! Anyway, he doesn’t have the right color.”

  4 - Poppy: “Come on ! He’s not a kitty any more.”

  5 - Oscar :“Hey, I like this one ! Slightly dignified but with a roguish undertone... Oscar it is then !”

  One evening, they were playing with a ball when Oscar’s powerful paw sent it flying into the house through the open door.

  “Wow, boy, you have a strong right !”

  Chuckling at his own joke, Steve went inside to retrieve the ball. It had bounced a few times to finish in front of the sofa. As Steve turned around to head back to the garden, he almost fell over tripping on Oscar who had followed him inside. Oscar screeched and bolted towards the hall further inside the house.

  “Fucking Hell ! What are you doing here ?!”

  Steve looked for the cat for well over an hour but couldn’t find him. Tired and slightly exasperated he decided to get Oscar’s bowl inside and close the garden doors for the night. There was ample time to find the cat tomorrow morning before going to work.

  Sleep didn’t come easily though. He was concerned about what Oscar might do in the house. He could shit on the carpet, or work his claws on the sofa. He had seen cats do that, and worse.

  He woke up with a start and the feeling he had dreamt about being watched by big yellow eyes. It was still dark, the LED digits on its bedside table clock showing 3:17. He tried to shift in the bed, and only registered then that there was a weight on his feet.

  “What the...?”

  His hand collided with the soft caress of the cat’s fur, and he exhaled a relieved sigh.

  “Oscar, damn rascal, you almost got me worried.”

  He petted the cat for a couple of minutes before getting back to sleep. It came much faster this time around.

  And so Oscar moved in. Steve looked up on the Internet to find what he would need to install Oscar comfortably, went to the biggest pet store he could find, and spent lavishly on a nice cat bed looking like a furry igloo, a big litter box, a scratch post, grooming utensils, and some toys. He didn’t even blink at the bill. He cleared space in the guest room to set up Oscar’s bed and playthings. Once he had finished, the cat came to inspect its new home. It seemed to approve as rubbed himself against Steve’s legs, purring.

  There was just one last problem to solve to settle Oscar properly. Oscar liked to roam the neighborhood and there was no way for it to come in and out of the house as it pleased. Steve was made acutely aware of this problem one night he was trying to watch an important game of his football team on TV. For some reason Oscar kept on wanting to come in and out of the house every 5 minutes. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and it was quite chilly outside, so Steve refused to leave the door open. He could not endure the cat's piercing meows though, and as a result he had to act as Mr. Cat’s porter, missing most of the game.

  Steve was amazed at the amount of stuff that was invented, produced and sold only in the interest of domestic cats and of their owners. He’d thought about putting a trap door to let the cat come and go, but he couldn't see how he would fit it on the glass doors leading to the back garden. That’s when Google came to the rescue once again and he found out that there were special trap doors that could be fitted in sash windows. That would be perfect for the kitchen’s window overlooking the back garden. The door itself didn’t cost that much, but fitting it was beyond Steve’s DIY skills. He had to call in a builder to come fit it.

  The builder, James, an older fellow with a military haircut and a reddish face, was a cat lover himself. While he was fitting the door, he went on about all the cats he’d owned, spilling story after story. At some point Oscar made his entry. James stopped and stared at the animal.

  “You didn’t tell me it was a Chartreux !” said James.

  “I beg your pardon ?”

  “Your cat, it’s a Chartreux.”

  “Oh. And what’s that ?”

  “It’s a French breed. These cats are quite rare over here, you know.”

  “I had no idea.” Steve hadn’t even considered that Oscar might belong to a specific breed. He felt a pang of guilt. Maybe someone had bought the cat at great expenses and was looking for it.

  “They are sometimes called the smiling cats. Because of their jaw and skull bone structure they often appear to be smiling.”

  “Oh yeah, I think I know what you mean.”

  Life was surprisingly good with Oscar. Steve started to realize that he had been in some kind of emotional void. He thought he had been over his divorce, that it had hurt him but that he was back on his feet, but it was just an illusion. He could notice now the small cracks in his life. How he didn’t hang out with his mates that much anymore, or how he’d call sick for the last Christmas party for instance. He had thought he had been bored with these social events, when in fact he was probably cautious and afraid to be hurt emotionally.

  With Oscar it was different. It was not a real person so it didn’t bother Steve if it ignored him sometimes; it was
just a cat, and cats were like that. They had a good time together when they played, or when Steve petted the cat. During those moments he could feel the affection between him and the little Frenchman. Steve even took pictures of Oscar with his iPhone and showed them to his colleagues. They gave him weird looks.

  3. Play

  Slowly waking up, Steve really felt he had a real good night of sleep. Light was a halo around the curtains that had woke him up. Something was wrong. He looked at his alarm clock only see dark reflections were the time should have been.

  “Great, another power cut.” he thought turning on his bedside lamp.

  He was surprised when the light blinded him.

  “Damn. What time is it ?”

  He fumbled for his watch he had left on the chest of drawers.

  “God, twenty past ten ! I’m sooo late for work !”

  He dressed up in a rush, thinking he might have to replace the clock, when he noticed that the clock was not plugged in. Steve was sure that it had been last night. A soft noise made him turn around and he saw the head of the Chartreux poking in through the door. Some of Steve’s neurons made the connection instantly.

  “Did you do this ? Did you unplug my clock, fucking little walking carpet ?! Huh ?! Do you think it’s a game ?!”

  The cat open slightly its mouth, and Steve really believed it was smiling, taking the piss out of him.

  The following night, the cat considered the closed door for a moment. It wasn’t surprised that the human had taken action to prevent it getting inside the bedroom. But a door wasn’t a big obstacle, and overcoming obstacles to get information was its thing. That was one on the reasons why it had been named “Scout” by its feline peers. The Chartreux fixed its eyes on its goal and jumped. Its front paws pressed down on the handle and its forward momentum pushed the door open with a squeak. The cat fell back noiselessly on the carpet.

  The strong human smell made its nose twitch. It could hear from the slow regular breathing that the human was still asleep. Good. The light coming from the street lamp outside was more than enough for it to see every detail in the room, but for the moment it was only interested in the cable running from the clock to a socket in the wall. With teeth and paw it was kitten’s play to pull the plug, and the shining red light coming from the clock went out.

  Steve didn’t know what had triggered the cat’s desire to play him nasty tricks. His iPhone had saved his life with the alarm clock “game”, as he used it to wake him up in the morning instead of his old clock. It felt a bit strange that Oscar knew how to open doors, but James had told him he once possessed a cat that could do just that. There had been other unsavory surprises from Oscar though.

  One morning Steve discovered that the tube of hair dye he was using every morning had disappeared. He found it torn in a puddle of back paste in the front garden on his way to work. He had felt embarrassed all day by questions from his colleagues asking him what was wrong with his hair.

  Another time Oscar had clawed to tatters all the papers for his tax return. He had then dumbly left in the living room. Aside from the fact that he found little pieces of paper everywhere, the idea of having to do the paperwork again was depressing.

  The worse was probably when the little Frenchman decided to hide his car keys. Again he was late for work for a few days before he remembered that he had a spare set in one of his desk’s drawer. From then on Steve played a little game where he would leave one set out for the cat to find and hide, and lock the other one in the drawers for him to get in the morning. In the evening he still had to find the second set, but at least he wasn’t late for work anymore.

  Even then, he had to be careful to hold on to the keys each time he had them out. Oscar almost managed to get the keys when he had left them unattended on the table for a second. Steve was amazed at the intelligence of the animal but couldn't understand why it was trying its best to make him angry.

  Scout was patrolling the back garden at night when it smelled a familiar scent. It called out and Runner, a lean female cat with a black coat, came into view. Runner had found the Chartreux easily by following the scent markers it had left. After greeting each other by bumping heads, they hid behind the shrubs along the fence.

  “Have you found anything interesting ?” asked Runner

  “Yes I have a target, a male that lives here alone.” replied Scout.

  “The General will be pleased. The last one is almost finished.”

  “So do you think it will make a move quickly ?”

  “Well, the General was hurt in the last operation. It will probably be on the move with the rest of us as soon as its wounds are healed.”

  “Was it bad ?”

  “Well, not that bad, but certainly not pretty. It will be missing some more fur now.”

  “Meoow.”

  “I traveled a long way. Can I get something to eat and drink ?”

  “Sure, come inside, I will distract the human.”

  “Stop that, will you ? You’re going to make me fall.” said Steve.

  He was trying to get in the kitchen to put empty bottles of beers in the recycling bag when Oscar literally threw itself in his path, trying to rub itself against his legs.

  “I’ll give you a cuddle in a minute, just let me do this first OK ?”

  Steve dodged the Chartreux with every step and then he saw the black cat lapping the water in Oscar’s bowl. Steve stopped in his track.

  “What the hell are you doing in my house ?”

  Oscar hissed and ran away in a flash, which unsettled Steve. Taking hold of himself, he started making noise with the empty bottles to scare the cat away, hoping it would go through the trap door out into the night. But the cat was totally unimpressed and continued lapping the water. It was only when Steve arrived at arm’s length that the cat went in a defensive stance, arching its back, raising its hair and hissing.

  Steve made a wide sweeping gesture with his left hand to press the cat into retreating through the trap door, but it was intercepted with lighting speed by a black paw.

  “Ouch !”

  Steve pulled back his hand, his eyes blinking in pain and disbelief.

  “Fucking little shit ! I’m gonna …”

  He looked at his hand. Fours deep red lines were etched in his flesh, small beads of blood starting to drop. It hurt like hell. Steve went to the closet to get the broom, bent on beating the shit out of the disrespectful animal. When he came back in the kitchen there was no trace of the black cat. Grumbling, Steve went in the bathroom to dress his wounds using a double dose of disinfectant. One was never too prudent with scratches from stray cats.

  4. Kill

  Steve woke up abruptly in the middle of the night. A nightmare, he vaguely remembered, something to do with being chased in an old empty house crumbling apart. He felt the reassuring presence of Oscar on the bed, and reached out to find a little comfort in the soft fur. He started to calm down after a few strokes, and the cat started to purr. Steve realized that there was a patch on Oscar’s head that didn’t feel quite right. It was not soft at all. It felt a bit of a mix between human skin and a rugged dryness.

  “Something must have happened to Oscar. I must see what it is.”

  He turned on the light and froze in disgust. It was not Oscar at all. It was a cat he’d never seen before. Its sandy brown coat bore the marks of many fights, and some of its hair had turned white in patches. It must be old.

  What really shocked Steve was the empty socket where its left eye should have been. The flesh there had healed forming pale scar tissue that looked like melted wax. Even worse was the back of its head. It seemed the fur there had been torn off, and all was left was half-healed pinkish skin and wide claw marks covered with crust. The animal had an undead look, straight from a horror movie. Steve grabbed his duvet with two hands and pulled strongly upwards to force the cat onto the floor.

  Despite its age, the General was still agile and it rolled elegantly before getting on al
l fours. It was not too happy with the target Scout had chosen. Fair enough the human was living alone and his home was spacious, but he was big and strong and he didn’t love cats unconditionally like some other humans did. That would complicate matters. Fortunately, he also had betrayed a mental frailty that could be exploited. The first thing to do, it decided, was to weaken him physically, and it knew just the tool for the job.

  The General’s army had invaded the garden, and that’s where it went straight away to meet with his lieutenants.

  “General, we are ready.” said Paw.

  “Good. I have assessed our prey. He is a strong male but can be frightened easily.” said the General.

  “Then it might be a good idea to use Plague to weaken him.” said Paw.

  “My thoughts exactly. But we’ll need a way to stop him healing himself. He seems to be careful about his wounds. Scout saw him put something on his hand after Runner scratched him.” said the General.

  “May I suggest the invade and confine strategy ?” said Patient.

  “Yes, it might work. I don’t know if our troops have recovered enough to attempt it though.” said the General.

  “They are strong.” said Mother with a defying undertone, “And they want human flesh.”

  “Very well. No need to wait then.” said the General.

  Steve freaked out when he saw the army of cats in his garden. It took him only 30 seconds to put on some trousers and go downstairs. His brain could not conceive what was happening. First the cat eating in Oscar's bowl, then the ghoulish cat sleeping on his bead, and now this.

  He guessed he was too late when he heard the noises coming from the kitchen. Already around twenty cats had come inside. “I have to lock this damn trap door” he thought. He armed himself with a broom and mustered the courage to go in the kitchen.

  Instantly the cats started to hiss and growl, threatening. He tried to go for the trap door but the cats seemed to disapprove. They tried to trip him, to scratch him, moving dangerously all around him. Steve managed to kick a couple of them, sending them flying across the room with a shriek, and whacked a few others with the broom that gave Steve a longer reach.

  Suddenly a piercing pain shot through him. One of the little monsters had jumped on his back, planting its claws deep to maintain its grip and stay there. Confused with pain, Steve tried to shake the cat off, resulting only in getting more scratches. He finally threw himself backwards against the wall. With a squeal the cat fell on the floor. Steve didn’t hesitate a second to stomp on the animal with his bare foot. He heard a cracking noise, and the cat was still.

  “Payback time, bloody furry shit.”

  The cats were now warily avoiding being in the broom's range, still circling aggressively.

  Steve turned back to face the trap door and saw the dirtiest cat he had ever seen.

  Plague fixed the prey. A big half-naked human armed with a stick. It didn’t matter, Plague was ready to die. Every cat helped the pack depending on its abilities. When one had none, it was given the choice of either leaving the pack, or becoming one of the Infected.

  The Infected were forbidden to groom their fur, they were obliged to eat rotten meat, and never cleaned their claws. Their goal was to become a bacteriological weapon to be used in the war. Needless to say they did not live very long. They either died from the diseases they were carrying or at the hands of the enemy.

  Its best shot would be to wait for a distraction from the other pack members and jump at the opening. Plague signaled it was ready, and a couple of big cats started scratching at Steve’s heels. The human half-turned to chase away the felines. Plague soared, landed on the human’s shoulder, and immediately started to scratch and bite with a savage frenzy, using its hind legs to dig its claws as deep as possible.

  A cat attacked him from behind again. White-hot bars of pain rolled through his body, but he managed to grab the cat by the scruff of its neck. He pulled and threw it to the floor. The animal was visibly shaken and disoriented. Steve could see green brown pieces of rotten flesh between its teeth, and his stomach protested in disgust. Before his opponent could recover, Steve drove the wooden shaft of the broom with all his might through the cat’s body. Blood erupted everywhere as the cat thrashed and twisted like broken toy.

  Steve looked around and noticed that more cats had gotten in.

  “This is going nowhere.” he thought. “I need better protection. And I need to clean those wounds quickly.”

  He slowly retreated towards the first floor.

  The General was satisfied. The prey was confined to one room now, and his attempts to get out had been successfully repelled. Even when the human had put one heavy clothes, a leather jacket, gloves, boots and a motorcycle helmet, did its brave cats manage to stall him and inflict so much pain he had to turn back.

  It was also clear that Plague had done his job well, even if he was not alive to see the results. The prey was becoming weaker and weaker. He had barricaded the door to his room, stopping the pack from claiming him, but it was only a matter of time until he would make another attempt to escape, and then they will be ready.

  Steve was shivering in his bed, half-mad with pain and with the utter abnormality of the situation. The strong fever was a sign that his wounds got infected. This could get really bad. He had to get away soon. His mouth was parched, but he had no water left in the room.

  He had peed through the window once, but the cats had spotted him and made their way to the tiny balcony in front of it. Opening the window now would be inviting them in. Not an option. He had emptied one of his wardrobes to use it as a toilet.

  He knew he had been stupid. He should have called help. But somehow it had seemed a bad idea at the time. He hadn’t been sure whom to call. Would the police have come ? They’d probably have thought he was another lunatic playing games. Now his iPhone battery was dead and that option gone. The telephone for the landline was downstairs, out of reach.

  The cats were well organized and he was sure they wanted to kill him. He had seen them through the window, sitting in a circle, like some kind of council. There were so many of them it was unbelievable. And the one-eyed cat seemed to be their leader. Seeing Oscar in one of those meetings put a knife through his heart. The little Frenchman had betrayed him.

  His situation was dire. He had been locked up in his bedroom for about 48 hours. Without water there was little hope of surviving. He put on his “armor” one more time, but this time decided to make his escape through the window.

  The alarm drove the General straight to its feet. The silly human had gone for the window. The General had posted guards to watch over this route as well. It could see the prey now, limping slowly through the grass, the smell of blood a delicate perfume.

  The General gave the order and the strongest of the pack started overwhelming the human.

  Steve tried to get rid of the cats that clawed at him, in vain. They were too many cats hanging from his arms and legs, adding so much weight that he could barely move. He felt so weak. He didn’t even register the pain anymore; it was lost in the feverish shivers.

  Eventually he lost his balance and fell on his back. A swarm of cats was upon him before he could scream. He attempted to turn over and crawl, but he was pinned to the ground. He wanted to cry for help, but his dehydrated throat only managed a feeble croak.

  Then Oscar filled his vision. The little treacherous feline opened its mouth forming one of those “smiles”. Slowly it sat itself comfortably on Steve’s face.

  He was suffocating and wanted to bite the cat away. He had lost some much of his strength and blood that couldn’t even do that. The nice, soft, smooth fur was blocking his nose and mouth. The nice, smooth fur softly killed him.

  The General was happy. It was another victory to add to its glorious leadership. It ordered the body to be pulled inside to avoid attracting the attention of other humans.

  Once the pack was assembled it addressed its fellows.

  “My breth
ren, once again we have vanquished !”

  The cats growled with glee.

  “But let us not forget those who have sacrificed their lives to make this victory possible. They have sacrificed their lives so that we can build a better future for our kind.”

  The cats meowed in melancholy.

  “But now let's rejoice. It is the time to bring the kittens and let them feast on human flesh as we did before them. Generation after generation we get stronger and cleverer, until one day…”