A Halloween Story
Tara L. PipesA gray, bone-soaking drizzle fell on the marble headstones and weeping willows. Thirty cats and I watched the rivulets of water race in different directions down the newly packed mound of Georgia red clay. No one uttered a sound. We’d said all there was to say over the body of our friend, Azriel. The remembrance and celebration of his 18 year long life had left us all tired and feeling the blues. Tony, my grandson, placed a bunch of gold and burnt-orange marigolds at the head of the grave, and then turned away, leaving Azriel to rest in peace.
We were a sad assortment of creatures making our way back to the antebellum house that was our home. I led the way, followed by the felines, some young and without manners, some old and hunched over, like their mistress. Tony walked ahead and went into the house. I limped along, using a gnarled hickory cane as a third leg. October had proved itself a cold month, and my bones were telling me it would be a long and colder winter. A brisk, chilling gust blew across the ground, scaring up a smattering of early fallen dogwood leaves. As quickly as it came, the wind died down and all was calm again. I laughed and said, “That’s right. Time to go in. Come on boys and girls, let’s go get some hot tea.”
All of the cats followed me as far as the front porch, but only a handful used the cat door to follow me into the house. The rest, too wild and wary, even of me, preferred to stay outside where they could act like real cats, hunting mice and yowling at the moonlight. I went straight to the kitchen and grabbed the old aluminum kettle full of water. I placed it on the stove and turned on the gas. Humming a favorite tune, I gathered the ingredients for my tea, black currant, a touch of mint, and a well-used ceramic mug painted with laughing Halloween cats.
The five cats opting to live inside reposed in various positions around the kitchen. It was the perfect room for a cat. It was large, kept warm in the winter by a working fireplace built into one wall. Although I didn’t cook in the fire anymore, Tony always had wood delivered so he could have fires every cold day of the year. The other three walls, painted a pale yellow, were mostly covered by copper pots, paintings, bunches of dried herbs and flowers, ceramic moulds, or whatever else had caught my fancy over the years. There were several large wooden shelves against the walls filled with books of all kinds. Chairs were scattered throughout the room, most thrown with old quilts or crocheted blankets.
It was on several of these chairs, on top of one of the bookcases and on the rug in front of the fireplace that the cats had placed themselves. Gargomel, Azriel’s half-brother, slept on the rug. Snatch VI, I always loved that name for a cat, slept on the big overstuffed chair in front of the fire, Puss Puss licked her paws while sitting on the cane-backed chair in the farthest corner of the room. Her long fur prevented her from staying too close to the heat of the flames. Darling stretched out on the love-seat, exposing her white underbelly and begged for some scratching. But, it was to Merlin, who sat on top of the bookshelf watching my every move, that I spoke.
“Tony just doesn’t seem the same does he old boy?”
The black cat grunted through his half-opened mouth and repositioned his front paws.
“I don’t know how to help him now. It’s hard to lose the one’s you love. I know that better than most. I guess it’s harder when you’re young. I can’t remember.”
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them halfway. He rocked back on his haunches and raised a fish-breathed yawn to the ceiling, exposing yellow fangs.
“Sorry to bore you old man. He’s beyond your help too.”
I shrugged and eased into a ladder-back chair at the round, oak dining table. Chin in hand, I waited for the water to boil.
Five minutes later, I bolted upright as the whistle sounded. I looked to the stove where steam poured out of the spout of the kettle. I started to push myself up when I heard Tony stomping down the hallway. He burst into the room and stopped short, surprise registering on his face when he caught site of the kettle bobbling on the bright-red burner. He whirled around as if confused and I saw his red-rimmed eyes. Moving faster than I had in years, I moved to his side.
“Son, I wish I knew how to help you.”
Instead of welcoming my touch, Tony shivered and stepped to the stove. He grabbed a pot holder and moved the tea kettle to a rubber-backed trivet. He turned the knob to OFF, then stood, bracing himself against the counter, shoulders shaking. Angry at him and myself, I turned away. Heaving a sigh, he pushed back from the stove and strode past me into the night, grabbing a coat from the rack by the door. Curious, I followed.
Tony retraced his earlier steps, but didn’t stop at the pet cemetery. I passed the freshly turned dirt and sodden flowers marking Azriel’s grave and went to him. He’d made his way to the older section of the cemetery where my mother and father and theirs were buried. Tony’s mother and father would not be found here, now or ever. They both abandoned him as an infant and I was the only parent he had known.The grave he knelt before was also covered with muddy, grassless clay and wilted flowers. The headstone was simple, all he could afford. He stared at the lifeless stone and I read the inscription over his shoulder, “Lila Mae Chandler b.Oct. 20, 1902 d. Oct. 21, 2002 Mother’s gone home”. I shook my head and placed a hand on his back. His head jerked around, eyes searching the darkness.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Merlin sitting on top of a small grass-covered mound by the front gate. He yawned and stretched, arching his back to the sky, then with a nod in my direction, he melted into the black night. I stared a few seconds more at the simple wooden cross marking the grave. One word was scratched across the marker, “Merlin”.
Tony had turned back to the headstone and was busy picking away the dead heads of the flowers and tossing them to the side. I couldn’t do any more here. As I prepared to go, I touched him once more and whispered, “I am home son. We’re all home.”
I felt a brush of soft fur against my leg and looked down and smiled. “I see you’ve cleaned yourself up a bit.” Azriel answered by arching his back and rubbing past me again, purring loudly.
The wind kicked up and blew the dead flowers to the far corner of the cemetery. Tony shivered, hugged himself and turned to walk back to the house, alone.