Fiends

    In spite of what I’d said about trespassing, etc., her threats could not be ignored. Here I was, a thirty- eight-year-old bachelor wearing next to nothing, alone in my house with a ten-year-old girl.

    It wouldn’t look good.

    The notion of facing accusations sickened me.

    ‘All right. If you want that cat, she’s yours. Go on, take her and get out of here.’

    With a victorious grin, Monica rose to her feet. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

    ‘If you want to know the truth, Lazzy always did give me the creeps.’

    ‘The creeps?’

    ‘Never mind.’

    Monica narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

    ‘Nothing.’

    ‘Tell. You’d better tell, or else.’

    ‘Well…’ I dragged a chair away from the kitchen table, swung it around, and sat down on it.

    ‘Is this going to take long?’

    Ignoring her question, I said, ‘It all started with Lazzy falling in the toilet.’

    She gasped as if the cat had suddenly turned white-hot, and tossed her aside.

    Lazzy let out a reeeeooow! as she twisted and rolled through the air. But she did a quiet, four-point landing. Heading for the blanket, she glanced over her shoulder and gave Monica a look that was clearly miffed.

    ‘You didn’t have to throw her like that,’ I said.

    ‘She fell in a toilet!'

    ‘The toilet had nothing in it except for clean water. Besides, this was some time ago.’

    ‘You mean she isn’t dirty any more?’

    ‘She’s perfectly clean.’

    ‘Then what’s the big deal?’

    ‘She drowned.’

    Monica tucked her chin down and gazed at me as if peering over the top of invisible eyeglasses. She folded her arms across her chest. I wondered if she had picked up the stance from an elderly relative. ‘Drowned?’ she said. ‘Puh-leese.’

    ‘I’m serious,’ I said.

    Monica tilted her head to one side. ‘If she drowned, she would be dead.’

    I chose not to argue. Instead, I proceeded with the story. ‘It began when Mrs. Brown gave birth. She was a tabby who belonged to my friend, James, in Long Beach. When he told me about the litter, I expressed an interest in taking one of the kittens off his hands. Of course, I couldn’t take one immediately. I needed to wait until they’d been weaned.’

    Monica narrowed an eye. ‘What does that mean?’

    ‘A kitty can’t be taken away from its mother right away. It needs the mother’s milk.’

    ‘Oh, that.’

    ‘Yes. At any rate, we set a date for me to visit James and select a kitten. Do you know where Long Beach is?’

    She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. ‘Monica has been to the Spruce Goose and the Queen Mary… oh, so many times that she is totally bored by them both.’

    ‘Then she knows that the drive takes about an hour from here.’ She nodded. She sighed. She looked over her shoulder, apparently checking up on Lazzy.

    I went on with my story.

    ‘I drank quite a lot of coffee before setting out in the morning for Long Beach. By the time I reached James’s house, I was very uncomfortable.’

    This won her attention away from the cat. ‘What?’

    ‘I had to pee. Badly.’

    ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’

    ‘I hurried to the front door and rang the doorbell. I rang it again and again, but James didn’t answer. As it turns out, he had forgotten about our date, and gone shopping. I didn’t know that at the time, however. I knew only that the door was not being opened, and that my teeth were afloat.’

    ‘You should not be talking to a child about such things.’

    ‘I’m afraid the condition of my bladder is integral to the story. Anyway, I was becoming frantic. I pounded on the door and called out James’s name, but to no avail. I considered rushing over to a neighbor’s house, but the idea appalled me. How could I ask a stranger for the use of a toilet? Besides, who would allow me inside for such a purpose? There were no gas stations, restaurants, or shopping malls near enough…’ Monica interrupted me with a sigh. ‘Anyway, I had no choice but to let myself into James’s house. It was either that or…’

    ‘You are a very crude person.’

    ‘Not so crude that I wanted to pee outside. And fortunately, matters didn’t reach that stage. At the back of the house, I found an open window. The screen was in my way, of course. But I was too desperate to care about niceties. I fairly tore the screen from its moorings, boosted myself through the window, tumbled onto the floor of James’s bedroom, and raced for the bathroom.

    ‘As it turned out, the bathroom was where James had been keeping the new litter - with the door shut, you know, so they wouldn’t scamper all over the house. And to confine the aroma of the litter box, I’m sure.’

    ‘This is a very long story,’ Monica complained. ‘Long and gross.’

    ‘All right. I’ll make it quick, then. I burst into the bathroom, pranced about to avoid mashing several kitties underfoot, and prepared to relieve myself. But when I looked down into the toilet bowl…’

    ‘Lazzy,’ Monica said.

    ‘Lazzy. Yes. Though, of course, that wasn’t her name at the time. At any rate, she must’ve climbed onto the rim of the toilet for a drink, and tumbled in. She was floating on her side, her little face down in the water. I had no idea how long she might’ve been that way. But she wasn’t moving at all. Not of her own accord. She was turning slightly as if being spun by a very slow, lazy whirlpool.

    ‘Well, I fished her right out and laid her out on the floor. She looked horrid. Have you ever seen a dead cat?’

    ‘She was not dead. She’s right there.’ Monica pointed, her arm so straight and stiff that it seemed to be bent just a bit the wrong way at the elbow.

    Lazzy lay on her side, head up, licking one of her forelegs.

    ‘She doesn’t look dead now,’ I agreed, ‘but you should’ve seen her shortly after I pulled her out of the toilet. She had that awful look -fur all matted down, ears flattened back. Her eyes were shut, so all you could see were dark slits. And she looked as if she’d died snarling.’ I bared my teeth at Monica to give her the idea.

    Monica was doing her best to appear bored and annoyed and superior to all this. In spite of her efforts, however, she had a rather slack look to her face.

    ‘The kitten was cold,’ I said. ‘Sopping. The feel of it sent chills through me. But that didn’t stop me from examining the poor thing. It had no heartbeat.’

    ‘I’m sure,’ Monica said. But she was definitely looking a trifle distressed.

    ‘The little kitten was dead.’

    ‘No, it wasn’t.’

    ‘It had drowned in the toilet. It was as dead as dead can be.’

    ‘Was not!’

    ‘Dead dead dead!’

    Monica pounded her fists against her thighs. Red-faced, she snapped, ‘You’re an awful person!’

    ‘No, I’m not. I’m a very nice person, because I brought the dead kitten back to life. I rolled her onto her back and covered her little mouth with my mouth and breathed into her. At the same time, I used my thumb to push at her heart. Have you ever heard of CPR?’ Monica nodded. ‘CPR was a robot in Star