The Black Cats

Ravages of the Storm

THE BROKEN PANE SHATTERED with my charge, scattering glass to the kitchen floor. “Flee, Midnight!” I screeched. “He’s going to kill you!”

Abner Arnold twisted toward the window, fingers tight around his wife’s throat. His bottom lip trembled. “The hell c-cat lives! She’s b-back from the fire!”

Hell cat? Fire? All hope of anonymity vanished. This mattered less compared to a much bigger fix. Midnight had not moved from behind the washstand. “Have you lost your wits?” I said to him. “Run, you fool! Run!”

“I can’t leave without her, Cattarina,” he said. “She’s my companion now.”

“Tabitha Arnold?”

Abner Arnold released his wife and lunged for the window. I could not risk another go-round with this madman. As his hand burst through the jagged hole, I jumped from the sill, escaping his fingers at the last instant. He withdrew and slapped the window, depositing bloody handprints on the glass. “I will kill you, hell cat! I will strangle you with my own two hands!”

But these were not the words that haunted me on my race to Green Street. They were Midnight’s. “Save me, Cattarina!” he pleaded as I left. “Save us both!”

***

The wind blew me south toward my own neighborhood, shortening the time to Mr. Eakins’s home. I reached his front garden with scant daylight remaining. As luck would have it, the Coon Cats sat at the parlor window and witnessed my approach—from inside the house. “Silas! Samuel!” I yowled to them. “Midnight is—”

Bang, bang, bang.

I looked skyward. Mr. Eakins sat astride the roof peak, a hammer in his hand and nails between his teeth. Bang, bang, bang. He brought the tool down again and again, striking a board that spanned a hole…just big enough for a cat to escape through. “Rain’s coming, mister,” he muttered to himself. “Better hurry or you’ll have your indoor plumbing yet.”

I bounded up the walkway and laid my paws on the large front window. “Midnight’s in trouble!” I said to the brothers. “You’ve got to help me!”

“We can’t,” Samuel said. “Our Robert found the hole and is sealing our route as we speak.”

Silas hung his head. “We are sorry, Cattarina.”

Bad luck, indeed. I left without goodbyes and ran to Mr. Beal’s home down the block to fetch George and Margaret. They, too, had been locked inside. They stood at the front window, their faces forlorn. “It’s the rain, Cattarina. Our Thaddeus wants to keep us safe,” Margaret said. She sneezed. “And warm. I am sicker with this weather.”

“There’ll be no talking him out of it,” George said. “It’s up to you to save Midnight.”

His words choked me, and I experienced—if but partially—the anguish Snip must have felt as the noose tightened around his neck.

***

As I entered the Arnold’s neighborhood, the magnificent ball of yarn disappeared from the sky, ushering in the night. We cats operated best in the dark, so I prayed this would be to my advantage. My heart pounded, more from my mental state than my physical, as I dashed past rows of houses. If anything had happened to Midnight while I’d gone for help, Mr. Arnold would pay with his life, if not tonight, at some point in the future. I reached the familiar front gate and skidded to a stop near the post.

Great Cat Above! Would this night of horrors never cease?

Mr. Fitzgerald stood at the couple’s door with Mrs. Arnold’s hand axe—the object of their continued bickering. He knocked with the back of the metal head and waited, his tall, gaunt frame mirroring the gables on either side of the eaves. The wind blew again, lifting his thin hair. I did not move for fear of drawing attention to myself.

Mrs. Arnold answered, her hair tangled and about her shoulders, the skin under her eye swollen. The fight between her and her husband had raged on in my absence. “Mr. Fitzgerald?” she said. She wiped her face and straightened her dress.

“Good evening, Mrs. Arnold.” He raised the axe and spoke in monotone. “I think we should bury the hatchet once and for all.”

In her fear, she committed the unthinkable. She opened the door and let him into her home. As the door closed behind them, sealing Midnight inside, I thought of our salvation: Eddy.

***

Sissy’s protestations echoed down Minerva. “How could you?” she wailed from inside the house. “How could you go back on your word?” Her voice carried far enough to give Mr. Cook something to gossip about tomorrow. Raindrops pelted my fur, urging me up the walkway and into our home through the open kitchen window. I located husband and wife in the parlor. Eddy lay on the settee, his suit coat turned inside out, his hair brushed onto his forehead. Sissy stood in the center of the rug, arms crossed.

“You promised you would stop, Edgar,” Sissy said. “Promised.” She stamped her foot.

I slunk into the room and sat on the hearth, pondering this new turn of events. If Eddy had taken ill, I couldn’t engage his help. The front door opened and closed, and Muddy entered the parlor still wearing her straw bonnet, the one with faux cherries. Much too gay a hat to be paired with her somber black dress, it nonetheless suited her. She’d always been a woman at odds with herself. “The storm is coming, Virginia. We’d better latch the shutters and—” She spied Eddy on the settee. “What’s this?”

“It’s what it looks like, Mother,” Sissy snapped.

The old woman approached her son-in-law, laying a hand on his forehead. “Don’t be too hard on him, dear. You can’t expect him to shed his condition in a single month. Not without help.”

Sissy sighed. “I suppose all the money from ‘The Gold Bug’ is gone.”

“I saved a little back. We are not destitute.”

Sissy knelt and shook Eddy’s shoulder to no effect. “Husband! Wake up!” she cried.

I would not be so delicate. I trotted past Sissy and jumped on my companion’s chest. He did not stir. At this very moment, Mr. Arnold or Mr. Fitzgerald could be turning Midnight to mincemeat. With great vigor, I sharpened my claws on Eddy’s shirtfront, catching, I hoped, a bit of skin in the process. He giggled. Curses.

“There is no waking him, Cattarina,” Sissy said to me. “He is beyond help.” She offered her mother a weak smile. “How is Mrs. West? Still complaining about President Tyler?”

“His Accidency? Yes, ad infinitum.” She removed her bonnet and laid it on the mantle. “Let’s get him ready for sleep,” she said.

I slunk to the hearth to think while Sissy and Muddy removed Eddy’s jacket and shoes. Midnight needed a human’s help, but that human would not be Eddy. Sissy had proved handy during the Glass Eye Killer affair, and she might again, I reasoned. As I watched the dear girl drape Eddy with a crocheted blanket, I settled on a new plan. Once Muddy went to bed, I would lure Sissy outside and to the Arnold home where she would intervene on my behalf. Midnight could stay here for one night and return to Rittenhouse in the morning. I got my wish when the old woman announced, “It’s bedtime, Virginia.”

“I’ll be along, Mother,” she said. She knelt by Eddy and smoothed his hair from his face. “I need another minute.”

“As you wish,” Muddy said. “Turn off the lamp before you come up. And check it twice. That Arnold fire still has me spooked.”

Once Muddy left, Sissy whispered to Eddy, “Edgar, can you hear me? You tried. I know you did. Tomorrow will be better, won’t it, my dear? We will make do.” She pulled the covers around his chin then coughed into her hand. “I love you, husband. Good night.” She kissed him on the forehead and rose to light a candle, still coughing all the while. When she extinguished the lamp, I started for her, winding around her skirt to drive her to the door.

“Cattarina? What do you need?” She knelt beside me and held the candle near. Her cheeks burned brightly in the golden flicker.

Keeping my tail high, I trotted into the hallway.

“Do you want out?” She followed me to the door.

Near the threshold, I curved the end of my tail, calling her forward like a fish to a hook. We did not communicate with our upper minds as Eddy and I did. That required a deep bond, deeper even than the one Sissy and I shared. Yet her tail reading showed promise.

“Oh, you clever girl,” she said. “You want me to follow you. Is there trouble like last time? Mother won’t miss me if I’m back in a blink, and why should Eddy be the only one behaving irresponsibly? Two can play at that.” She took her wrap from the coat hook and opened the door. Rain blew into the entryway, pricking my face. Sissy coughed. “Ready when you are, Constable Claw. Lead the way.”

I thought of Midnight beneath the axe. Then I thought of Margaret and her sneeze and how the wet weather made it worse. No matter how much peril Midnight faced, I couldn’t send Sissy to an early grave. She would expire in this gale and leave Eddy even more anguished than before. I scampered back into the hallway and waited for her to close the door. I wheezed with relief when she did.

“Change your mind?” she asked.

I sat at the foot of the stairs, indicating her next move. She took my advice, and we ascended to her chamber. So she wouldn’t wake Muddy, Sissy tiptoed about the room, preparing for bed. I curled at the foot of her mattress and waited for her to come and sleep, too. Then I would sneak out and do what I could to help Midnight.

All night thunder boomed and lightning cracked, keeping Sissy awake. Every time I tried to leave the bedchamber, she would sit forward, rub the center of her chest, and whisper, “Where are you going, Cattarina?” and “Is there trouble? Should I follow?” I doubted she would go out so late at night, but I could not take the chance. She’d done as much last fall when I least expected it, and after the argument with Eddy, her mental state appeared compromised. I tried to convince myself Midnight had hidden in the attic to escape Mr. Arnold and Mr. Fitzgerald, except I’d witnessed his loyalty to Mrs. Arnold. He would no more desert her than I Eddy. Or Sissy.

When thunder rattled the windowpanes, I wrapped my tail around my nose and prayed for morning. Keeping one friend alive meant dooming another.