The Cry of the Cat

“Annie?” The soft voice hovered in the air like a rose perfume, as I analyzed the chipping paint upon the wall. “Annie, look at me.”

I shifted my gaze to the doe-eyed woman. Her brows slanted upwards, and her eyes stared wide and concerned.  

“Why did you do it?” Periwinkle bellflowers stamped the white fabric of her blouse. The pattern contrasted the pale-yellow wall behind her. The cinderblock had been slathered in paint. It was an effort to evoke an inviting atmosphere; but it was just a façade. The stone grey peaked through the chips, revealing the many layers before- all faded and cracked. They were different, yet the same.

“Because I wanted to.” The creases in her brows deepened. It was like dragging a stick through the mud and watching the soil displace.

She laid her hands upon the table, interlocking her fingers. There appeared to be some blood beneath her nails. It looked fresh. Had she gotten injured, or was it from the cat?

The cat. Would it still be a cat? Is there another word for something after it has been mangled? It didn’t look like a cat after I lifted the rock. I didn’t know there was gelatin in eyes- and the bones popped through the skin like the skeleton of a tent.

I could feel it again- the grinding sensation of the bones against the rock in my hands. It was the sound of a beetle crunching between your shoe and the sidewalk. And the noise it made when it was being crushed- an urgent scream, which seemed to gain additional frequencies as the pressure increased- like multiple cats were screaming at once. It was like the scream from a human.  

It’s the same sound I made when Charles put his weight on me. And I was four again. He was melting steel in his homemade kiln. I’d never seen it, before. The fire burned white, like the sun.

“What are you doing down here?” His voice rumbled like a bear, as he stumbled forward. Course, dark hair covered his arms and chest. He was a grizzly. Suddenly, his aggression seemed to fall into something else- something I’d never seen before.

“Come here,” he demanded in a soft growl. “I want to show you something.” The temperature increased as I neared the kiln, and he removed the lid from the crucible.

“That’s close enough.” Charles put his hand upon my shoulder to hold me back. A molten stream dribbled onto some cardboard, which instantly combusted. A terrible crackle devoured the matter in seconds.

“I could do that to you, if I wanted.” His hand slid from my shoulder and down to my chest. His breath became heavy, as he pressed me against his pelvis. I remember how his fingers dug into my ribs when I tried to pull away.

“You better be good.” As I continued to squirm, his grizzly tone and aggression returned. And he jerked my arm towards the now orange pool of metal.

“Do you want me to put your arm in there?” My shoulder popped as I attempted to rip my arm from his grasp. Hollow cries and screams echoed back to me from the concrete walls.

“Then you better do as I say! Hush, now!” So, I did.

His sweaty, brown-stained undershirt pressed against my face; it smelled of onions and soot. And his sweat dripped onto my nose. Aching ribs compressed my lungs beneath his weight. You don’t think any more air can escape your lungs, but it does. You don’t think you can go another moment without oxygen, but you can. That uncontrollable cry from the life being pressed out of you- like many cries combined in one voice.

That was the cry of the cat. But I didn’t cry- not this time.

“Annie” I was back in the room with the woman, and the flowers on her shirt smiled back at me. “Why did you want to?”

“I wanted to know what it felt like.”