Cat Food

She loved cats. The fluffy little beasts more than dominated her life, they wereher life. The widow of 20 years had gotten along in years, as the saying goes, and had outlived everyone closest to her. There were no more remaining family with whom she maintained regular correspondence. To keep interested in a daily existence her every thought and action were directed at the cats. Well, that plus hoarding.

Newspapers as old as 15 years lined the hallways, stacked six feet tall and spilled over in most of the bedrooms. The newspaper subscription had stopped in recent years. The stoppage was the result of a missed payment, not an intentional act. In all the clutter the billing statement had been lost. The newspaper stopped. The cats didn’t seem to mind.

The cats were numerous. In more precise terms there were too many of them. Most didn’t have names, never did. There were a few that were named, but the names had been forgotten to time. The result was that all cats were susceptible to the same overused pronouns and adjectives. At last count, to her best ability two years ago, there were more than 20. The effort was sincere, but the felines were averse to being corralled which hindered the project’s veracity to derive an accurate count yielding only this estimated tally.

During the day the cats were free to come and go as they pleased. Doors and windows were often wide open regardless of temperature or weather. At nighttime, though, for fear of predators, the home was locked up tight. Food was plentiful and unregulated. Several bowls were scattered throughout the house and were always flush, carpeting or linoleum flooring all the same. Scoops of food were added to the bowls throughout the day. The cats lived in a world of plenty despite the immense clutter and odoriferous environment.

Some cats arrived to the home, or were dropped off, without explanation. Others simply showed up. A small number of them were born on site. Where, exactly, the hostess wouldn’t know. But not all was well. She had neglected medical attention. Not just for the cats but for herself. When feeling ‘under the weather’ she preferred, instead of a doctor visit and the intrusive questions, to drink an ice cold ginger ale and take a nap. Feeling slightly under the weather one afternoon she opened a cold can of ginger ale, as was the firmly established protocol, and took a good long sip.

“Oh, that tastes good, my kitty cats,” she said to nobody and all of them. She went around the house closing windows and doors, filling food bowls for any late night snackers. The water situation was safely on autopilot with a fountain in the kitchen that refilled automatically whenever the specified water level threshold had been attained. She put on her bedclothes, got under the covers, took one final long sip of soda, set it on her night stand, and went to bed for the last time. Morning arrived and she remained in bed, unmoved. Expired, in fact!

Day one of this new era was calm. The food bowls were still relatively full. Some of the cats would have preferred the outdoors, but the day turned over well enough. Day two had a number of antsy cats. The bathroom situation was getting crowded and the food was now empty. The meowing was getting agitated and grumpy with no break in the routine. By day five things went decidedly sideways.

One of the cats was sitting on the bed, the bed that contained their unmoving hostess. The body was entirely covered by the bed sheets. The exception was a single hand protruding over the side of the bed. The cat tapped the hand. Friendly at first, as if to say, ‘Good morning, we’re hungry. Please fill our bowls.’ Yielding no result necessitated a second tap followed by a third. The same absence of response. The cat went to phase two with a quick bite to the hand. Again, nothing. So it bit the hand again, very hard this time breaking the skin. No response, but the cat got a taste of the flesh. It bit again just as another cat got playful and the two tumbled to the floor pulling the bed sheets partly off the bed. There was now an audience of several hungry felines. The hostess had become largely uncovered.

It would be nearly two weeks before the postman could no longer ignore the untended mail piling up, so he knocked at the door. Nobody answered. Upon the postman’s return to the post office he advised management, as per protocol. The authorities were contacted and would visit the next day.

[Happy Halloween!]