Bastion

A Story by Mari' Emeraude

An elderly, disabled, woman is terrorized by an evil cat! *The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Chapter 1

Sam switched his music to a soothing, rich, Celtic playlist to help calm Bastion. The cat cried relentlessly from his cat carrier as his slender claws raked against the metal screen in agitation.

“It’s okay buddy, we’re almost there.”

Sam was a missionary bound for a month-long tour to Tonga. He had met Mrs. Turnberry at church where they struck up a conversation about their love for cats. She agreed to care for Bastion until Sam returned from his mission.

Bastion, a two-year-old, hairless, Sphynx had become part of Sam’s family when he visited a new shelter near his home. He watched as countless people stopped and stared. Some laughed, others remarked on the unique, almost human-like facial expressions of the animal. Day after day they filed past his sparse cage, but only to look, not to adopt.

Sam took pity on the animal, who, according to the no-kill shelter notated that Bastion was a bit “mischievous, stubborn, and difficult.” (With a track record like that, it was no wonder the cat didn’t appeal to the masses) but Sam had a way with animals and was convinced he could turn this homely sourpuss into the beautiful, exquisite, creature it was meant to be.

Chapter 2

“Knock knock,” Sam called through the screen door. Mrs. Turnberry hobbled slowly across the room. “Ima comin,’” she panted, slightly out of breath. She moved her oxygen tubing aside to prevent tripping.

“Well, hello there, Bastion. My, isn’t he stunning.”

Mrow, Bastion remarked from his enclosure.

Sam sat down and opened the door to the carrier. “He’s a bit shy so it may take a while for him to warm up to you.” Bastion stepped out of the cage, wary of his surroundings. He sniffed the carpet and furniture, his eyes darting back and forth.

“Hi kitty,” Mrs. Turnberry cooed. She bent down to give the cat a brief pat on the head. Hissss! Gr-r-r-, the cat growled, furrowing his naked brow. “Bastion, be nice now,” Sam remarked, slightly embarrassed.

The two chatted while Bastion explored the rest of the house. Sam explained that the cat was very self-sufficient, eating and drinking from the automatic bowls he had brought. “They hold quite a bit so you won’t even need to bother filling them but maybe once a week. He is trained to use the bathroom outside, so he’ll go to the door when he wants out.”

Mrs. Turnberry showed Sam the doggy door that her dog, Herman, used before he died. “Oh yes, that will work fine,” Sam said. “I’m sure he’ll give you no trouble.”

Chapter 3

Mrs. Turnberry lived a solitary life. She was widowed and had never had children. Her only friends were the small group at the church she attended whenever she could. In addition to her rheumatoid arthritis and failing vision, she had a tiresome lung disease that limited her movements. She was also nearly deaf in both ears, despite her powerful hearing aids. She mostly spent time in her bed, watching television and playing games of solitaire.

The elderly woman had a love for animals herself but found it more difficult to care for them as she got older and sicker. She vowed not to get another pet after Herman, her beloved cocker spaniel of fourteen years, died unexpectedly.

As Sam got up to leave, he spied Bastion snooping around Mrs. Turnberry’s bedroom. “Bastion, come and say bye to me.”

Mrow, Bastion moaned, walking slowly toward him. Sam picked him up and cuddled him - something the cat did not enjoy, evident by his resistance and stiff legs pressed hard against Sam’s chest. Sam put the cat down and walked to the door. “I’ll try and call to check up on him and see how everything is going. It depends on how good my phone service is, I guess,” he laughed.

Sam said goodbye to Mrs. Turnberry and walked to his car. The old lady shut her front door. “Well, it looks like it’s just you and me, Bastion,” she said in a child-like voice. Bastion let out a low growl and jumped up on her bed.

Chapter 4

“Whoa there, you’re in my spot,” she said, giving Bastion a slight nudge. Hissss. The cat batted the old woman’s hand away.

“Ouch!” she said, pulling her withered, bony, hand back. “You scratched me!” She looked at the cat with a newfound fear as he closed his eyes and nestled into her pillow for a nap.

Mrs. Turnberry sat in her recliner and contemplated her next move. She thought it quite absurd that she should have to ‘cower’ to this domesticated animal. She needed to show him who was boss right from the start.

“Get down!” She said sternly, pointing to the floor. Bastion perked his ears up and glared at her with his piercing, emerald, eyes. He yawned and stretched his svelte, muscled body, clawing at her pillow with his outstretched paws.

“Bastion! I said get down!”

Tired of being ignored, the woman reached for her cane and nudged the cat, hard. “GO!” she yelled again. Finally, the cat jumped to the floor and sauntered over to his food bowl, ignoring her anger.

As the evening drew to a close, Mrs. Turnberry filled the cat’s water and food bowls. She climbed into her bed as Bastion watched her every move from his perch on top of the recliner.

“Goodnight, you grouchy cat,” the old lady mumbled.

Chapter 5

The next morning, Mrs. Turnberry awoke to find Bastion on her counter. “Uh, uh, get down from there,” she motioned to the cat. She could barely see his blurry form without her thick glasses.

As she went to put her hearing aids in, they weren’t on her table where she’d laid them the night before. She began to search the floor, rug, bed, and anywhere else they may have landed. Her memory was failing her as she often took off her glasses, hearing aids - and even teeth, only to forget where she’d placed them. This time, she was certain she had put her hearing aids on her nightstand.

The day started off in a battle of wills between Bastion, the wicked, temperamental, creature and his decrepit caretaker. All day long, Mrs. Turnberry had to get on the cat for climbing on the counters, scratching up her chair, or trying to claw the screen door.

As the woman fumbled her way through the house searching for her glasses, she stopped and sat in her recliner to catch her breath. She wondered if it was too late to call Sam and tell him to come back and pick up the animal. He wasn’t due to fly out until the next day.

Throughout the afternoon, the woman tried to befriend the cat, offering him little tidbits and morsels of roast and other foods.

As she sat having her coffee, she began to talk to Bastion….

“You’re quite ugly, ya know that. Yes. You’re a very ugly specimen, but I’ll bet you can be sweet when ya want to be, can’t ya.”

Chapter 6

Mrow, Bastion replied, his eyes half closed in disinterest. Mrs. Turnberry got up to wash her dishes off and began to clean the kitchen when Bastion jumped on top of the cabinets above the sink.

“C’mon, get down from there, you’re going to knock everything off.”

Mrs. Turnberry flipped the switch on the garbage disposal which startled the cat. Bastion leapt from the top of the cabinets onto the counter, knocking items all over the room. Gar-ara-rar, the disposal jolted and churned with a metallic grind before jamming. “Oh no, what was that?” the old woman mumbled. She shut off the disposal and placed her hand in the hole, pulling out her mangled glasses. “Oh no, NOW look what you’ve done, you stupid cat!”

She sat back down in her recliner, trying to untwist the mangled wire frames of her spectacles. The lenses had remained intact but were severely scratched. She sighed as she realized she didn’t even have a spare pair to get her through until she could get them replaced.

Slowly, her ability to care for herself was disappearing as she was now deaf, near blind, and barely able to walk. She lay her head back against the recliner in defeat as Bastion defiantly reclaimed his place on the bed.

Chapter 7

One night, Mrs. Turnberry awoke to sudden and difficult breathing. She turned up her oxygen and listened as a faint hissing sound emerged from her apparatus. She could hardly hear it in her near-deaf state as she moved her head closer to the tank. She reached over and turned on her table lamp. As she began to inspect her oxygen mask, she looked down to find Bastion chewing on the slender, rubber, tubing.

“No!” she yelled through labored breaths, tugging on the long line. Bastion held on as his long, sleek, claws dug into the rubber strand. She reached for her cane and smacked him hard on the head. The cat released and ran under the chair. He sat crouched, growling in a deep, guttural tone.

Mrs. Turnberry was able to fix most of the holes with some small band aids. She tucked the damaged tubing under her mattress. “Leave it alone now!” she scolded the cat.

Bastion continued to glare at her, his jet-black pupils now fully dilated. He continued to stare her down as every exhalation of his breath ended in a frightening growl.

The old lady was afraid to close her eyes for fear of him attacking her; occasionally being jolted awake by the thought of this demon-like creature who continued his taunts from under the chair.

She thought about closing herself up in the spare room but couldn’t drag her heavy oxygen equipment back with her.

She lay on her bed in the living room, clinging to her cane - and was slowly able to drift back to sleep.

Chapter 8

It had only been a week since Sam had left Bastion with Mrs. Turnberry. The time seemed to drag as she made no strides in getting the evil monster to mind her.

One morning, she sat in her recliner trying to peer as far under the bed as she could for her missing hearing aids. Suddenly, she spied the heating vent next to the table. Perhaps the cat had batted the aids into the heat duct.

She hobbled over and removed the grate. Bending down, she felt around with her long, bony fingers. “Aha,” she called, retrieving one of the aids from the duct. She continued to feel around but couldn’t find the other one. “You must have knocked it further down the shoot, you nasty thing,” she said, pointing to Bastion. All at once, the cat hissed and swiped at her.

“Don’t you swipe at me!” She went to reach for her cane when the cat assumed a pouncing position. Mrow, he called, his long tail swishing back and forth. Grrrrr. Bastion growled again as his deep green eyes turned to black balls of fury. He sprang forward, latching onto Mrs. Turnberry’s ankle with his claws. His ears lay back as he bit down, hard.

“Stop it!” she cried, attempting to hit the cat with her cane. He scratched and bit her, retreating momentarily, only to resume his attack. Smack! The wooden cane came down across his back and he scurried out of sight.

"That's it," she said. "You're goin' outside."

Chapter 9

Mrs. Turnberry walked slowly down the hall, listening for any sign of the vicious cat. Her heart pounded in anticipation of his next assault. She grasped the cane as she peered into each room, barely able to see a foot in front of her. When she got to her spare bedroom, Bastion sprang from the top of the dresser, attacking her as she entered the room. He bit her face and ears, even clawing at her head. His lean, muscled body rippled against the old woman’s feeble hands as she tried desperately to “peel” him off her. His back legs kicked with all his might, tearing into Mrs. Turnberry’s chest.

“Ahhh,” she screamed. She was able to break free of the cat, tossing him on the bed and slamming the bedroom door, trapping him inside.

She made her way back to her recliner, sitting down and holding her chest as she gasped for air. She took a tissue from the box on her end table and began to wipe the drops of blood from her body. Her ears and scalp were stinging, covered in bites and deep scratches.

That cat is not from this world, she thought to herself.

She entertained the thought of calling animal control to come and remove Bastion from her house. Maybe Sam could retrieve him from them once he returned. In the meantime, she would coax him outside and board up the doggy door. He would just have to live on the porch until somebody came to her rescue.

Chapter 10

.

Mrs. Turnberry moved Bastion’s food and water containers out to the porch. She placed a large blanket on the porch swing, forming it into a comfortable nest.

She returned to her spare bedroom and cracked the door open slightly, peering into the room. She couldn’t see Bastion. She left the door cracked and went to her bed in the front room, covering herself fully with her blankets.

Soon, the cat emerged from under the bed in the spare room. He seemed to be calmer, but Mrs. Turnberry didn’t want to take any chances. She waited patiently for the cat to head for the doggy door. As soon as Bastion walked outside, Mrs. Turnberry grabbed a chair from the kitchen, turned it on its side, and blocked the opening. At last, she felt safe.

She was surprised Sam had not called yet to check on things, concluding that he must not have had the phone service he needed.

Soon she heard the cat crying at the window. Mrow, Bastion called, trying to see past the screen. He seemed to crouch down with every new noise that surrounded him. A barking dog, a car; even the leaves that fluttered around the sidewalk seemed to frighten him.

Mrs. Turnberry sat at her kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. She felt bad that the cat was afraid of the life outside, but he deserved it. He deserved to be frightened for a change.

Chapter 11

Nearly two weeks had passed since Sam dropped Bastion off. The cat was still crying at the window every day, wanting to come in. Mrs. Turnberry went about her day trying her best to ignore the wicked beast.
In the meantime, the old lady had become fatigued and feverish. One of the scratches on her face had swelled so much it closed her lid partially over her eye. She did her best to clean her wounds and apply antibiotic cream, but one of the scratches had become severely infected.
As the days went on, she began to feel worse. Mrs. Turnberry was a woman who defied any physician and his so-called “cures,” �" adamant that good, old-fashioned, herbal remedies were all that the body needed to heal itself. She would refuse hospital care, no matter how sick she felt. She was only on oxygen because she had fainted in a grocery store and the manager called an ambulance. After a brief stay at the county medical center, she was released with an oxygen tank for her COPD. She was angry that she had become somewhat dependent on the tank, stressing that had they left her alone, she could have healed herself using several tinctures of lobelia, mullein, lungwort, and other herbal concoctions.
One night, she lay in bed watching television when she heard a sound coming from the heat ducts. A sort of echo penetrated against the walls of the metal sheeting. She sat up and peered over her bed. Suddenly, Bastion’s head appeared through the open vent. She had forgotten to replace the grate after she found her hearing aid. He had somehow come in through the heating ducts that wound throughout the house from the furnace room. Mrs. Turnberry quickly hid her head under her covers, too afraid to let him see her.

Chapter 12

The cat settled on the recliner, grooming himself with his long, coarse, tongue. He licked his mouth as he scanned the room, looking for Mrs. Turnberry. She slowly pushed the blankets down and reached for her cane, careful not to make any sudden moves.

She tiptoed into the kitchen and grabbed a spray bottle full of window cleaner. She clicked the top to ‘stream,’ and dared the cat to come close to her. She had entertained the thought of calling the police, but assumed they would only laugh when she tried to explain that she was "in fear of her life" because of a 'cat.'

The next few days, Bastion kept to himself since Mrs. Turnberry was spending more time in her bed. She had become achy and had developed a high fever. Her scratches and bites had mostly healed with the exception of the one over her eye. Now, her vision was worse as the infection had spread to her optic nerve.

She got up to use the bathroom, cautiously slipping past the cat without making eye contact. She could sense him staring at her.

As she went over the different options in her head, her thoughts moved to a more sinister plan.

Perhaps she could poison him! She made her way to her back porch where an endless supply of laundry soaps, bathroom cleaners and car supplies sat on a shelf. Suddenly, she spied the antifreeze. She pulled the jug from the shelf and dumped it into his water bowl. Once again, she attempted to lure the cat outside, tempting him with a sardine. When Bastion refused to come out, she moved his food and water back into the house. If he tried attacking her again, she would spray him to throw him off guard - then beat him to death with her cane.

Chapter 13

It was the last week of Sam’s mission. He would soon be heading back to the states to pick up his dreadful animal and Mrs. Turnberry couldn’t wait.

One morning, the woman lay in her bed, barely able to move. Her lymph nodes had swelled on her left side and her whole body throbbed with infection. Determined to fight the pain, she got up and went into the bathroom. She was startled when she looked in the mirror to find a woman with dull, yellow, skin staring back at her. She gasped and moved closer, pulling her eyelid down to discover the whites of her eyes had turned yellow too. The wound over her left eye “oozed” with infection. She was now very ill.

She made her way to her kitchen to brew a cup of strong, herbal tea. She was determined to force the infection from her body via an ancient, natural, method. As she reached for a teacup, she noticed Bastion was nowhere to be found. She cautiously looked around as she reached for her spray bottle.

The house seemed eerily quiet. She peered outside, under the beds and chairs, but couldn’t find the animal anywhere.

That night, she became so ill, she began to hallucinate. She thought she saw Bastion flying around the room. She lay holding her cane up, ready to smack the cat if he came too close. Her strength began to wane as the herbal teas had made no difference in her condition.

Chapter 14

The next morning, Mrs. Turnberry awoke, now dreadfully ill. She was unable to lift her head from the pillow. She lay there, taking short, shallow breaths as she feared her end was near.

A knock on the door came later in the afternoon but was followed by silence. Sam knocked loudly, and opened the screen, slowly turning the front doorknob. “Knock, knock,” he called, popping his head in the door. He saw Mrs. Turnberry in her bed.

“Hello, Mrs. Turnberry?” You awake?”

When the old woman didn’t move, he quickly entered the house and discovered her horrible condition. She was yellow from head to toe and her head was swollen, to where only a slit of her eye could be visible underneath the rampant infection.

Sam quickly dialed 911. As he waited for the ambulance, he began to search for Bastion.

“Bastion. Bastion! He called over and over again, but there was no sign of the cat. As he walked around, he found the food and water dishes and couldn’t help but notice that the water had a light blue tinge to it. He opened the top and took a whiff. He smelled a faint sweetness. Puzzled, he proceeded to dump the water when he noticed the jug of antifreeze on the counter. When he peered into the jug, he found a beautiful, blue liquid.

Why would she poison my cat? Sam asked himself. Suddenly, he noticed two outstretched paws underneath a table near the back door. He ran over and scooted the table out, only to find Bastion, stiff as a board. His large, emerald, eyes staring blankly into space.

Chapter 15 (finis`)

Sam took Bastion’s body home and buried him in the backyard. He lay a makeshift tombstone on the grave with a brief epitaph which read,

Bastion. I had no idea how much love you could bring to my life. RIP my buddy, my friend

A few days later, the officer in charge of investigating Mrs. Turnberry’s death contacted him. They had received the coroner’s report and determined the woman had died from a rare case of cat scratch fever. She had not cleaned her wounds thoroughly enough and the scratch over her eye introduced the deadly bacteria into her body where it spread throughout her lymphatic system - eventually affecting her liver and kidneys.

“She was pretty torn up by that cat,” the officer told Sam. She had over twenty scratch and bite marks to her head and limbs.

Sam hung up the phone as a feeling of sorrow overtook him. If he hadn’t taken Bastion over to Mrs. Turnberry’s she would still be alive. He began to understand how the old lady had come to poison the cat �" perhaps out of fear for her own life.

He walked slowly through his yard to the back of the fence. There lay Bastion's grave, beneath a small headstone, encircled in tiny, red, flowers.

Sam bent down and took a sharp rock, scraping over the words on the headstone several times. When he was finished, he stood and read the revised phrase which simply stated

I had no idea.

~the end