The Best Short Story of 1976, Page 3
JT Pearson
the cat later. It was only one bird. Now go.”
As our father turned and came back out I asked him if he was going to try to psychologize The Bird Woman but he didn’t answer me. His shoulders just slumped foreword as he ambled toward The Bird Woman’s house, his feet dragging, the cat following along at his side with a bounce in his or her step.
“Don’t you dare snatch another bird this time. I mean it,” he said, looking down at the cat. The cat meowed.
Father waved his arm at us and we knew that he meant for us to stay back and wait. The Bird Woman still hadn’t moved from her spot on her highest deck. She watched as the two approached. Father got to the edge of her yard and looked up to say something, still feeling reluctant. The cat took a position in front of our father and stared up at his face. Probably so he or she could study him and learn how a man rectifies things with his neighbor.
“Okay. I know you like all of the birds. I can see that. They’re like your family or something. I’ve noticed that you don’t have a man around your house, or anybody for that matter. I don’t know. I’m not saying that you never did have a man in your life or anything like that. I’m not presuming anything. I mean…you’re really pretty old so maybe all of the people you knew have passed away by now. The point is that when a person, especially old women like you, have nobody else to love they often transfer their feelings to animals. Cats like this one,” the cat wrinkled his or her face at him, “or birds or something. I get it. It’s my job to know the inner workings of the mind. I’m actually a psychologist. So if you have to pretend that the birds out here are like your kids and feed them all the time maybe you could just feed them a little less so that they’re not shi-dropping their fecal matter everywhere.” Father smiled warmly. “I’ll bet you weren’t even all that bad looking when you were young, huh? You probably had a real womanly body back then, eh? Lots of fellas came calling back then I’ll bet. Let’s get along and be friends. What do you say? And maybe you can go a little lighter on the bird seed?” It looked like father’s charm had fallen short. Even the cat could tell that father’s little speech hadn’t gone over well. He or she turned around and looked back at The Bird Woman nervously who was now circling her hands above her head as if she were conjuring something from the sky. We watched our father turn around and hurry away before she finished whatever she was doing.
The next morning we tagged along behind father as he grabbed the trash and headed out to the curb with it, but as he opened the door there were two monstrous black crows standing on the porch. The black cat remained in place, quietly watching the ordeal from the yard. Our father opened the door slowly and stomped about but the crows only stood their ground. He stepped out on to the porch and walked toward them but they still didn’t budge. Finally he swung the garbage bag at them and they cawed at him angrily as they lifted into the air and out of harm’s way. He looked to the cat.
“Where were you that time?”
The cat meowed indignantly.
From that point on, wherever our father and the cat went the crows followed. We could see that they really started to intimidate father. He told mama that when The Bird Lady had circled him with her finger she’d put a curse on him. He said that it was the reason that the ‘funtiming crows!’ were now following him. He sat down at the dining room table with the phonebook to find a priest that could uncurse him but our mother asked him to leave poor Father Mallory out of all of this. Later that evening we heard a scraping noise in the wall. At first we had no idea what it was. We suspected squirrels or even a rat but my father soon identified the noise as coming from the air vent that led outside. We walked out the door, met by the cat, and walked to the back of the house where we saw that the crows had removed the vent cap and were building a nest in the side of our house. Angrily father marched back inside. “They’re trying to work their way into the house!” he shouted angrily. He grabbed the Irish Mate cologne that was still sitting victoriously on the table as a center piece and marched to the bathroom where there was access to the vent. We watched him curiously as he turned the fan on and we heard the crows fluttering about, trying to adjust to what was happening.
“Here you go, Bird Woman! Here’s some Irish Mate for your cronies!” he screamed while spraying Irish Mate - the cologne that takes you back to Dublin - into the vent, dousing the two crows with the refreshing scent of a mountain brook. We watched for their departure from our house from the nearest window. One of the crows took off into the air, corkscrewing through the neighborhood as he left. The other stumbled backward out of the vent, apparently drunk on Irish Mate, and fell into the waiting arms of the black cat. The bird was close to the cat’s size but he or she managed to heft the trophy up with his or her teeth and proudly jogged down the street with it in his or her mouth.
“Yes!” our father exclaimed. “The cat has destroyed The Bird Woman’s curse!”
We celebrated with father, as mama, who seemed less than pleased, watched on. She walked to the kitchen and came back with a sizeable ceramic rooster that she’d picked up for The Bird Woman. She handed it to father.
“But the-” blurted our father.
“There was no curse to be lifted.”
“Could I-”
“No. You bring that rooster to her and make her feel better. Let her know that we still like her.”
“We-”
“Yes. Like her.”
“She might not even-”
“She does.”
“The black-”
“I’ll talk to the cat again. Now go.”
We followed father and the cat as they brought The Bird Woman the offering. She clutched it to her chest before she spit on her own feet twice, father’s once, but never on the black cat because he or she jumped out of range and landed next to us. Then The Bird Woman walked backward in three circles before departing into her house without a word.
Father said that he still believed that the black cat had destroyed the Bird Woman’s curse and out of gratitude let him or her move in with us, although he still insists that the cat doesn’t live there, he is a guest, and we don’t own him or her. He or she is still an outdoor cat but isn’t intruding because he or she is welcome.
Well that’s it. That’s my story and all of its true. Here is where I’m allowed to take my little bow. I don’t know if my story could stand up to a drunken woman riding a hog like my uncle told of back in sixty four but maybe I can edge out Ida’s story she tells every year about how she got all of those dogs. I hope you enjoyed it. I haven’t really figured out a name for my story yet. My sister said to go ahead and name it The Best Short Story of 1976 but that seems like it might be a bit presumptuous. You can go back to doing whatever it is now that you were doing before I started telling you my story and I guess I’ll go outside in the street with the other kids and try to play kickball.
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As our father turned and came back out I asked him if he was going to try to psychologize The Bird Woman but he didn’t answer me. His shoulders just slumped foreword as he ambled toward The Bird Woman’s house, his feet dragging, the cat following along at his side with a bounce in his or her step.
“Don’t you dare snatch another bird this time. I mean it,” he said, looking down at the cat. The cat meowed.
Father waved his arm at us and we knew that he meant for us to stay back and wait. The Bird Woman still hadn’t moved from her spot on her highest deck. She watched as the two approached. Father got to the edge of her yard and looked up to say something, still feeling reluctant. The cat took a position in front of our father and stared up at his face. Probably so he or she could study him and learn how a man rectifies things with his neighbor.
“Okay. I know you like all of the birds. I can see that. They’re like your family or something. I’ve noticed that you don’t have a man around your house, or anybody for that matter. I don’t know. I’m not saying that you never did have a man in your life or anything like that. I’m not presuming anything. I mean…you’re really pretty old so maybe all of the people you knew have passed away by now. The point is that when a person, especially old women like you, have nobody else to love they often transfer their feelings to animals. Cats like this one,” the cat wrinkled his or her face at him, “or birds or something. I get it. It’s my job to know the inner workings of the mind. I’m actually a psychologist. So if you have to pretend that the birds out here are like your kids and feed them all the time maybe you could just feed them a little less so that they’re not shi-dropping their fecal matter everywhere.” Father smiled warmly. “I’ll bet you weren’t even all that bad looking when you were young, huh? You probably had a real womanly body back then, eh? Lots of fellas came calling back then I’ll bet. Let’s get along and be friends. What do you say? And maybe you can go a little lighter on the bird seed?” It looked like father’s charm had fallen short. Even the cat could tell that father’s little speech hadn’t gone over well. He or she turned around and looked back at The Bird Woman nervously who was now circling her hands above her head as if she were conjuring something from the sky. We watched our father turn around and hurry away before she finished whatever she was doing.
The next morning we tagged along behind father as he grabbed the trash and headed out to the curb with it, but as he opened the door there were two monstrous black crows standing on the porch. The black cat remained in place, quietly watching the ordeal from the yard. Our father opened the door slowly and stomped about but the crows only stood their ground. He stepped out on to the porch and walked toward them but they still didn’t budge. Finally he swung the garbage bag at them and they cawed at him angrily as they lifted into the air and out of harm’s way. He looked to the cat.
“Where were you that time?”
The cat meowed indignantly.
From that point on, wherever our father and the cat went the crows followed. We could see that they really started to intimidate father. He told mama that when The Bird Lady had circled him with her finger she’d put a curse on him. He said that it was the reason that the ‘funtiming crows!’ were now following him. He sat down at the dining room table with the phonebook to find a priest that could uncurse him but our mother asked him to leave poor Father Mallory out of all of this. Later that evening we heard a scraping noise in the wall. At first we had no idea what it was. We suspected squirrels or even a rat but my father soon identified the noise as coming from the air vent that led outside. We walked out the door, met by the cat, and walked to the back of the house where we saw that the crows had removed the vent cap and were building a nest in the side of our house. Angrily father marched back inside. “They’re trying to work their way into the house!” he shouted angrily. He grabbed the Irish Mate cologne that was still sitting victoriously on the table as a center piece and marched to the bathroom where there was access to the vent. We watched him curiously as he turned the fan on and we heard the crows fluttering about, trying to adjust to what was happening.
“Here you go, Bird Woman! Here’s some Irish Mate for your cronies!” he screamed while spraying Irish Mate - the cologne that takes you back to Dublin - into the vent, dousing the two crows with the refreshing scent of a mountain brook. We watched for their departure from our house from the nearest window. One of the crows took off into the air, corkscrewing through the neighborhood as he left. The other stumbled backward out of the vent, apparently drunk on Irish Mate, and fell into the waiting arms of the black cat. The bird was close to the cat’s size but he or she managed to heft the trophy up with his or her teeth and proudly jogged down the street with it in his or her mouth.
“Yes!” our father exclaimed. “The cat has destroyed The Bird Woman’s curse!”
We celebrated with father, as mama, who seemed less than pleased, watched on. She walked to the kitchen and came back with a sizeable ceramic rooster that she’d picked up for The Bird Woman. She handed it to father.
“But the-” blurted our father.
“There was no curse to be lifted.”
“Could I-”
“No. You bring that rooster to her and make her feel better. Let her know that we still like her.”
“We-”
“Yes. Like her.”
“She might not even-”
“She does.”
“The black-”
“I’ll talk to the cat again. Now go.”
We followed father and the cat as they brought The Bird Woman the offering. She clutched it to her chest before she spit on her own feet twice, father’s once, but never on the black cat because he or she jumped out of range and landed next to us. Then The Bird Woman walked backward in three circles before departing into her house without a word.
Father said that he still believed that the black cat had destroyed the Bird Woman’s curse and out of gratitude let him or her move in with us, although he still insists that the cat doesn’t live there, he is a guest, and we don’t own him or her. He or she is still an outdoor cat but isn’t intruding because he or she is welcome.
Well that’s it. That’s my story and all of its true. Here is where I’m allowed to take my little bow. I don’t know if my story could stand up to a drunken woman riding a hog like my uncle told of back in sixty four but maybe I can edge out Ida’s story she tells every year about how she got all of those dogs. I hope you enjoyed it. I haven’t really figured out a name for my story yet. My sister said to go ahead and name it The Best Short Story of 1976 but that seems like it might be a bit presumptuous. You can go back to doing whatever it is now that you were doing before I started telling you my story and I guess I’ll go outside in the street with the other kids and try to play kickball.
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