A Cat and His Man

A Flight of Fancy by Blanche Day Manos

Fred the cat was happy in the tumbledown, comfortable house he shared with Jake. He liked the soft feel of the worn floor and the way that floor squeaked when Jake shuffled across it.  He liked the sag in the ceiling and the way the light swayed and shadows danced when the wind blew hard against the house.

Sometimes Jake stroked Fred’s yellow head and said, “A house is not a home without a cat. Someday, Old Cat, I’ll have enough money saved, then we’ll fix up this place.”

Fred did not worry. Why would anyone want to change a house that was perfect? Not all houses had holes in the wall where curious mice could squeeze through. Not all houses had cobwebs in the corners where spiders hung and kept a cat company during the night. Nor did all houses have an old, black iron stove in the middle of the living room. Behind that stove was a box. In that box was one of Jake’s red, worn-out shirts. When he wasn’t stalking mice among stacks of magazines or purring on Jake’s knee or lapping cream in the kitchen, Fred snoozed on that old, worn, dusty red shirt.

One day, Jake clumped into the kitchen shouting, “We did it, Fred, Old Cat! I finally saved enough money to fix up this place.”

The fur along Fred’s back prickled and he stopped in the middle of a yawn.

The next day, three strangers came. They walked through the house shaking their heads and muttering.

“Tsk, tsk,” said one.

“My, oh my,” said another.

“Dear me,” said a third.

They stopped muttering and got busy. They tore out the ceiling. They yanked the wood shingles off the outside walls. Dust clouds rose as they pried and pulled. 

Fred tried to get away from the horrible banging and bumping. Fred hid behind the sofa. When the men moved the sofa, he jumped into the kitchen sink. When they picked up a big wrench and started toward the sink, Fred took a flying leap right out the window.

For days, Fred hid in a sumac thicket. He watched men come and go. Things came out of the house and things went in.

Each night, Jake opened the back door and called, “Here, Fred. Come home, Old Cat.”

Fred was not about to go home until he was sure it was safe. He stayed hidden and lunched on fat mice.

At last, the men loaded all the ladders and paint buckets and hammers and nails into a truck and roared away. That night when Jake called, “Here, Fred. Come home, Old Cat. See our new house,” Fred slipped slowly from the sumac thicket and tiptoed into the yard. 

“There you are!” yelled Jake, scooping him up. “Just wait until you see this.”

The outside was bad enough. The friendly, sagging shingles were gone. In their place was shiny, white siding so bright it hurt Fred’s eyes. 

Jake stepped inside the house and set Fred down on the floor. Fred’s claws stuck to a carpet that felt like the back of Hugo, the Cocker Spaniel down the street. A strange, new smell floated in the air. No cobwebs hung from the corners. The ceiling no longer sagged. Worst of all, there was no black iron stove in the middle of the living room.

“We have a furnace now,” said Jake. “We don’t have to mess with that stove any longer. Here’s where you’ll sleep, Old Cat.” Jake pointed to a shiny, blue basket with a plump, purple pillow inside.

Fred put one paw on the pillow. It was much too hard. He sat down in the middle of the living room and yowled. His stove was gone. Jake’s red shirt was gone. His old home was gone. He would never feel comfortable again.

Jake scratched Fred’s head. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “You’ll see.”

That night, Fred went to bed on the floor beside the plump, purple pillow. He missed the friendly spiders who used to hang around and keep him company. He missed the mice who no longer skittered across the floor. Fred got up and prowled through the clean, lonely house. Finally, he slipped into Jake’s bedroom. He curled up on Jake’s feet and there he stayed for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Fred stalked into the kitchen. Just as he crossed a new vent in the floor, he heard something click and then he heard a roar like that of a giant lion. Warm air puffed against his stomach.

Fred shot straight up. He came down clinging to the curtains. When they fell, Fred bounced off and tore out through the open back door. He stopped only when he was safely hidden in the sumac thicket.

“Here, Fred!” called Jake. “Don’t be afraid. The furnace just came on. You’ll get used to it.”

Fred lay quietly in the thicket.

“Aw, come on back, Old Cat,” begged Jake. “I could tell yesterday that you don’t like the carpet, but I can fix that.”

Jake ran into the house. Fred heard banging and ripping and grunting. Finally, Jake struggled out the door, dragging the brown carpet. He plunked it down in the back of his truck.

Fred stayed hidden in the sumac thicket.

“Is it the friendly brown shingles you miss?” asked Jake. He hobbled over to the stack of shingles the workers had piled by the fence. Jake grabbed a few and hammered them over the shiny, white walls.

Fred didn’t budge from the sumac thicket.

Jake scratched his head and sat on the back steps. “I guess fixing up the house wasn’t a good idea. I guess the Old Cat and I wouldn’t be much comfortable in a new house. I know what he misses.”

Jake ambled to his wheelbarrow and pushed it to his storage building. Soon, he pushed the wheelbarrow back to the house with the old black stove inside. He lugged that stove into the house.

Fred heard more battering and popping and quite a few more grunts. At last, Jake came out of the house. He had sooty smudges on his nose and chin.

“Now will you come back, Fred Old Cat?” Jake called softly. Slowly, Fred crept from the sumac thicket. Jake opened the door. Tail erect, Fred marched inside. He looked around then padded to the black iron stove in the middle of the living room and looked up at Jake.

“Sure. I know what you want,” Jake told him. He sauntered off and returned with a box. Inside the box was that old, faded red shirt.  Fred tested it with one paw, then leaped inside and curled up.

Jake puttered around, scattering a few magazines here and there.

“No matter how comfortable a house is, it’s not a home without a cat,” Jake said, as he sank down on the sofa.

Fred turned over on his back and smiled. He and Jake dozed off in the new, old house, happy with it and happy with each other.

(All Rights Retained by the Author, Blanche Day Manos)