Sweet Serenade

A cat is attached to the angelic voice of his departed friend.

Sweet Serenade



Maurice stared hard at the man who sat legs outstretched, across from him. The bow-tie was pulled, in Maurice’s opinion, far too tightly around the man’s skinny neck. He looks like a half starved and gutless chicken Maurice laughed to himself, eyes pulled open as large as his eyelids would allow, and wondered how long it would take for the man to look away. They went through this exercise at least twice a week, and Maurice had yet to be beaten. He yawned, a deliberate attempt to display his boredom, and flicked his long black tail against the alligator cowboy boots that lie where the man had tossed them, in the middle of the floor.

“Honey, are you ready? I’ll be down in a minute. You’re not staring at the cat again are you?” The sweet voice echoed down the winding staircase and Maurice saw the man wince slightly, and then… Yes! There it is; the blink. Beat you again, you moron. Maurice turned slowly, walked to the elegant beige sofa and jumped onto the back without a moment’s hesitation. For an older black cat Maurice was terribly skinny, something the man also noticed, before heading for the staircase and moving out of sight.

Alone now, Maurice wrapped his body upon itself feeling his nose warm against the soft, silky fur of his stomach. He thought about the day, how peaceful it had been with only Jennifer at home. She had been drawing in the studio and singing elegantly to the stereo. He shared her passion for opera and felt most relaxed when she played it.

It was Jennifer’s caring hands that lifted him to safety four years ago. He’d spent two days in the rain, wet and miserable, his rear paw almost severed in the animal trap. He’d been chasing mice and came across one particularly fast and annoying one who circled back on him, pulled up the rear and tried to attack. Maurice was amused with this rodent for the better part of an afternoon, and found himself lost in a wooded area miles from home. The trap was hidden below some pulled grass and twigs and snapped viciously at his leg. He tried to pull free, tried to chew at the metal gadget, its sharp teeth closing further upon him each time he moved, causing the burning pain to pulsate more rapidly. He almost passed out and eventually, feeling overwhelmed and helpless, he gave up. Only his howling cries offered some release.

It was an angelic voice that came to him following a chilled night of rain. The sun burst upon him from between the trees and he watched, feeling numbed by shock, as the sun rose above a tall oak. The notes drifted on the light wind currents, tickling his fur and renewing hope. Using the last of his energy he let out a howl that could have awoken the dead. The footsteps crumpling the yellow foliage and autumn leaves was the greatest sound Maurice had ever heard, besides her singing. He was rescued by an angel and they bonded from that moment. Never again would Maurice have to live in the crack house, where he would eat only if the room-mates cleared toxic minds enough to remember they had a cat at all.

Hearing a footstep on the stairs, Maurice sat up and yawned. It was the bowtie again, alone, drifting down towards him. He glanced at the man with passive acceptance, thinking he would rather be alone with Jennifer, but … He looked up at the fireplace, at Jennifer’s glowing face staring back at him. He knew she would never lift him into her arms again. She was only there in spirit, painting and singing, the sun falling on an empty studio. Maurice could hear her, but bowtie wasn’t that receptive. He stared down at the alligator boots. She would never have left them for days, sitting in the middle of the room. The man had moved to the kitchen and was calling him. To Maurice the sound scratched at his soul. He jumped down and slowly followed the sound, his three legs doing the work of four quite successfully. A dish had been set on his floor mat, full of food. Maurice stared at it for a moment, and then the sound of her voice echoed towards him once again…

“Honey, I’m almost ready. Make sure you feed the cat.” He stared at the man, thought he saw a wince again, but realized it was just an attempt to breath past the choking bow tie. Ignoring the food, Maurice returned to the beige sofa, curled up ready to listen to her sweet serenade, and drifted into a deep slumber.



785 words. Entry to the Boy Have I Got A Story For You! contest.