Gabriela_Tales from a Demon Cat Read online

  Upon reaching the street, I saw you tall, two-legged creatures up close for the first time. I'd caught prior glimpses of humans from our home in the wooden crate, but that was from a distance. Being new to this world, I wasn’t experienced in knowing how distance would affect one’s perspective of size. You suckers are giants.

  Directly in front of me stood the tall, ugly one I've already described. He seemed to be looking down at me as the dogs had to my mother only seconds before. In defense, I arched my back, copying the position my mother had presented in hopes of scaring him away. In hindsight, I probably should have darted off.

  Huge hands lowered and headed my way. I slashed out, but in my haste, missed my target. Strong fingers picked me up by the scruff of my neck and raised me high, directly in front of the beast's face. My hisses only seemed to amuse.

  “Ah, such a little creature, all alone in this world—like I am. Put those claws away and let us be friends. We all need companionship, do we not? My name is Victor,” he said, turning me so he could check out my gender. Very embarrassing, I must add. And you … let’s call you Gabriela. Perhaps, Princess Gabriela, if you please. I’m pleased to meet you madame.”

  In time, I would learn to understand his words. Yet, this was my first life—my first contact with humans—and I only knew the calm, gentle tone of his voice was comforting. The longer he spoke, the more I relaxed. Cradling me against his stomach, we started off down the street, forever leaving the place of my birth and the mangled bodies of my family.

  Over the months, we became friends. With no one else to share his love, I was spoiled with all sorts of toys and food treats. I hated to see Victor leave each morning and would be anxious for his day at work to end. He always returned late, but I would be waiting to greet him at the door. I was a glutton for his attention, petting, and listening to his soothing voice. Inseparable, we would eat, me atop the table with my bowl at one end and Victor with his food at the other. Afterward, I’d take my place upon his lap as ballroom music played from the radio. Oh, such fond memories. I still remember his laughter at my attempts to climb onto his bed and how his long fingers would gently lift me and place me atop. We'd sleep until morning, allowing our dreams to entertain us.

  Once or twice a month, Victor would spend time in the basement. I didn’t know what he was doing there, as he never took me with him. I could hear his voice droning on at times, but nothing was clear enough to make out. No matter, his time there was short, which made me happy.

  Gradually, I began to understand the words Victor spoke. They brought about a sadness I hadn’t felt since the death of my own family. He would talk to me as if I were human, relating stories of his lonely life. He was a good person, yet, often ignored by those of his kind because of his looks. Destined to be alone, he longed for a normal life—one with a wife and children.

  Sitting at the window one evening--watching the birds outside and wanting desperately to chase them—I noticed him strolling up the walk with a female human. She seemed to be injured as Victor was supporting her arm and holding her close. Still, she seemed fine as they entered the house.

  “And, this is my fair Gabriela,” Victor told his acquaintance, picking me up and giving me a quick hug. “Princess Gabriela has been my friend and companion for several years. You'll be amazed at how intelligent and friendly she is.”

  “Oh, a cat. I hate cats. They suffocate babies and carry dreadful diseases.”

  As first impressions go, I had a viable reason to hate this person. Luckily, Victor wasn't swayed by her comments. “Those are only old wives’ tales. Gabriela is a darling. I'm sure you'll agree once you get to know her. Gabriela, this is Miss Amy Etheridge, my new friend. I want you to be friends with her.”

  Yeah, like I was going to reach out and extend my paw to this bitch. To make a point, I showed my fangs and gave her my most vicious hiss. We weren’t going to be friends. I’d see to that.

  I slept in the living room for the first time that evening. The bedroom door had been closed behind them and no matter how much I pleaded, it stayed shut. I took the hint—life was going to change in Victor’s household—and not favorably for me.

  The next few months found Amy visiting Victor more often, which meant less time with me. Bored, I would still greet him when he came in the door but found myself getting less attention with Amy swooning in and sweeping him away. Yes, we still listened to the radio, but with her sitting on one side of him and me on the other. He would laugh and joke about being the center of attention and how lucky he was to be loved by two females. I didn’t consider it a laughing matter.

  Our competition for his attention soon ended. One afternoon, he carried her across the doorway and totally ignored me. If I could have gotten my claws on her white dress and lace veil, I would have ripped them to shreds. From that point on, my instrument was second fiddle which I didn’t enjoy playing.

  Victor was finally happy, though, so I did my best to keep out of Amy’s way. I’d find a mouse to toy with and take it to her as a peace offering after killing it. Didn’t seem to please her, but I didn’t care. I had made the effort. If she didn’t want to be friends, that was fine with me.

  As Fall arrived, so did a young man knocking at the door. Much younger than Victor, the gentleman was dressed in business attire and carried a brown leather case at his side. Amy smiled as she welcomed him in and offered the young man a seat next to her on the couch. After a few minutes of small talk, he opened his case and began discussing Victor’s chances of dying. Next, came his sales pitch about how his insurance company could come to her aid if such a tragedy were to occur.

  It was then I noticed how focused her attention was on what the man was saying, as well as giving him multiple “once overs” examining his physical attributes. He was taller than Victor and more slender in stature. His face maintained a look of seriousness, yet, when he managed to smile it was infectious. His vocal tones came close to mimicking Victor’s, but were much more captivating, almost hypnotic at times.

  Obviously attracted to more than the insurance he offered, Amy inched close to him on the couch. Leaning her shoulder and leg against his, she viewed his presentation materials with interest, and made more than a few hints that she’d like to see his personal items presented.

  I had to give the man credit. He continued with his pitch and ignored her suggestions. “Ma’am, I do my best to keep business and pleasure separate. That way, I can give each my best when the occasion arises. Getting back to the plan, if Victor were to die or get killed, you would get all this money.”

  “I’d be a rich woman if that were to happen,” she whispered, lightly nodding. “You sure it would all come to me?”

  “Yes, ma'am, it would all come to you. In fact, my company would issue you a check once you presented them with a valid death certificate.”

  “So, if someone were to break into the house and kill him, it would pay, wouldn't it?”

  “Yes, it would. That is, if you had nothing to do with it. Why? You aren't planning on killing your husband, are you?”

  His smile at the joke he'd made was met with a serious expression on Amy's face. Catching herself, she forced a smile and a slight giggle. “Who me? Of course not. I wouldn't think of such a thing. Why we've only been married a short time. Seems like forever, but it's only been a few months. Shame … the mistakes we make, isn't it?”

  Shocked, I sat in my window seat watching and listening. Mistake? The bitch had taken my place as number one house queen with Victor and she’s talking about a mistake? I wanted to leap across the room and slash her sweet little face off. I almost did, but before I could gather myself, the two of them leaned over and started kissing!

  I’d love to go on describing all they did, but I’m not one to spread tales, even though I saw a couple of tails spread. I really can’t find anything about the human body that would make two people do what they did, but then again, I’m only a feline.

  I watched, unable to turn my head away, b
ut I was thinking of Victor. He believed his loneliness was over—a new life in front of him. If he could have seen the two in front of me, he would have been devastated. Amy was only using Victor to improve her place in life. In reality, she was a tramp, a bitch in heat, a slut from the gutter. Victor deserved better.

  When he got home that evening, Amy was full of information about the need to get some insurance. Step by step, as if she’d memorized the presentation, she discussed his obligations to her should he be prematurely killed. By dinner’s end, he’d agreed to talk to the agent and told her to set up an appointment.

  It wasn’t hard to see what she was doing. It was a set-up. Somehow, Victor was going to die, and she was going to be rich. Then, she could screw whomever she pleased, be it the insurance guy or someone else. The whole thing was so clear that I was positive of it happening. I needed to tell Victor, but I couldn’t talk. I was able to understand their words, but I couldn’t speak them, not getting my telepathic abilities until my fifth life. I found frustration almost as hard to deal with as curiosity.

  Anyway, the applications were signed, and the policies issued without question. Month after month, the agent, Mr. James Dixon, stopped by the house once a month to collect the premiums and whatever else Amy offered. As expected, James fell in love with her. On a warm spring afternoon, I happened to overhear a conversation as they were putting their clothes back on.

  “I wish we could be like this forever—just you and me together,” Amy whispered as she pulled up her skirt. “God, you have no idea how much I hate him touching me. Such an ugly man. If I hadn't been without a place to live I never would have agreed to be with him. It's you I want, but as long as he's around it will never happen.”

  “You could get a divorce. Claim he beats you and you can't take it anymore.”

  “Do you honestly think a judge would grant me a divorce over that. Maybe one day in they will, but in 1947 it isn't going to happen. A husband can kill his wife and get away with it. No, there’s only one way to get away from him.”

  “Surely, you're not suggesting we do something illegal? Do you think I want to end up in jail the rest of my life?”

  “I know you can think of a way to make it happen. That is, if you ever want me again. When you come back next month, I'll expect an answer. Perhaps I will need to find a new insurance man.”

  I had many reasons to dislike the bitch, but this was one that I couldn’t ignore. Somehow, I had to make Victor see Amy's true colors—that she wasn’t the sweet thing he thought her to be. That evening, I jumped up on the table during dinner, where I had eaten with Victor before she had come into the picture. I purposely let my tail drift close to her plate, hoping a stray hair might fly in her food. Several times she told me to get down, and each time I refused Amy’s temper came closer to the surface. Finally, she lost it.

  “Get down, you little twit. Get your ass off my table!”

  Again, I ignored her.

  Throwing back her chair, she grabbed a knife and rushed around the table toward me. It took little effort to stay out of her reach until Victor got hold of her from behind.

  “Let me go! I’ll kill her, I swear I will!”

  I sat—my tail end planted on her favorite tablecloth—enjoying her display of raw emotion. She wrestled against Victor’s grasp, even threatening him with violence. He held her firmly and kept repeating, “Calm down, my love, calm down” in his most soothing voice. Her attention was elsewhere.

  “Damn it, you fucking cat, get your ass down. I swear, as soon as I get free I'm going to skin you alive!”

  “Stop this outburst,” his voice ordered. “She's only sitting where I used to feed her. Don't blame her, blame me, it's my fault. What's got into you, anyway?”

  “I've had about all of the two of you I can stand,” Amy blurted out. “I hate her, I hate you, and I hate being here. I wish both of you were dead!” Within a microsecond, she realized what she’d said. Amy went into her act of starting to faint but burst into tears instead. Dropping the knife, she turned and latched hold of Victor, burying her face in his chest. The girl deserved an Academy Award for her performance.

  Victor held her close, yet the expression on his face couldn’t hide the hurt her words had brought to him. As her tears subsided, he suggested she retire early as she seemed stressed as of late. Passing me on the way to the bedroom, an evil glare came my direction that said, “Wait until we're alone. You're going to pay!”

  Alas, being a woman, she was later able to smooth things over with Victor without much trouble. Given the typical excuses—headache, lonely, time of the month, etc.—and Victor was more than willing to forgive. She had brought him happiness and he wasn’t willing to lose it.

  For over the next few weeks, the only time I spent in the window seat was when Victor was home. Even then, he started spending more time in the basement. The weather had turned chilly, and instead of spending much time outside chopping up wood for the fire, he carried some of the smaller pieces to the basement and split them while he chanted. I felt safe with him in the house, knowing Amy wouldn’t try something with him at home. Yet, when Victor was away, I stayed under the couch. It was a tight squeeze, but Amy wasn't strong enough to move the oak framed sofa by herself, so I was safe.

  Chance would have it, I was under that sofa sleeping when James showed up the next month. Although dozing, I could make out bits and pieces of a plan he’d devised. It didn’t sound good for Victor. In fact, I almost reached out and clawed James' bare knees as he knelt in front of the couch with Amy's legs spread around him after their discussion but decided waiting until a better time would be the right choice.

  After James left, Amy hummed a dance tune and whirled around the room with an imaginary partner. “Oh, James, you're such a fool. Who's going to believe your story when I tell them how you'd been after me ever since the first time you stopped by. Just couldn't live without me, could you? Had to kill my husband, who I truly loved, didn't you? I'm going to cry my heart out and get every bit of sympathy the jury can muster before they sentence you. All that money will be mine!”

  I stuck my head out and watched her envision the jewels she'd have and the furs she'd be wearing. Traipsing around the room, she fantasized about famous members of society bowing to her beauty and new-found wealth. The bitch was psycho!

  I was careless. She caught me staring. “And, Gabriela, you're going to die, too. I'm going to go on a trip after locking you in the house. You’ll slowly and painfully starve to death. When I return home, you’ll be out of my life, you bitch, out of my life forever!”

  James showed up unannounced one December evening. Amy greeted him at the door with a quick kiss and went to the top of the basement steps to let Victor know they had company. Victor soon exited the basement carrying a bundle of kindling. Setting it down by the fireplace, he found he’d absentmindedly brought along the small hatchet he’d been using.

  “Victor, I hope you’re not planning on using that,” James joked.

  “No, no, I don’t. Must have just have been in a hurry and forgot to put it down. I was splitting a few pieces of wood to get the fire going. It’s going to get very cold tonight. Freezing, I’d guess.”

  James had already spread his materials out upon the dining room table, so Victor took a chair next to him. On completion of the presentation, Amy went to the kitchen to fix some tea for the group.

  “So, what do you think? Ready to make this a part of your insurance plan?”

  “Actually, I’m thinking of switching to a different company,” Victor responded without a blink. “One where I don’t have my neighbors telling me how much time the insurance agent spends in my house with my wife every time he visits.”

  “Sir, what are you insinuating?”

  “I’m insinuating nothing,” Victor replied, pulling a small pistol from his pocket. “I’m saying that you spend way too much time here to simply be collecting a monthly premium. Do you think me a fool? Now, I’m telling you to get out
of my house and never return. If you do, you will never leave.”

  The blade of the hatchet in Amy’s hand fell from behind Victor, slicing through skin and bone and severing the hand from the wrist as it sunk deep within the wooden table top. In the final twitch of a nerve dying, the index finger tightened, pulling the trigger of the revolver. James clutched at his chest and fell back against the wall, blood flowing through his fingers. Dead, he slumped to the floor.

  Victor turned to his attacker, “Amy, why? I gave you all I had,” his voice was getting weaker.

  “Love? What do you know about love, you ugly bastard? Do you know how much I hated looking at you on top of me in bed? I only married you because you caught me at a bad time without any other options. Well, now I have those options thanks to you. I have options and I'll have money. And, I won't have to see you ever again!”

  “Oh, yes you will,” Victor promised. “Somehow, I'll be back. Somehow, I'll have my revenge. There's a lot you never knew about me—things I didn't want you to know—bad things. I'll be back, just wait.” Reaching out with his good hand, he clamped it around her throat.

  I sat in my window seat, watching, and hoping he would kill the bitch. I could do nothing to help him accomplish that, or to save him. He was losing too much blood, evident by the large puddle forming on the hardwood floor. A puddle that Amy slipped in and fell into—soaking her from head to toe—and causing Victor to lose his grip.

  Amy scrambled away, gasping for breath and Victor fell, weak from the loss of blood. On the floor, he looked up—his eyes reaching into mine—and whispered, “Gabriela, my love, be careful. I’m dying, but she lives. Maybe we’ll be together again, soon.”

  Later that evening, as the morgue people were taking away the bodies and the police were investigating, I squeezed under the sofa to avoid notice—especially Amy’s. The police believed it to be a battle between a jealous husband and his wife’s lover. Spurting blood had covered the hatchet’s handle, so there was no proof as to who had used it. Amy got away without any charges and the insurance company—avoiding any additional scandal—paid off without any delay on their policy. Within a few weeks, Amy was rich.