ONLY ONE CAT IN THE HOUSE
By Inge Moore
Copyright 2011 Inge Moore
Published on Smashwords
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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ONLY ONE CAT IN THE HOUSE
The casserole flew through the air then hit the white wall, leaving muddy orange and brown rivers flowing down to the carpet and big gouges where the shattering glass gouged the drywall.
"Can't you remember the way I want my food!"
Cats rushed to all corners of the room, some of them springing onto high furniture and hissing, others disappearing beneath things like wild cats behind leaves in the jungle. I bent over heavily and inched forward, attempting to clean up the carnage, afraid of making some sound or move that might enrage my husband further.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Ted demanded, his shirt open and his dark chest exposed.
He'd spent the weekend in his usual fashion, drinking in some nearby town or city (I'd never know which one) and his fun over, he was feeling the effects of fast-approaching sobriety. The smell of him -- rancid traces of two days and nights of drink, rented rooms and strangers' bodies -- raised the hairs on my arms and neck. I drew my head in close to my body as he stood over me, his hands clenching and unclenching, the knuckles red, then white, then red.
"Don't you start to cry on me now," he spat. "I'm fed to the teeth with you already."
I had no intention of crying. I was numb. My head buzzing lightly, my feet couldn't feel the ground nor my hands the dustpan I was carrying. Fear, the old shameful fear, had stupefied me, in its awkward mercy, making things unreal. I wouldn't cry.
Not looking up, I didn't know Ted was leaving until I heard the front door slam behind him. Gradually then, the house relaxed, my cats slinking or springing from their refuges, all accounted for: tabbies, blacks, whites, tortoiseshells and one silver-grey tom named Sneakers. I sank wearily down into a rocker and Sneakers jumped up into my lap. Softly, I stroked him.
"Sneakers, my very best friend," I whispered, "you know I'll always look out for you, don't you?"
I almost choked on the words. They were the very same ones Ted had told me on our wedding night, when I'd cried out of fear for the future.
I buried my face in Sneakers' thick fur and felt that there was love in the world. He looked into my eyes, a friend, the slits that were his pupils widening to pools of affection as he began to rumble a purr. As I rocked, my eyes closed. My fingers rubbing the small hard bones of the cat's spine, I drifted into a familiar sea of thought, about Ted, about the early days: my work as a sales clerk in an art store to support us during his university studies; the first apartment, so small and cozy, that we shared; the dinners for two, by candlelight -- me in frilly peasant blouses, tight jeans and bare feet, he young and handsome and vulnerable beside me. Always beside me. Until ... until what? Until everything changed and I wasn't sure exactly why except that it must've been my fault.
Still, our marriage had its positive aspects. I'd helped him, both financially and emotionally to become the man he now was. I'd always tried to support him. Although there were times when I'd felt like little more than his personal workout bag, that was only in my lowest moments. No, it wasn't true. In his own way, Ted had always loved me, still loved me -- would be lost without me.
Lately though, almost furtively, I'd begun thinking about me, like a secret stolen forbidden habit I'd begun -- and couldn't stop. After all, really, had anyone, myself included ever done anything for me?
My family? My father disappeared so long ago, I barely remembered him. My mother reminded me repeatedly how lucky a plain poor girl like me had been to "land" a man like Ted, so handsome, so important. I felt more undeserving ... and resenting the feeling ... each time my mother and I spoke. I'd stopped calling.
My friends? I had none.
Ted? Yes, Ted, of course. Once. He'd seen something beautiful and exciting in me that no one else had. Made me feel beautiful and exciting. I'd been a tongue-tied sixteen year old, "all arms and legs," Ted used to say, when he'd claimed me as his girl.
He'd been like a balm to me. Everything had been okay, when I'd known Ted was beside me. We shared so much -- plans and ideals, dreams. Even back then he knew exactly what he wanted: to become an authority in the field that fascinated him -- wildlife studies. This thrilled me for I perceived his interest in nature to be the same as mine: one of wonder at its beauty, grace and vitality.
On our first "date" Ted took me into the bush -- to watch birds. My heart still softens with pleasure when I picture those heat-drenched summer days spreading languorously into evening as we'd sit, stone-still in fields and woods at dusk, hoping for a glimpse of a white-tailed deer, red fox or hoary owl.
After we'd married and Ted entered university his studies absorbed him more and more; but I was only glad. He was learning so much.
One day, in the third year of his wildlife management degree program, he brought home his first trophy, a ten-point buck, affixing the stuffed head with its staring glass eyes onto our living-room wall.
Then there was his leg-hold trapping project and the resulting "paper" published in five full pages of the Canadian Journal of Mammalogy -- a remarkable accomplishment for an undergraduate.
For his MSc Ted caught birds, snagged them like small quivering hearts in nets strung across courtyards, fields and clearings in forests. But his PhD was the crowning glory. Through it, he became an authority on the physiology of coyotes: he investigated and discovered successful poisons to use in their control.
Finally, Ted moved through three government jobs and three provinces to his present position -- Head of Pest Control for Central Saskatchewan. Thanks to both of our efforts, Ted had achieved his goals. I was part of it too. Why couldn't I feel that way.