Cleo

Crying out, I stemmed the river of blood with a paper towel. When Steve saw my injury he was unimpressed: Cleo was doing a good job fulfilling his prejudices against kittens.

When we sat down to the meal the furrow between Steve’s eyebrows deepened as Cleo demonstrated how unwilling she was to understand the words “Don’t jump on the table.” She attacked all three of our plates, not to mention the place mats, salt and pepper shakers and cutlery.

Heat pulsed up the back of my neck. My thumb throbbed. The effort of selling a kitten to a reluctant husband was taking its toll. I grabbed her and shut her firmly in the laundry.

“She hates it in there,” Rob whined.

“She can’t ruin our lives!” I shouted to drown out the yowls from behind the laundry door. Something about her jagged cries tipped me over a precipice. It wasn’t just the kitten, the thumb and the husband. The inquest was the next morning. Steve would come face-to-face with that woman. Policemen would prove her guilt. She would go to jail. I would finally have to accept Sam was dead.

Cleo’s yelps intensified. My body started shaking. Breaths came in shallow gasps. “I can’t stand it anymore! She’ll just have to go back to Lena!”

Rob stared into his risotto and swallowed back tears. “You’re. So. Mean.”

Scraping back my chair, I reeled to my feet and ran to the bedroom. Sobbing loudly into the pillow, I knew Rob was right. I was mean. And out of control. A bad mother, hopeless wife, a failed human being in general. I longed for sleep to drop its blanket over me.

Instead, a boy’s hand touched my shoulder. “She loves you, Mummy,” he whispered. “Listen…”

A bulk of fur nestled into my neck. The rhythmical growl of her purr roared in my ear. It was the deep primeval sound of waves rolling in on the black sand beaches of my childhood, the noise a baby hears when it’s in the womb. Wise and eternal, it could be the earth’s lullaby or the voice of God.

A cat’s purr is said to have a profound effect on the human body. Tests have proved purring reduces people’s stress, lowers blood pressure and helps mend muscles and bones. The healing powers of cats are increasingly acknowledged by the many hospitals and nursing homes that employ resident cat doctors. Regular doses of purring have the potential to repair heart tissue as well. Listening to her throaty melody, my chest filled with liquid honey.

Cleo nudged her head under my chin, stared at me with maternal concern and to my amazement planted her damp nose on my cheek. It was an unmistakable kitten kiss. Nestling into my neck, she stretched a delicate front leg across my face. I took the paw between my fingers, caressed it and watched the claws gently open and close. No threat of attack this time. The pads of her foot were softer than my fingertips, and sensitive enough to feel the earth’s subtle tremors (or so I’d heard). As we lay “holding hands,” our souls reached across the divide of species and shared a connection beyond words.

I awoke several hours later with Cleo wedged between the sheets, her head resting on the pillow beside me. She felt entitled to be there. Her motionless form, the peaks of her ears against the white cotton, the restful comfort of her breathing made me wonder if we hadn’t slept that way, human and feline, side by side, since Earth’s first dawn.

Goddess

A cat is a priestess in a fur coat.

“You do like Cleo, don’t you?” Rob asked over breakfast next morning.

I opened the kitchen window. Another seagull screeched across the agate-blue harbor. The half-eaten curtain cord swayed in the breeze. Steve had already put on his tie and left for the magistrate’s court.

“Yes,” I sighed.

“Good, because she likes you.”

“Of course she does,” I said, smiling weakly.

“No, Mummy. She really does!” he said. “She told me last night.”

“That’s nice, dear,” I said. “Finish your toast.”

“She told me other stuff, too.”

Rob was a sensitive boy. He’d suffered more trauma than any young child should endure. We hadn’t discussed the inquest with him, but he’d probably picked up on the vibes. Now he was dreaming up ideas of the kitten talking to him.

“She said she comes from a long line of cat healers,” he continued.

The poor kid’s imagination was off its leash.

“You mean in a dream?” I asked, fearing for his grip on reality.

“It didn’t feel like a dream. She said she’s going to help me find friends.”

There’d always been a psychic streak in the family, but talking to a kitten was too much. If word got out at school that he was having conversations with his kitten he’d be a target for bullies and all sorts of misery.

“I’m sure she is,” I said, putting my arm around his shoulder and kissing his ear. “But let’s keep it a secret for now.”

“You won’t give Cleo back to Lena, will you?” he asked.

I crouched beside him, rested my hands on his shoulders and examined his face, so serious. His body was rigid with tension. “No, Rob. We’re keeping her.”