Black Cats

He hated walking past the vacant lot. He walked to work every evening - he worked the night shift - and the lot was in between his apartment and his new job. He couldn’t avoid it without going a long ways out of his way, but he hated walking past it. It wasn’t the lot, so much. It was the cats.

Black cats.

They were creepy. He wasn’t a cat person, anyway, and these particular cats really rubbed him the wrong way. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling when he approached the lot.

The cats were always there. Not really doing anything. Just there.

First there was only one. One black cat he could ignore. Of course, he couldn’t resist yelling at it - stupid cat, sitting on the fence, staring at him. Those cold yellow eyes.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he shouted at it. “Never seen a human before? Don’t you got nothin’ better to do than sit there and stare at me?”

The cat didn’t reply. It just kept staring at him.

A few evenings later, when he walked past the lot again, there were two black cats. Two sets of yellow eyes staring at him. “Creepy damn things,” he muttered. “Scat!” he shouted. “Go away!” The cats jumped convulsively when he yelled at them. Then they blinked, settled back down, and continued to stare. Their stares felt sharper, though. Almost hostile.

The next time he walked past the lot, there were four black cats. Lined up in a row, sitting on the top of the fence, they all stared at him, their yellow eyes baleful. He tried to ignore them, tried to shrug off the prickling of his skin, the rising of the hair on the back of his neck. He walked faster until the lot was safely behind him.

He stayed away for a few days, avoiding walking past the lot. He walked the long way around. He bummed a ride with a co-worker. Once he Ubered.

But he couldn’t avoid it forever. He had a perfect right to walk wherever he wanted, he told himself. Stupid cats! Why should they inconvenience him?

Taking a deep breath as he approached the lot, he determinedly focused his gaze down the road, straight ahead, not even going to look…. But a movement caught his eye, and he turned towards the lot. Now there were seven black cats. Seven pairs of yellow eyes focused on him.

“Jeez, where did they all come from?” he muttered to himself. He stopped and glared at them. “Hey!” he yelled. “Scat! Stupid cats! Go away!”

They continued to stare, a silent, ominous row, yellow-eyed, menacing.

He waved his arms. “Hey!” he yelled. “Get out of here!” He took a threatening step toward them, shaking a fist.

An eighth cat suddenly materialized on the fence. The man stopped, startled. One more set of eyes joined those that were already glaring at him. Their motionless gaze spooked him. They were so creepy!

He backed away, reluctant to turn his back on the forbidding felines. He stumbled over a loose brick, almost falling, windmilling his arms to stay on his feet. It seemed very important to him that he not fall here, beneath the gaze of all these cats. Movement rippled over the row of cats like a wave, each cat stretching, then settling into a crouch. Jeez, he thought, surveying the row of crouched cats on the top of the fence, they’re even creepier now.

Without taking his eyes off of the row of cats, he reached down and picked up the brick he had tripped over. In one swift, violent move, he flung the brick into the center of the row of cats, yelling wildly. He expected the cats to run away, but they simply parted as the brick flew past them, then resettled along the top of the fence. Their collective gaze had sharpened, though. No longer just a stare, hostility poured from their yellow eyes.

He turned away, stumbling, and sped down the street, casting anxious glances over his shoulder. He felt foolish, running away from a bunch of cats, but there was no one to see his hasty retreat. It occurred to him that there never was another person here, on this stretch of the road. Just the cats. Always the cats.

The next day he called in sick. He just could not bring himself to pass those wretched cats. Maybe I should change shifts at work, he thought. He composed an email requesting a change of shift. He read it, re-read it, changed a word or two. He walked away, made himself a snack. Sat on the couch to eat it.

He turned on the tv to pass the time while he ate. And for company. He needed to feel a connection to the outside world, the real world, where real people went through their day, worked, played; and didn’t give black cats a thought. Not that he was thinking about black cats, he told himself.

The first channel he turned to was in the middle of an old Star Trek episode, one he didn’t remember seeing before. The characters were in some dark place, running away from…a giant black cat. He quickly changed the channel.

The next show was some historical documentary about witchcraft - and, dammit, there were black cats in that one, too.

The next channel featured a series of disasters - all seen through the eyes of a black cat. The next show was a Godzilla kind of thing, only the monster was - again! - a giant black cat.

“God, they’re everywhere!” he yelled to the empty room. Irritated, he turned off the tv, flung the remote across the room, and walked back over to his computer. The email waited. “What the hell,” he muttered, “why not?” He clicked “send” and his request for a shift change was on its way.

He poured himself a drink, fired up FaceBook, and spent the next few hours scrolling. Funny dogs. Silly videos of people doing silly things. Vacation suggestions. And cat videos. Black cats.

Annoyed, he closed the FaceBook tab. He noticed he had a new email, a response to the one he had just sent, requesting a shift change. Hoping for an okay of his request, he eagerly clicked on it.

“We regretfully deny…” he read out loud … “impossible…unable to fulfill…we understand and are willing to accept your resignation….”

Stunned, he stared at the screen. Denied? If he didn’t continue on his current shift, he had to resign?

“Well, shit!” he snarled.

Thoroughly tired of this day, he went to bed, only to toss and turn all night. His dreams were haunted by black cats: yowling at him, stalking him, sneaking up behind him, tripping him, sinking sharp teeth and claws into him…. Still tired when daybreak came, he stumbled listlessly through the day. He napped. Made himself a meal that he didn’t eat. Turned the tv on, only to see yet another show involving cats. Black cats. Always black cats.

Finally it was time to get ready for work. He didn’t want to keep working the late shift, but he needed the job. He decided he would continue until he found something better. A day job. Or at least something located in the opposite direction from the vacant lot with the cats.

Before he left his apartment, he looked around for something that he could use to protect himself from those damn cats. There wasn’t much to choose from, but he picked up a heavy flashlight, a box cutter, a baseball. Feeling a little better so armed, he headed out the door.

He felt his steps slow as he approached the vacant lot, and he forced himself to pick up speed. He curled his hand around the baseball in his pocket and turned on the heavy flashlight, gripping it tightly. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

A stirring to his right caught his attention. He swung the light in that direction. And froze, petrified.

The lot was no longer vacant. It was filled with cats. Black cats.

There were cats lining the top of the fence, all the way around the lot. There were cats in the trees at the edges of the fence, cats in the tall grass, cats in the bushes, cats skulking behind piles of broken bricks. Hundreds of cats. Thousands of cats. More were streaming over the fence, swelling the ranks of the terrifying felines.

Then, moving as one, a wave of cats approached him. Breaking from his frozen terror, he pulled the baseball out of his pocket. He flung it as hard as he could into the middle of the throng of cats; their ranks broke around the ball, then reformed, subsuming the weapon beneath their overpowering numbers.

He reached down to the ground, feeling around for broken bricks without taking his eyes off of the enemy army of cats. He scooped up several missiles, hurled them at the cats, and began backing away.

But, behind him, the cats had circled around, surrounding him. He stood, alone and terrified, in the middle of a spreading pool of black cats.

He tripped, regained his balance, took another step. Tripped again, arms flailing, black cats twining around his feet, reaching sharp claws up his legs. Pulling him down, the cats swarmed over him, clawing, snarling, hissing, biting.

Damn cats! Damn cats….

It was his last thought. Yellow eyes surrounded him. Then blackness overcame him.

In the morning, one black cat sat on the fence, serenely washing its face.