Saturday's Storyteller: "The cat only came in occasionally, just to eat our food."
by Belinda Roddie
The cat only came in occasionally, just to eat our food. Apart from that, we hardly saw it. Tanya thought that maybe it was the neighbors' pet, and we knew that the bastards up the road were notorious for neglecting whatever poor beast they picked up from the pound. After a while, I started leaving out a bag of cheese dust after I'd finish off the actual cheese puffs. Every morning when I went downstairs, the bag would be licked clean.
I followed the cat once up the street, only to see it disappear under this old, rusty metal fence that led to a patch of drought-choked land that no one seemed to use. I was familiar with that patch. I knew it belonged to some sort of old retailer who tore down his business a while ago and didn't want to let go of the square miles just to get some tax money back. After the store was demolished and before he put the fences up, my brother and I would play cops and robbers or baseball or tag and acted like we owned the place. And that place happened to be a sad looking spot of dirt and dead grass that was now locked away like it had the sanctity of an Indian reservation.
I was tempted to climb the fence just to catch up with the damn feline when I realized that someone else had beaten me to it. Another girl I recognized from the block was already with the cat, stroking its ears and cooing to it. When she saw me, she tried to shrink into her hoodie like she was pretending to be a turtle. I laughed. I held my empty hands up as if to show her that she had nothing to be afraid of.
She walked over to me, now holding the animal in her arms. Her cheeks were ruddy and mottled with aggressive freckles, her eyes watery beneath her flimsy tufts of blonde hair. "He likes coming here," she said to me, both her faces separated by browning metal links. "I just climb the fence just to say hi to him. He feels safe."
"So it's a he?"
She raised an eyebrow, as if daring me to check for myself. I non-verbally declined the offer. "What's his name?" I asked instead.
"He hasn't got one," the girl replied. "That's the beauty of it. Anyone can call him whatever they want to."
"So what do you call him?"
She had to think about that for a bit. "Yesterday, it was Cosmo," she confessed. "Today, I'm thinking more Thomas."
"From weird to proper. I like it."
She giggled. "So what, you wanted to pet him, too?"
I couldn't resist the urge to climb that fence and join the girl and that mangy orange cat on the browned earth. At home, my brother was probably wondering where I was, and Tanya was most likely trying to call me, only to discover that I had left my cellphone at home. That had been intentional - I didn't want to be contacted. I liked being able to breathe in less stuffy air and go in random directions based on some sort of cryptic impulse. The girl seemed to have the same vibe as I did.
"So he's Thomas," I said, as I pet the cat's scruffy neck. "And you are?"
"Lauren," she replied. "You're Sammy. I know that. My mom always wanted you to come over and play with me."
"Play dates?"
"Yeah." She cracked a thin smile. "It's cute when people around here try to act like normal suburbanites."
This area of town is gray, old, and comatose. It's where a lot of poor people go to die after scrounging their savings or never building enough to begin with. My father was a mechanic who moved the family here. Then he left, and my mother died a couple years later. Everything is dirty and dusty and sometimes, when I take a shower, I can feel the grime slide off my face like an extra layer of skin. The whole neighborhood builds you a mask out of smog and natural elements.
I pulled my ponytail through the hole in my cap and rubbed my index finger under Thomas's chin. "It's getting late. I should go."
"You know I never get in trouble for climbing this fence, right?" Lauren informed me. "I come here a lot, just to think. You should join me."
I thought about taking her up on the offer. Maybe. When I pushded myself over the metal, I hear dThomas yowling. He was probably expecting a bag of cheeto dust. I hated to disappoint either of us.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
The cat only came in occasionally, just to eat our food. Apart from that, we hardly saw it. Tanya thought that maybe it was the neighbors' pet, and we knew that the bastards up the road were notorious for neglecting whatever poor beast they picked up from the pound. After a while, I started leaving out a bag of cheese dust after I'd finish off the actual cheese puffs. Every morning when I went downstairs, the bag would be licked clean.
I followed the cat once up the street, only to see it disappear under this old, rusty metal fence that led to a patch of drought-choked land that no one seemed to use. I was familiar with that patch. I knew it belonged to some sort of old retailer who tore down his business a while ago and didn't want to let go of the square miles just to get some tax money back. After the store was demolished and before he put the fences up, my brother and I would play cops and robbers or baseball or tag and acted like we owned the place. And that place happened to be a sad looking spot of dirt and dead grass that was now locked away like it had the sanctity of an Indian reservation.
I was tempted to climb the fence just to catch up with the damn feline when I realized that someone else had beaten me to it. Another girl I recognized from the block was already with the cat, stroking its ears and cooing to it. When she saw me, she tried to shrink into her hoodie like she was pretending to be a turtle. I laughed. I held my empty hands up as if to show her that she had nothing to be afraid of.
She walked over to me, now holding the animal in her arms. Her cheeks were ruddy and mottled with aggressive freckles, her eyes watery beneath her flimsy tufts of blonde hair. "He likes coming here," she said to me, both her faces separated by browning metal links. "I just climb the fence just to say hi to him. He feels safe."
"So it's a he?"
She raised an eyebrow, as if daring me to check for myself. I non-verbally declined the offer. "What's his name?" I asked instead.
"He hasn't got one," the girl replied. "That's the beauty of it. Anyone can call him whatever they want to."
"So what do you call him?"
She had to think about that for a bit. "Yesterday, it was Cosmo," she confessed. "Today, I'm thinking more Thomas."
"From weird to proper. I like it."
She giggled. "So what, you wanted to pet him, too?"
I couldn't resist the urge to climb that fence and join the girl and that mangy orange cat on the browned earth. At home, my brother was probably wondering where I was, and Tanya was most likely trying to call me, only to discover that I had left my cellphone at home. That had been intentional - I didn't want to be contacted. I liked being able to breathe in less stuffy air and go in random directions based on some sort of cryptic impulse. The girl seemed to have the same vibe as I did.
"So he's Thomas," I said, as I pet the cat's scruffy neck. "And you are?"
"Lauren," she replied. "You're Sammy. I know that. My mom always wanted you to come over and play with me."
"Play dates?"
"Yeah." She cracked a thin smile. "It's cute when people around here try to act like normal suburbanites."
This area of town is gray, old, and comatose. It's where a lot of poor people go to die after scrounging their savings or never building enough to begin with. My father was a mechanic who moved the family here. Then he left, and my mother died a couple years later. Everything is dirty and dusty and sometimes, when I take a shower, I can feel the grime slide off my face like an extra layer of skin. The whole neighborhood builds you a mask out of smog and natural elements.
I pulled my ponytail through the hole in my cap and rubbed my index finger under Thomas's chin. "It's getting late. I should go."
"You know I never get in trouble for climbing this fence, right?" Lauren informed me. "I come here a lot, just to think. You should join me."
I thought about taking her up on the offer. Maybe. When I pushded myself over the metal, I hear dThomas yowling. He was probably expecting a bag of cheeto dust. I hated to disappoint either of us.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
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