Muse: A Cat's Story
Joanna Franklin Bell
Muse: A Cat's Story
by Joanna Franklin Bell
Muse: A Cat's Story
Copyright: Joanna Franklin Bell
Published: May 17, 2012
The right of Joanna Franklin Bell to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover credits:
© Helea | Shutterstock.com | Illustrated Cityscape
© Stephen Chung | Shutterstock.com | Curious Cat
Design by Danielle Camorlinga | DanielleCamorlinga.com
for Robyn
and her mom
Chapter 1
Muse lapped a puddle of old rainwater from the cracked sidewalk. The puddle had a familiar, sweet taste underneath the grainier taste of dirty water. A nearby wine bottle lay cracked in two halves, having rolled away from a dumpster outside a restaurant. Its glass neck was separated from the body by a jagged slash, draining old, gummy drops of wine into the puddles, but to Muse's tongue it had a well-known fruity taste; a sudden taste, usually shocking and pungent, but diluted in the rain puddle it was simply sugary. Muse drank until she was finished, then picked her way across the curb, tail in the air, with the careful gait of a cat. Cars whisked by in the street and the air was filled with afternoon voices, laughs and lunch-hour footsteps, busy high heels and briefcases. Muse stayed near the curb to avoid people's hurried feet.
She could smell frying fish coming from the end of the city block. Moving slowly, trying to maintain her sense of direction, Muse made her way in the direction of the wonderful smell, her stomach empty. She waited until there was a break in the flow of people and darted across the sidewalk and around to the back of a restaurant, and watched a man in a stained apron dump a pail of fish heads into a dumpster, in the alley, before he went back inside. When the back door of the restaurant banged shut behind him, Muse leapt to the dumpster, hungrier than she ever remembered, and devoured the fish and their glassy dead eyes. Then, relaxed for a moment, she licked her paws and cleaned her small, striped face and watched the sun from her perch on top of the dumpster.
Afternoon became evening and the constant roar of cars settled down into silence, broken only occasionally by the intermittent delivery truck, doing its rounds after rush hour. The sky darkened to a dismal grey and then to a heavy muted black through which no stars could shine. Lamp posts kept the streets well-lit, but Muse didn't need them to see. She felt her eyes adjust to the darkness and she jumped down from the dumpster and stayed in the shadows, alert. The city looked different at night, and she took a moment to get her bearings.
Muse sought a breeze which she could feel coming in over the harbor. It ruffled her whiskers and she lifted her head, smelling water and open space. The shadows by the dumpster had become oppressive. She made her way down empty sidewalks towards the pier, the night air feeling fresh as she got closer to the water and further from the dreary cluster of buildings. Muse's step became lighter.
"Here, kitty kitty," said a quiet voice sarcastically from the shadows. Muse froze in her tracks, frightened. Her eyes stared wildly into the darkness, seeing nothing. Then she began to discern a pair of eyes, as bright and slanted as her own, emerge yellowly into the light.
"I don't believe I've seen you before," continued the voice, raspily, still reverberating with the singsong cadence of scorn. The voice was deep, but feminine. "And I know I've seen everyone."
Muse's eyes widened as another cat stepped fully onto the sidewalk. It was a long-haired cat, tangled and dirty, who stared as unblinkingly at Muse as she stared at it, but there was no fear in the other cat's state.
The cat laughed, a raspy old laugh, and Muse saw a collar of dirty pearls on a knotted string around its neck, as it circled where Muse stood silently.
"What's your name little cat?" it continued in its deep, taunting voice as it circled.
Muse.
"Muse, eh?" The older cat continued to circle. An old lady cat, Muse thought, and her pearls were dingy in the lamplight. She arched her back regally as she circled, and she smelled of trash. Muse moved only her eyes and her head to watch the other cat circle her, and her body was motionless and tensed. "So Muse, what are you doing around here at night? And why do you smell like you might have found some leftover fish, some fish that I might have found?" She stopped suddenly and leered directly unto Muse's eyes, not more than inches away. Muse flinched before she could help it.
I was hungry.
"You were hungry," echoed the cat, her expression dripping with scorn. "You were – wait. What did you say?"
I was hungry.
The cat took a step backwards in surprise. "Why, you didn't move your mouth," she said. She stared at Muse.
It was hours ago, and I had smelled fish, and… Muse trailed off as she saw the other cat's shock.
"How are you doing that? Don't you talk?"
I am talking.
"What about to humans?" she demanded. "How do you communicate to humans?"
Muse opened her mouth in a silent meow. A breeze rustled in from the harbor and somewhere a foghorn sounded. The older cat slowly shook her head. "Well, I never thought," she said. She tossed her head, regaining herself, and shook a small clump of dirt off a paw. "You have no voice, at all, except in your mind."
Muse nodded a confirmation, even though the cat had not asked. The older cat looked at Muse interestedly, and then huffed once; a grudging acceptance.
"Well, I suppose if you're going to be around, you can be permitted to find your own fish." She pointedly turned her back and began to walk with great composure back into the darkness.
Wait!
The cat looked back over her shoulder. Muse could see how her whiskers were brittle and broken with age. Muse felt a little desperate. An acquaintance, no matter how unfriendly…
What's your name?
"My name," said the cat, raising an eyebrow as she turned around and disappeared again, "is Contempt."
