Here Kitty Kitty

Here Kitty Kitty

She woke up in a coma. Mind slow, face hot, lips burning as the rest of her nervous system, a bit behind, worked to catch up in reaction to the unwelcome command of her irrational cerebral cortex. Looking to either side to make sure that the pressure and bulk she felt were cats, Meggie had a moment of relief, though it wasn’t enough to ward off what was coming. She wanted to yank back the covers, but forced herself to peel them away carefully so as not to dispatch anyone.

On cue, her anxiety provoked the hot flash that proceeded to overtake her, starting in her head and working its way down her spine and through her core, upper thighs and then moving downwards below her knees to her shins which ached and tingled uncomfortably. She sighed aloud and waited for the neurological storm to pass, while making a concerted effort to recall the specific events. Once again, she regretted her decision to stay in bed for “five more minutes”, having then dozed off.

Now, out of habit, Meggie bent down to pick up her slippers, while reciting her bad dream to the two pair of hungry eyes staring at her expectantly, wanting breakfast. She hoped to cement the vivid details before they evaporated. The cold floor felt good on the soles of her bare feet.

In the dream, Meggie was dressed inappropriately, or perhaps nearly naked, retired, but back at school, only it wasn’t exactly campus, more like a massive Victorian hotel lobby, brightly lit by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows on one side. All of the couches and chairs were covered in white sheets except one long table against the bank of windows that was draped with an old raggedy quilt, made of patchwork squares, dusty from neglect and faded from the bright sunlight. She noted the pale reds, blues and yellows and worried about the fragility of the material, someone’s hard work.

Walking towards the table, she noticed at its base, under the quilt, something barely moving, a peculiar rectangular shape, nearly indiscernible. At closer inspection, it appeared to be an ancient, emaciated calico cat, mostly dirty white, with matted fur. It was trying to swallow a small dime-sized piece of red fabric. Some klutz in Oxfords had probably stepped on the edge of the quilt, ripping it.

Worried about what she saw, Meggie admonished: “That’s not food.” The cat was obviously starving, and had tasted or smelled something; perhaps an oily dripping or splotch of frosting. Whatever it was, to the cat, it was a viable alternative and something worth eating. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t food.

“Here kitty kitty. Here kitty kitty kitty,” Maggie softly sang recalling why she was there. She felt sorry for the calico, but coincidently her own two cats, which had been with her moments before, were now missing and she needed to find them and leave. She had somewhere else to be.

Just then she looked across the room at her daughters who were busy organizing their orange life jackets, paddles and fishing gear. In all the commotion and bluster, her two cats must have been spooked.

Weighed down with equipment, the two girls were now headed for the double door. Meggie was surprised that they weren’t dragging their fishing kayaks with them. Instead, her daughter Marie was wrestling a huge black rubber inflatable and Ruth wore a similar looking black inner-tube, something Meggie would have had in the 70’s to float down a river.

The two girls, deep in conversation, were oblivious to the missing felines and if they made it to the door first, and opened it, the cats might get outside and then Meggie would never find them. They would be eaten by predators and it would be all her fault.

Why had she brought them to school with her? Why did she selfishly pause at the wall of in-boxes, knowing full well that as a retired counselor, her own no longer existed? And why had she flirted with the new male counselor taking her place, offering unsolicited advice about which extra duty assignments to sign up for? Meggie hated having to chaperone dances, but other faculty members enjoyed watching the kids twerk and pogo in the mosh pits. Don’t even get her started on the displeasure of breathalyzing teens and confiscating their flasks and small envelopes of cocaine.

With eyes surveying the ornately carpeted floor, Meggie realized that the whole room was fraught with cats. Kittens, middle-aged adults; every corner, chair and carpet square featured another insistent cat. Black, white, tabbies; all were strays, hungry and neglected. None were the two she was seeking. What a nightmare.

Photo Credit: Marilyn Lewis-Hampton