creative endeavors ✍︎

Every morning, Arlo ate in silence as she watched the cat through the window from the second story of their apartment building. On some days, it would appear suddenly into her view with a jolt, like someone had thrown it from offscreen. It would scramble upright after having apparently skidded some distance across the asphalt. On other days, like today, it would limp defeatedly from the right corner of the window and circle around until it curled up beside a lamppost.

On some days, like today, her sister Charlie would sit across the table and look at her for a moment before following her gaze. Charlie was eight and tended to over-involve herself in things.

“The lady in one-oh-four eats the cats, you know,” Charlie said knowingly. She took a swig of milk and set down her glass with a clean clunk. “She takes them by the tail and then—” Charlie mimed the lady sinking her teeth into an imaginary bone, biting carnivorously at air.

Arlo laughed a little, then frowned. “I’m pretty sure she’s just hurting them. They always walk weird.”

Charlie put down the invisible bone and looked serious. “Yes, but, the cats change every week. The one before had a black spot on its side.” Arlo must’ve not seemed convinced, because her sister continued, “You should know! You’re always watching them.”

“They all have black spots,” Arlo mused, “I lose track.” The cat outside stretched its legs and paced back to the right corner until it was out of sight.

“Time for school,” Charlie stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder with importance. During the week, Arlo drove her to the elementary school; she was in third grade now and it had been an understood arrangement since before Charlie could remember. It was back before Charlie had even started school and when Arlo had taken on her current remote job—managing the reselling of old furniture on craigslist. It was a surprisingly substantial job, comfortable enough to support the sisters’ humble lifestyle, after their single mom had f****d off to who knows where.

Arlo searched her pockets for the car keys, following Charlie out the door.

---

Arlo got back to find the cat staring at her from the sidewalk. It was on all fours, ears stiff and bent forward. If it could speak, Arlo was sure, it would have said something. 

She had just buzzed in to the apartment complex when the cat started to walk in her direction—with a slight limp in her right paw, she noticed—to stand in front of her. She bent down, scuffed white sneakers flattening against the cement. The cat shuffled closer to her, sniffing cautiously around her feet. This one had a black spot behind its left ear and on its underside. She stuck her hand out near her feet, then above her knees, then back down again, and let out a little laugh as the cat moved its head to answer her beckoning.

It started from the tail. The cat twitched its hind legs and its loin shuddered, almost undetectably. The thighs stretched and then seized, and then the thin flanks tightened to expose fine, shadowed rows of ribs. A convulsion passed through its entire body and it threw its small head forward, retching several times until a yolky lump landed an inch away from Arlo’s

sneakers.

“Shit,” Arlo whispered, afraid to touch the cat, who was still coughing. It backed away from Arlo, making a sound like an injured cicada, pawing at the ground with great difficulty as its entire body shook from sheer effort. Arlo stood up and moved away in accordance and opened the door to the apartment complex, inviting the cat inside. It complied, padding along between repressed wheezes.

Arlo and Charlie lived in apartment 206, almost but not quite above the cat lady’s place. Sometimes Arlo would lay in bed for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. She would close her eyes and think that she was dreaming, but then a dull thudding from below would sneak into her consciousness. Then she would open her eyes and it would stop, like it was afraid of being caught.

Once she told Charlie this, but Charlie had denied hearing anything. “I’m a growing girl,” she would proclaim, “I need my twelve hours of sleep,” and Arlo ran her hands through Charlie’s soft hair, pushing the thoughts away. But the thudding returned every week, like clockwork. Arlo swore that it was getting louder each time.

Inside the building, Arlo began to walk up the stairs, faint steps behind her. The body of the white cat slunk up a couple steps, then rerouted to jump through the flap in the door for apartment 104.

The door was underneath the stairwell leading to the second floor; if Arlo hadn’t known it was there, she wouldn’t have been able to see it. It was lit only by the few streaks of mid-day sun that shone through the wooden paneled windows on either side of the main entrance. Arlo stuck her head beyond the railing, craning to squint at the door.

“I’m going to die today,” she muttered as she made her way to the door, pressing her left ear gently between the cracks. She made out the low voice of a woman, perhaps talking to a small child. She shifted her body closer to be parallel with the wall, pressing on the door with her right hand to steady herself—a fatal move.

The door swung wide open, creaking sharply at its hinges. Arlo realized too late that it hadn’t been closed. She struggled to stick her arm into the apartment to reach the doorknob without stepping into the vicinity. Her knees gave way and she collapsed, as quietly as possible, but she could already hear her arriving.

She wasn’t what Arlo expected. She quickened her pace when she saw Arlo had fallen on the ground, and she kneeled down to help her up. 

“I wasn’t expecting anybody!” She exclaimed, still supporting Arlo with both hands.

Arlo’s first thought was that she seemed like a mother. She wasn’t anything like her own

mom—Mom was always pristine and golden, put together in sleek outfits and packaged in alluring perfume. The woman’s hair was dark, tied back with a black band, and was messy like she had been bustling around for hours. Her cheeks were textured with middle age.

She saw that Arlo had recovered, mostly from embarrassment than injury, and clasped her hands together.

“Did you need anything from me, sweetheart?” Arlo opened and closed her mouth soundlessly. “My name’s Sadie, love.” Sadie rubbed Arlo’s upper arm comfortingly, perhaps to coax her into speaking.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she finally choked out, about to pivot around her heel to leave—

The woman looked at her with kind, sappy eyes, a look so tender that it could’ve melted the soles of her feet and stranded her there for the rest of time. She looked at Arlo so lovingly that Arlo almost didn’t feel the digging of nails on her arm, or the sharp jab to her ribs.

She didn’t hear the crash of her body against the floor, or the ringing in her skull as her head ricocheted against the wooden planks a couple times before it lay there for dead. She blinked, each time opening her eyes wider, but all she could see was black. Her last thought was of how she would say goodbye to Charlie.

---

And it was over so soon it was almost like it had never happened.

She woke up encompassed with cottony softness, a steaming mug of fitted between her hands, and a warm, firm hand on her forehead. There was a ringing in her head and an ache lingering over her entire body. Sadie’s thumb smoothed circles and her voice drifted into Arlo’s

ears.

“Are you feeling better?” Sadie was seated in an armchair next to her, a red first-aid kit sprawled out on her lap. She had an uncapped tube of Neosporin and was feeling around Arlo’s head for any scratches. Her fingers paused at a certain spot and she spread a thin layer of

ointment on it.

“Good as new.” She patted a bandage over the area and retracted her hands, looking into Arlo’s eyes expectantly.

“I should go.” Arlo had a feeling that she had overstayed her welcome against her will. Sadie leaned in like she had a secret to tell. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to start dinner soon.” Then she leaned back again, screwed the cap back on the Neosporin, and zipped up the first-aid kit with self-imposed purpose. She stood up and lightly patted Arlo on the shoulder.

“You just stay right here.” Arlo watched her disappear from the room, then pushed the layers of blanket around her off. She searched for a surface to set down her mug, but there wasn’t one—it wouldn’t have been very polite, or safe, to put it on the floor, which was adorned with an impossibly soft woolen rug. She got up on her feet and felt an abrupt pain in her left ankle. She hobbled to the archway that Sadie had left through.

The cat appeared in the hallway before Arlo, giving her the same unreadable look from earlier. Arlo braced herself against the wall as it scuttled away toward the direction that Sadie had went.

Arlo followed it, having already disobeyed Sadie’s request. The hallway was covered in an off-white wallpaper. Arlo couldn’t tell if it had discolored over time or if it was intentional. There weren’t any photos on display. Sadie apparently lived alone.

The thumping started. It got louder as Arlo got closer to where Sadie was. It looked like the kitchen from what she could see. One wall was made of huge sliding windows, but blackout curtains were drawn over them. There weren’t any lights on. Arlo realized that she had no idea what time it was.

There was a laugh—not a hearty, from the stomach kind of laugh, but an insidious snicker and a sharp inhale as another thump came from somewhere that Arlo couldn’t see. It kept going, thump, thump, with muffled scampering of tiny paws in between the sounds. Arlo took another step and the groan of wooden planks against each other ignited silence.

She didn’t even have time to curse herself. Sadie appeared in front of her, dark shadows

obscuring her eyes, the cat curled up inside her arms.

“It appears that my baby hurt himself again,” she frowned deeply, pushing past Arlo. “If you’ll excuse me, please make yourself at home.” She swept through the hallway and placed the cat into a carrier, slung it over her shoulder, then hurried out the front door, leaving it wide open. The cat watched Arlo with dilated pupils as she left, hunched over in the carrier.

The sun was beginning to set outside. In a couple hours, Arlo would have to pick Charlie up from her after-school club.

Arlo continued down the hallway to enter the kitchen; she felt along the wall to flick on the lights. It felt wrong, like turning on fluorescent lights in a photography darkroom.

There were cats. All around the room. Two resting on the kitchen island, one next to the sink, one next to a trash bin, and a couple more sitting around. They opened their eyes to look at Arlo sluggishly, some of them not lifting their heads at first. Arlo walked between the island and the sink, and a surrounding rustle ate the silence as the cats began to get up from their spots.

She turned to the one next to the sink. It had a large black patch on its left side. Arlo put her hand out and scratched its head. It made a low purring noise and got up to brush its side against Arlo’s arm. Arlo noticed that its tail dragged along the countertop lifelessly. She moved her hand toward its thigh and its hind legs twitched. She moved back to its head, and it licked her affectionately.

Arlo turned around to greet the two cats on the island. One of them had gotten up and had walked toward Arlo curiously. Its back paws held down a pile of envelopes and brochures; it had been sitting on them.

“Excuse me,” Arlo said apologetically as she eased one of the papers from under the cat, who stepped off and watched her eagerly. Inside the envelope was a bill from the Newark Veterinary Hospital, which was a two-

hour drive from here. There was a five-hundred-dollar charge for meloxicam and an x-ray. She picked up another envelope, this one sent from a clinic in Henrietta, with an even heftier fee.

They were all for painkillers, all from different hospitals. Arlo flipped through the pile. They seemed to be for several cats.

The cat with a tail injury jumped into the sink and the dull clatter of plastic against plastic sounded. Inside the sink was a cardboard box which held dozens of syringes and empty glass vials.

Arlo turned back to the rest of the cats, who had all gotten up and were moving around. All of them walked with an uneven gait. One of them lifted their left paw as it moved along, taking small hops with the other front paw to reach the water bowl beside the sink countertop. The other cat on the island searched cautiously for a safe place to land and leapt down with a click as its claws made impact with the vinyl flooring.

The air in the room felt strange. It was still even though all the cats had stirred to life.

It took her a while to realize that they were all headed to the corner of the room furthest from the hallway she had entered through. They curled up tightly next to each other, covering a square foot of space. The last one to the corner gave Arlo a meaningful look before settling down with the others.

Arlo jumped as the home telephone, which hung on the wall next to the sink, rang out. It rang eight more times consecutively, followed by a long beep. The answering machine relayed a message:

“Are you still there, love? Could you feed my babies for me? It was dinner time a while ago but I didn’t know that my Angel would get hurt…It’s dry food, under the sink, could you fill up their bowls…” Sadie’s voice cut in and out, and there was interfering humming in the background. Arlo thought she may have been on a loud train ride. “Thank you, love…”

Arlo opened the cabinet under the sink, and a susurration arose as the cats moved amongst themselves. She took the bag of food and carried it over to the same corner with the water bowl which had a rectangular metal trough. As she got closer, she saw that the trough was already filled, with brown pellets scattered around the vicinity.

She looked over to the cats; they looked back at her. She tipped the bag of food over a bit, letting a small amount rain over the bowls so that they wouldn’t land on the floor. The cats made no indication of interest.

Arlo began to walk back to the hallway, her feet transitioning from the reflective vinyl floor to the wooden planks. Behind her, the cats began to whisper, getting up, circling around the kitchen island to walk toward her.

She started to back up against the wall. The cats began to meow, still advancing, in an off-tune chorus.

“I don’t know what you want,” Arlo said, half exasperated and half anxious, putting her hand out in an attempt to tell them to stop. Her back met squarely with the yellowed wallpaper as the cats kept marching forward.

The house phone began to ring again, and the answering machine spoke: “I’m coming home soon, dear. You just stay right there.” Arlo stepped over the cats and scanned over the machine, pressing a button to return the call.

“You’ve reached the residence of Sadie Williams. I’m not available right now, but feel free to leave a message…”

Fuck, she thought as the machine displayed a phone number. She repeated it to herself a few times and then inputted it. “You’ve reached the residence…”

Arlo pressed the button again, but the machine beeped and replayed the same recording. The cats surrounded her on all sides, gazing up at her. One of the cats grabbed at her knee with a twisted paw, beckoning. Arlo bent down, expecting a revelation of some kind.

“What am I even doing,” she muttered to herself, and maybe to the cats who seemed unnaturally aware.

They mewled in unison, and Arlo was relieved that she couldn’t understand them—she wasn’t going crazy, at least not completely.

But as they kept staring at her, she could feel their desperate eyes burning into her, begging her to do something. One of the cats dragged its dead paw against the floor and brushed its backside against Arlo’s shin. At first, there was a smooth silkiness, until it was interrupted by a rough patch. Arlo lifted its fur gingerly to expose a bloody, ruptured area. The cat looked back at her, forlorn.

Arlo swore as she rammed her hands into either pocket to dig out her cell phone with trembling fingers. Her first thought was to call the police, or the animal control, but then she would have to explain why she was in a stranger’s house. And she didn’t even know if she knew exactly what was happening.

The house phone rang again and Sadie’s sweet voice melted through the distortion. “Stay put, my dear…make yourself comfortable…!” Arlo froze in place at the sudden sound. The cats moved away from the phone, swimming around at Arlo’s feet.

Arlo’s whole body shook as she pressed her thumbs desperately against the screen, trying to find Charlie’s schoolteacher in her contacts.

“Yes, I’m Arlo, could I speak to my sister, please?” There was a ripple in sound on the other side as the phone was passed around.

“You were wrong, Charlie.”

There is no end to the tint, color burst.

Lapis, navy, aquamarine, cobalt.

In the crash of the oceans forever,

Reflecting the sky so beautifully.

A butterfly flew across, the same shade.

It’s almost like a world that knows you well. 

Raindrops glisten, hitting umbrella tops.

A magical example, sapphire.

In your lover’s eyes, your shining wallet.

It’s in the berries you seek everyday,

It’s also the whales living in your mind, 

The cry of the macaws in the jungle.

It’s in the nostalgic street we would watch,

Cookie monster, his fur captivating. 

You forgot the genie, shade much lighter, 

And alien stitch, an uncommon friend

But all the same, living past memories.

All of this is connected to only you. 

Amazing what one word can conjure up. 

Yet it’s what you do to my mind.

I wish I could tell you,

But you are just a hue.

I’ll never forget you,

Blue.