The Black Cats

Strong Medicine

“DOCTOR LEABOURNE,” SISSY ASKED, “what do you think of Sassafras tea?”

In the days following the discovery of Mrs. Arnold’s body, Eddy invited Dr. Leabourne to Poe House. The physician visited often, and though he could not cure Sissy, his presence always seemed to give the family hope—in my estimation, the strongest medicine. Late this afternoon, he and I sat on the edge of Sissy’s bed, examining our patient, who reclined against her pillows.

“Sassafras tea?” he asked. Robust of frame and nature, Dr. Leabourne was the catch of the litter. I had never seen a more angular jaw, a fuller head of wheat-colored hair. But he was no Eddy. “Do you mean taken as a tonic?” He took her wrist and placed his fingers over her veins. I did not know what covering them would do but noted it anyway.

“Yes, do you have any faith in it? I thought it might help my ailment.”

“Sassafras is a blood tonic.” He released her wrist and felt her forehead, a more familiar procedure. “It will do nothing for consumption, I’m afraid.” He withdrew his touch and reached for his black bag. “If you like the taste, you may have it as a refresher. But I caution you. It has poisonous effects.”

Sissy sat forward. “Poisonous? How so?”

“It’s very damaging to the organs, especially if they’re weak to start. If taken for too long a period, it causes sweating, nausea, even hallucination.”

“Can it kill a person?”

Dr. Leabourne snapped his bag closed. “In large doses? Most certainly.” He rose from the bed. “You are as well as can be expected, considering the fright you had. Get plenty of good food, plenty of fresh air, and stay—”

“I know, stay home and rest.” She flopped back against the pillows. “That may comfort the body, but it positively shrivels the mind.”

“Feel better, Mrs. Poe. Feel better.” Then he left, as he usually did, to speak Muddy and Eddy in the parlor and give them his diagnosis. In truth, I had already made my assessment. But I much preferred the doctor’s optimism.

Sissy pulled me onto her lap. “Cattarina? Did you hear the doctor? He said sassafras causes hallucinations. Even death.”

Death. Her glee did not match the topic. Perhaps the doctor had left too soon.

“Do you know what this means? Tabitha Arnold didn’t want to fell the sassafras tree. She wanted its bark for tea. Don’t you see?” She held me up and looked into my eyes. “Mrs. Arnold wanted to kill Mr. Arnold, and who could blame her? The debt, the drinking, the violence. Liquor had already weakened his liver, and the sassafras doomed it.” Her eyes twinkled. “This must have caused the delusions that led to his murderous actions, not the trips to the tavern. Oh, I am so astute!” She hugged me tight. “We make a grand team, don’t we, girl?”

When I wiggled, she released me and left the bed to tidy her hair in the mirror over the dresser. “I give this secret to you and you alone, Cattarina. We must never, ever tell Eddy that any means other than the bottle moved Mr. Arnold to violence.” She slid another pin into her bun. “I have my reasons. And besides, it won’t make a bit of difference to Mr. Arnold since he will live out the remainder of his days in an asylum. And I do mean days.” She finished by giving the back of her head a partial look in the glass.

We arrived downstairs to find Dr. Leabourne at the door. Eddy tried to press a few coins into his hand, but the good doctor refused and took a handshake instead. Once we were alone, Muddy revived us with a suggestion. “Who would like an early supper? If you don’t expect fixins, you can have it now.”

Supper? Yes, I would take piece of chicken skin, dear Muddy. I’d already smelled it from upstairs.

“For once, I have an appetite,” Sissy said. “Let’s eat.”

“That is no wonder,” Eddy said, guiding his wife by the small of her back. “Dr. Leabourne says you are in good health.” He ushered her into the kitchen, along with the rest of us, and sat her at the table. “And to celebrate, I’d like to present my story, ‘The Black Cat.’”

“You finished it?” Sissy asked.

“I will leave that to your conclusion, wife.” He produced a scroll from inside his coat. “You broke my heart after the first draft. See if this one is to your liking.” He handed the curled page to her.

The story had taken but an instant to finish after the horror in the Arnolds’ cellar. That very night, once Sissy and Muddy had been put to bed, he and I worked at shaping the letters, staying up until dawn to finish them. My crime solving had yet again inspired him to write. As his muse, this thrilled me since I had begun to feel my importance slipping as of late, at least with regard to his work. The document stayed on his desk another day while he considered it. I likened it to a pie on a windowsill. He must have thought it cool enough to bring down this morning.

Muddy stoked the cook stove with a piece of kindling. “Read the story aloud, Virginia.”

Once Eddy took his seat, Sissy unrolled the paper, her fingers shaking, and recited his words: “‘One night as I sat, half stupefied, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat—a very large one—fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast.’”

Muddy floured and fried the chicken while her daughter read, nodding at parts of the story. When the old woman turned her back, Eddy took down a tin of jerky from the pantry and fed me a piece. And then another. I came back again, but he waved me away. So I settled next to his feet and contented myself with the sound of Sissy’s voice. I realized now that Eddy could not live without either one of us. To thrive, a writer must have a muse to bring the story and an audience to appreciate it. Sissy and I were not exactly a team. But to quote Ariscatle, “Our whole was greater than the sum of our parts.” Constable Harkness would have to agree. We’d helped him, too.

“Oh, Eddy,” Sissy said at the end, “this is a marvelous eulogy.” She handed the scroll back to him, and he replaced it in his jacket.

“So you like it?” Eddy asked.

“How could I not?” she said.

“I liked it, too,” Muddy said. “Even if it parts from the truth here and there.”

“Some of the circumstances have been changed to protect the innocent,” he said. He reached down and patted the top of my head.

“Mother? Can you give us a minute?” Sissy asked. “I need to talk to Eddy, alone.”

“Watch the stove,” Muddy said before leaving. “I don’t want it to get too hot.”

After a quiet period, Sissy spoke. “Your writing had more depth than usual.”

“It did?” Eddy’s shoes shifted beneath the table. The elation in his voice heartened me. “I simply paid the black cat the kindness he deserved—”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Mother may not have heard it between the lines, but I did. How the main character’s drunkenness led to the ruination of his sanity? And took away his wife?”

Eddy did not answer.

“I will always be with you, Edgar, in life and in death. Do not fear. But our kingdom by the sea needs a strong ruler. Will you try again? For me?”

“Yes, Virginia, of course.”

A light scratch at the kitchen door stirred me. I hopped on the sideboard and peeked through the window. Midnight sat at the backdoor, waiting for it to open. I looked to Eddy and Sissy, still in the midst of their talk. Though from her smile, it had turned to lighter subjects.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks, Sissy, but we’ve been so busy,” Eddy said. “I heard from William again about the collection. The Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe will soon be for sale. I am the luckiest man alive!”

When they embraced, I jumped down to visit with my pal, causing the tom to leap with fright. “I only meant to startle you, not set your heart afire,” I said to him.

“It’s just been a few days since my Tabitha’s death, and my nerves are still mending,” he said. He stared back at me with both eyes. “My infection is mending, too. Mr. Eakins applies a cream every morning and every evening. But I can open the lid now.”

“Cats are his business, you know.” I sat near the nail head that once vexed Eddy. Muddy had knocked it flat with a rock and a curse in recent days. “Do you mean to stay with the old man?”

“That’s one of the reasons for my visit.”

“We are the others!” Silas said, skirting the corner with his brother. His fur shook as he trotted. “Greetings, Cattarina! We found a new escape hole in the cellar!”

“You are looking well,” Samuel said to me.

“I am resplendent with victory,” I said. “I trust you heard our haunt was successful?”

“All of Spring Garden has heard!” Silas said.

“Join us?” Midnight asked.

Eddy and Sissy would not miss me if I returned by moonrise. I followed the toms to the now-familiar courtyard on Franklin. Near the base of the sassafras tree, George and Margaret waited next to a coiled snake of sausage links. “Hello, Cattarina!” they said in unison.

“How marvelous!” I said. “Where did the meat come from?”

“You may be the Huntress of Spring Garden,” Midnight said, “but I am the Thief of Rittenhouse.”

And so he was. He would steal part of my heart this night, the part I considered feral and free and utterly feline, and he would never return it. We tore apart the links and ate them by the tree that started it all, honoring Snip with our camaraderie. Mr. Fitzgerald’s shop was closed this time of day, and Mr. Arnold’s shop stood vacant and boarded. Aside from the lamplighter working his way along Franklin, we had our privacy.

When we’d finished our repast, my pals offered their goodbyes, along with assurances of future meetings. While our friendship had just begun, I could not say the same of Midnight. He and I stayed behind, nestled among the roots of the tree. “Thank you for the gift,” I said to him.

“The sausage? It was nothing.”

“No, the gift of memory. I love this tree, and I will be glad to think of pleasanter things when I pass it. There are so few scaling trees left in this part of Philadelphia. It’s all in the bark, you know. If it’s too smooth—”

“Cattarina, I’m leaving.”

Twilight settled into the courtyard, blending with the tree’s shadow until they became one. “Yes, I know,” I said at last. “When Sissy took you to Mr. Eakins’s house, I predicted the outcome. Will you be very far away?”

“I will be with a family on a wagon. From the way it’s packed, I think they mean to travel a great distance. They need a mouser for the journey, you see. I put that much together. Though I still don’t know what a Missouri is.”

“Mizzzzouri. The word that tickles my tongue,” I said. “Are you pleased with your family?”

He stood and arched his back, giving it a stretch, then walked into the open. “Very pleased. My new companions are a young man about Sissy’s age and his wife—Ben and Aggie.”

“Any children?” I followed him and brushed along his side.

“No. But I expect that will change. By then, I will be king mouser and will have earned a good place in their home.” His pupils grew very large. “Think of it, Cattarina, I will have a job. A purpose.”

“All cats should be so fortunate,” I said.

“Come with me?” When I did not answer, he licked my cheek. “Then I’ll visit you one day.”

“Or I will find you.”

We were both terrible liars.

Once he left, I climbed the tree and watched the black cat, my black cat, vanish between the darkened buildings of Green Street. I would miss him, but I could not leave Eddy, for my companion held the other part of my heart, the part that was constant and pure and completely devoted. From here, Poe House was no bigger than Sissy’s red trinket box, so fragile and small. Oh, how I longed to protect that little dwelling and keep its occupants safe and merry, if not for all time, then for as long as possible.

And I did until fall, the season of the raven.