Brooke Henzell
Judith
“I killed her cat,” I whispered. The curves of polite warmth along my neighbor’s mouth and around her eyes fell. She looked down at her own cat—black with little white socks––rubbing its head against her ankles in a figure eight motion.
“Sorry, whose cat? Judith’s?
“Was Judith the name of the lady who used to live in this apartment?”
“You were looking after her cat and you didn’t know her name?”
I took a loud sip of the lemonade I was drinking and kicked at the cobwebs in the corner between our doors, encouraging a spider to scuttle out and down the hallway. My neighbor looked critically at my glass, like I should be drinking something more somber. I looked at the mug in her hands. It had a sketch of a mushroom on the front, and underneath in tiny letters it said, “eat me, see the future.” If she was so fucking enlightened maybe she should have seen this coming. She might have saved the cat.
“Judith is pretty old, right? I figured I could buy her a new tabby cat before she gets back and she wouldn’t know the difference.” I yawned without bothering to cover my mouth. “I just need to know what to do with the body.”
“Tabby? Judith’s cat was white,” she said.
I reached down around my door frame and picked up the shoe box I’d put the cat in. I opened the lid for her.
“Pretty sure it was a tabby,” I said.
“Oh God,” she yelled, “Put that away. I think I’m going to vomit.”
I thought that was dramatic. Maybe I should have consulted the kid downstairs. I helped him flip a box of counterfeit Jordans not too long ago. I reminded myself to make a list of all the people who owed me favors and another list beside it of all the things I wanted from them.
The neighbor pulled out her phone and aggressively swiped through her photos. She pushed the phone into my face and I found myself staring at a picture of Judith in her apartment. She was surrounded by a collection of ugly ornaments and on her lap sat a white cat.
Shit, I think, that was the cat she dropped off all those months ago. So when did I lose it and where did I acquire the tabby? Oh well. A question to be answered, certainly, but it wasn’t pressing. Judith wouldn’t be back for months.
“Okay,” I said to my neighbor, “Thank you for your help. Don’t tell anyone about this, please. I don’t want to report the subletting.”
I picked up the cat-coffin-shoe-box, locked my door, and started walking down the stairs.
“I’m not a sub-letter! Judith and I really are friends!” She yelled after me.
“We both know that’s not true, Molly, but I don’t care. Good fences, etcetera,” I called out, without turning around. I had my hand on the door.
“My name isn’t Molly!”
At the cafe around the corner from the apartment, I picked the perfect table. I was flush against the wall, halfway down a long corridor of seats. It gave the impression that I’d been searching for discretion when in fact, everyone in the place could see me. I had only ever been here once before. I’d been saving this place for a good one.
I spotted him while I was waiting for my coffee to arrive. He was older, deliberately unkempt. A professor, or more likely a suit who regretted not sticking with the guitar/the MFA/ the studio art class (life drawing). He was just good looking enough that he would believe, under certain circumstances, that I might be interested in him.
I started to cry. Quietly, and as though I were trying to hide it. It was good that he didn’t notice in that first minute. You never notice a stranger crying the moment they start. But I was impatient as well. I upped the ante just a little into minute two.
In my peripheral vision I watched him look up and then turn quickly back to his book. When he looked back up at me this time, I caught his eye. Then I smiled a little, straight at him. Just a bit too long. I took a sip of my coffee, staring––so embarrassed––down at the cup.
“The coffee really is a bit upsetting, isn’t it,” he said, suddenly before me, one hand on my table.
I laced my replying laugh with just a drop of mania. Enough to suggest his move was wholly unexpected and I was having to switch emotional gears at a speed that had surprised me.
“I don’t know that much about coffee,” I said, sniffling “What’s wrong with it?”
He’d been dying to tell someone.
“So many people don’t know that––” He kept talking for a while. I kept smiling. I’m shy. I’m flattered. You’re interesting. He would need to get this out of his system before he pivoted to–– “I’m sorry to remind you, but what were you upset about, before? I hope not a boy.” He hoped it was a boy.
“Oh,” I said, rearranging my face. Tragedy. “My cat died today. Which was expected. I’d had him since I was a kid.”
He was calculating how young I could be. I’d used the word kid in the past tense. That’s what he would say in court, if it came to that.
“The really sad part is,” I gestured to my prop on the floor, “I didn’t realise how much getting him cremated would cost and I don’t have anywhere to bury him.” I began to tear up again. He was sincerely moved now. “I just don’t know what to do with him,” I said.
“How much did they say it would cost?”
I supposed I could have pulled it off with an empty shoe box but the cat had helped my performance. I hadn’t known that a pet crematorium was a real thing when I’d said it. I Googled it once I was in the taxi, and scared the driver with my loud laughter. Three separate locations in a five mile radius.
“Change of destination,” I said.
I was always going to do something with the cat corpse. I’m not a monster. But the two-hundred dollars Cafe Man had given me could be put to better use. I considered a new tragedy, crafted for the woman behind the desk at the pet crematorium. Happily, it turned out to be a free service if I didn’t want to keep the ashes or buy one of their terrifying monuments to Fluffy. The lady was displeased by my indifference. Little did she know I’d sincerely thought about putting the cat in the garbage. This was me listening to that tiny angel on my shoulder!
I had great health insurance. It was the reward of a long con involving a group of polygamists running the health program for a prestigious arts school. So I booked into the dentist all the time. Way more than I needed to. I really liked the people who worked there and the particular blend of chemicals in the air. Hi Beth, Hi Amy, How are your kids? No, I’m in no rush, I’ll just have a seat here and take big deep breaths of the nitrous oxide and the rubbing alcohol.
I was lying in the chair, mouth wide open, just enjoying the sexual tension between myself, Dr. Marner, and the hygienist he was obviously fucking. There was an oil painting on the ceiling. Inappropriately violent. A hunted lion in the midst of ravaging its hunters. It was tugging on a memory somewhere, itching at the back of my skull. I screwed my nose up, concentrating,
“Keep wide open, please.”
The blood ritual! So that’s where I’d swapped the cats, inadvertently. One of my worse trades. The shabby little girl who always checked tickets at the shabby little cinema on my block told me I’d never pay again if I gave her one night to practice witchcraft on me.
I had thought it would be funny. I was even looking forward to it. I thought she’d tap me on the head with a branch while I drank a lot of wine. Instead, she turned up with a cage full of cats and a briefcase full of knives.
I was far too terrified of her to go get the white cat back. Unless they weren’t her cats? I’d reluctantly left the dentist’s office and was passing by the cinema now. I checked my surroundings three times to make sure Denise wasn’t standing right behind me and then peered in through the only window. I could see the older lady sleeping behind the ticket desk. Judith’s white cat was sitting on her keyboard.
I crept in through the front door and immediately tripped over a black kitten. Jesus, there were cats everywhere. How had I not noticed this before? And how was such a derelict business still in operation? I could hear the opening theme music of a film playing from their only auditorium. Titanic. That’s why they were still in business. People really love Titanic. I really love Titanic. That’s why I’d been so keen on Denise’s deal.
I slowly reached over the counter, trying to keep my head as far back as possible. The old lady always smelled like cheese that had been reheated too many times. I grabbed Judith’s cat. By some divine intervention, it came quietly.
“Well, hello.”
I turned slowly.
“You’re not getting any more of my blood, Denise,” I said. I was not joking. Neither was she.
“Where are you going with my mother’s cat?” She asked.
“This isn’t your mother’s cat. This is my neighbor Judith’s cat,” I said.
“All of Mummy’s cats were somebody else’s at some point,” she said, smiling.
“You’re so creepy, Denise,” I said, “What does that even mean? Is your mother stealing cats?”
She came closer. How deeply unwelcome.
“I knew the tabby was getting sick. Mummy gets so upset when they die, and your cat looked so young and juicy,” she said.
“Juicy? Are you eating them?” She ignored me.
“So I took the white cat. Sue me.”
That was one option.
“Almost no one takes me up on that offer,” Denise said, pouting, “And I’m running out of houses to break into. Did you know only a third of households keep cats?” She was incensed.
“I’m surprised it’s that many—” A heavy whack to the back of my head.
I woke up in a low-lit office that smelt like Denise’s mother. They’d gaffa-taped my mouth but I was completely unbound, just propped on a couch. I pulled off the tape. I could hear someone talking. It was too quiet to hear clearly but I knew exactly what was being said. After one hundred and thirteen views, the intonation was enough,
“But now you all know there was a man named Jack Dawson . . .” The movie was nearly finished.
They hadn’t even taken my phone away. I texted the Cafe Man and my neighbor. He was desperate and she didn’t have a life.They’d both be here in minutes. I opened the door––not locked––and found Denise and her mother both standing on the other side holding children’s hockey sticks. It was disappointing to know that my head was so fragile. But armed or not, without the element of surprise they were ineffectual fighters. I pushed them backwards into the office and locked them inside before walking out into the lobby.
My neighbor was standing there, just as I’d instructed, completely drenched in catnip oil. All of the cats came out from their personal nooks. The two Titanic viewers exited the auditorium. They didn’t look at us but one of them was holding Judith’s cat.
“Wait!” I called after them, “That’s my cat!”
“Oh, sorry,” the guy said, passing the cat over, “I didn’t even notice I was holding it. That film is so... It really holds up, even after all this time.”
I grabbed his face with my free hand.
“Tell me about it,” I whispered.
Cafe man’s car pulled up out front and I passed the cat over to my neighbor. She smiled at our new sense of kinship. I didn’t have to thank her. This was a communal cat now.
Eventually he started telling me about his new business idea. Protein powder for babies. He just wasn’t sure how to market it.
“Have you ever heard of multi-level marketing?” I asked, laying the dumb on thick in case he had.
“No! Tell me all about it,” he said.
I smiled, thinking about how cute that cat would be, walking around in teeny tiny diamond shoes.