I Thought I Buried That Cat
He was the biggest “A-hole” that ever drew a breath. He hated monkeys with a passion. With good reason, he hated the “I’m a Little Teapot” song. He had an extremely strong aversion to anyone with upper respiratory issues, especially a sneeze. He despised the JJ Wentworth jingle about structured settlements and needing cash. He was blind for the last two years or so of his life. He was more intelligent than he let on.
The “He” to which I refer was a miniature Yorkie named Lord Twinkle Toes, and it is due to his name that I took over all pet naming duties at the Bracey house. For 14 years, he ruled many aspects of our daily existence in Darbun, Mississippi. He came into our lives just barely larger than the palm of my hand and never got over 3 lbs. We didn’t realize he had lost his sight until about 2 AM one Sunday morning after he was let out for a bathroom run and didn’t return. We were frantic looking for him, and I pretty much assumed that he had become a victim of this very large owl that lives in the vicinity. I finally found his little butt down the road in the parking lot of the Mennonite Church. After that, someone took him out round the clock every three hours or so and we continued the practice for the rest of his life.
A few years back, I got up at about midnight on a Friday night and took the little fellow out. He always took his time and hiked his leg up on any piece of grass or weed he could find. I guess that is how he learned his way around and back to the door. At any rate, it always seemed like he was dragging around, especially during the middle of the night. This particular night, however, morphed into something entirely different than a routine walk around outside following the little man around with a flashlight.
A full year or so before the night in question, a huge orange tomcat had adopted us and was given the name Felix. Again, this was before I took over the pet naming duties. Shortly after his arrival, he took over as the Mack Daddy, and the gray male cat that lived here disappeared, apparently banished from the hill.
It was in the fall here in south Mississippi, probably November, because the weather was cool, but not cold, and the wind was blustery like a dry cold front may be approaching. I was awakened by the seventh or eighth chime of the grandfather clock. It seemed like the midnight chime never stops. It was a little after midnight and time to take Twink outside. Finally, Twink’s business complete, we started toward the door to the house. Through the wind, I heard a cat’s meow but saw no cat. It was coming closer and the meow was constant. Then I saw Felix appear out of the shadows advancing in my direction. I took my eyes off of Felix momentarily while I reached for the door to let Lord Twinkle Toes go inside. In that 3 second timeframe in which my eyes were averted, Felix’s last meow was abruptly stifled like an anvil had fallen from the pecan tree above and landed on top of his head. I shoved Twink inside, closed the door, and went to investigate. I found Felix there just as I described, minus the anvil of course. For whatever reason, he just dropped dead. As we say in the country, “dead as a doornail.”
I went inside, got into my work boots, gathered a couple of plastic shopping bags, grabbed the flashlight, and started back outside. There I was at approximately 12:30 AM digging a hole in which to bury Felix. Sometime after 1:00 AM, I found my way back to my recliner, picked up Twink, and nodded back off to sleep. It seemed as though I had just turned over when Twink was nervously marching in place on my chest, indicating it was time for another walk. At a third of the way into the lesser witching hour, I stepped outside half asleep and just wanting to get the task over with. The wind had picked up more and I felt a little chill run up my spine. Twink seemed to be taking forever sniffing around and feeling for a place to begin. In the wind, I heard a faint sound. Not loud enough to identify over or through the wind, but just the same, it was something. But Twink was taking his dear time, and the temperature had dropped so that the clothes I was wearing weren’t enough now as they had been two hours prior. A chilly gust that felt as though it was laced with tiny slivers of ice hit me, causing me to shiver. I heard the sound again. Faint still, but a bit louder. I wasn’t sure what I heard, some sort of night bird I thought? Maybe, but doubtful, at least not on a night like this, I reasoned. I shined the flashlight around the perimeter of the property, but the beam was weak and did little to pierce the black surroundings. It wasn’t advisable to avert my eyes for long knowing that in his blindness, Twink could get away from me quickly and would be difficult to find in the dark. I pleaded and cajoled Twink to finish his business.
I heard the sound again, much closer this time. Close enough that there wasn’t a doubt. Originating in the general direction of the recently deceased and buried Felix was the very distinct and very recognizable resonance of a cat. Admittedly, there was a slight terror that rose in mind as I imagined Felix clawing and digging his way out his Walmart bag coffin and Mississippi clay-filled grave. Yet, simultaneously, I initiated a quick playback in my mind questioning how I had somehow picked up a cat, placed it into Walmart bags, dug a hole, and never realized said cat was alive. Mental images of every Stephen King book cover culminating with all of the dreadful creatures in “Pet Sematary” flashed like a neon sign.
At this point, I picked up an easily agitated Lord Twinkle Toes and made for the door. With him nipping and growling at the abrupt change in the situation, I dropped him inside and reversed direction, fearing what I was about to find. My heart pounded in my chest. I vowed to own a better flashlight at the earliest convenience.
I stopped in my tracks. There in front of me, definitively and thankfully, I did NOT find Felix, minus one of his nine, but the previously banished the gray male.
He followed me to the house, waited for me to rustle some food, and ate as if he had only left yesterday. Back in my recliner, all settled until the next outing adventure with Lord Twinkle Toes, I considered the Gray Cat’s year-long absence, and in particular, his sudden reappearance. I concluded that ray cat’s exile reached only to the perimeters of the yard and in some strange cat telepathic way, he knew immediately of the demise of Felix and returned to claim his previous role as reigning king.