A Man and His Cat

A Man and His Cat

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. 

(To Be Concluded Tomorrow)