Retraction

5/2/2022

From the kitchen, the cracking open of a can signaled to her that a fight was on the horizon. In the living room, she sat on the couch and imagined the spit and light bubble of foam as the pressure of the beer was released from the pop top. She cringed at the vision of him gulping, liquid dripping from chin, and his satisfied, wicked grin at the end of the can.

            She noted the rain pounding against the windows and she braced herself; gathering her wits and weapons: Concise words, stay to the subject at hand (whatever he decided she’d done wrong tonight), breathe. Her 12-step practice was bound to pay off one day and she remembered the words of her sponsor, “the alcoholic acts, and we react. The alcoholic is not doing these things to you, they are looking for another excuse to drink.”

…..

            It was a sticky summer day in Florida when they met. She locked eyes on him the moment her tour group was led to the Big Cat area. He was curled at the back of the cage, his black and tan fur thin and matted against skin and ribcage. He was alone, away from the healthier tigers and leopards. The tour group had just finished their time with the kittens, and she couldn’t help but picture this sad cat in kitten form. “What’s wrong with that one back there?” she called to the guide.

“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s refusing to eat. We found him last week. Not sure, he’s soon to be put out of his misery.” The guide trailed off. “But, look over here,” he called in a chipper voice. “We have two adolescent males fighting for food!”

While the rest of the group shuffled away, excited by the idea of tigers fighting, she snuck to the cage in the back where the sick cat lay. “You poor thing.” She muttered, breathing shallowly in the stench of hot feces and dried hay.

“Please help me.” He whispered, clearly dehydrated.

Was she delirious in the summer heat? Had the cat just talked to her? He lay in the metal cage, frail back pressed against the bars and looked at her with hallow eyes. She longed for another to look at her that way. The way that says, “Save me. I need you. I can’t live without your care.”

And so, she did just that. She secured her love’s freedom with a hefty sum of money and a promise to stay quiet about the kitten petting operation. He was a mix of breeds- somewhere between a lynx and a bobcat with spotted black marks on tan fur. She, was in love.

With every bottle of milk his purr grew stronger. She hand-fed him even though he was an adult, and during the feedings, he would look deep into her eyes. She washed and brushed his fur, let him sleep on her lap, and on the day he said, “I love you.” she pledged to always take care of him.

His fur returned to its sleek, thick form and they were married. At the county court house, not more than one year after they met, fall clouds blanketed their union. Strong paws held delicate hands, powerful tail wrapped around her slight human frame, and when the courthouse officiant concluded the ceremony, the cat kissed his bride.

He was a wild cat, not a creature meant to live in a house-- He had the most adorable bushy pointed ears, but it was his thick facial hair that made her swoon. At night after they lay together, she would stroke the soft layers that formed his cat cheeks. She enjoyed the scratching sound nails made through thick lynx fur, and he relished being adored.

Slowly, over a few years of marriage, something changed. She worked so hard to please him, but the light faded from his beautiful deep yellow eyes, and what was left was anger and disgust. She wondered if he was remorseful for marrying outside his species. Was something wrong at work? Or was he just unhappy with her?

…..

            That night the rain came down with unrelenting fury. The lynx stalked into the room, the stench of stale beer on his fur; her heart picked up speed and her palms sweat. The beast before her no longer resembled the one she had pledged to spend her life with, his fierce eyes reminded her that he was never a domesticated house cat, but a cat of the wild she had brought home. She sat on the couch watching him stalk into the room, his claws extended—the hair on his back peaked.

His tail swished gently, like he couldn’t be bothered by her presence, yet was ready to attack at any moment. “The kitchen is a mess. The whole house is a mess for that matter.” He rubbed his side against the couch where she sat, his tail flexing down against her knees as he walked under the bridge made by her legs and feet perched on the nearby coffee table.

Trying to placate him she asked, “Can we talk about this later? Come snuggle on the couch, I miss your purr.”

Nothing.

He scoffed, “Really, what are you doing here all day? Napping?! I leave every morning to hunt and provide for you and you can’t even do the fucking dishes?”

            She looked him square in the eyes and imagined him trying to do the dishes with his paws. He hated water, and the idea of his fur getting soaked when he tried to lean over the sink on a stepping stool made her laugh slightly out loud.

“What’s so fucking funny?” He demanded.

She recoiled and slumped her shoulders. Gaze drawn down, “nothing.” She replied in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry the kitchen didn’t get cleaned today, I went out with the girls for dinner and just lost track of time. I’ll do them tomorrow. Besides, unless you’re up on two paws, do you really even see a few cups and bowls?”

            “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot see, Woman. I see everything. I see you putting on a few pounds, I see you getting lazy, I see you looking at men. I see you; and you know what I don’t see? My fucking breakfast when I wake up.”

She always made his breakfast, just as he liked it. Milk warmed from the stove, never the microwave, in his favorite ceramic bowl; the one with Garfield on it. Images of her methodically stirring milk to avoid scalding merged with anger, and suddenly it was hard for her to breath. He was just a fucking cat, she could throw him out by the scruff of his neck, she could strike the life from him with the blow of a bat. She could, but then she reminded herself, she would be alone. Who would she care for? And who would care for her?

            She got up, resigned to her place in the pack, the one who cooks and cleans, and walked toward the kitchen. She stood strong and avoided eye contact. When she passed him, he swiped at her with a singular extended claw, scratching her calf before retracting it and padding off to their shared room. His tail gently bumped the wall as he flicked it up revealing his dirty, cat ass.

That shit! She thought, blood dripping down her leg. Not wanting to rile him up again she began to wash the dishes and felt the blood dry and turn to crust on her sock. Hot water caressed her hands and she fantasized about an attractive, young, male co-worker with his shaggy brown hair and toned body. Imagining what it would be like to be loved by someone with opposable thumbs, she breathed in the steam deeply and let out a gentle moan. Moisture from the dish water swirled around her face and she fantasized about strong arms and the weight of a man on top of her in bed.

            When she laid the last dish on the drying rack, still lost in fantasy about a human, a new thought came to her. She could leave. She could walk herself out into the night and leave that damn cat to fend for himself. For the first time, a new power settled into her heart and it began to beat stronger. With every pound of the muscle, new resolve to do the next right thing flooded her mind.

She stalked to the bedroom where he lay fast asleep, curled at the edge of the bed, with tail drooped off the end. She packed a few things in a small backpack and made her way to the bedroom door. She stopped, paralyzed by the fear of being on her own. The cat had reminded her for so long that she was nothing without him, and now she believed it.

Sounds of gurgling and grunting filled the otherwise quiet room, and disgusted she turned toward him. He rolled onto his back and for a moment it seemed that he had stopped breathing. She dropped her pack and moved to him, ready to resuscitate, but a strong beat of her heart stopped her short of him. She watched as he gasped, held his breath, and then rolled over and began to snore again.

“Jackass.” She said quietly as she picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She felt her extremities stiffen and then strengthen with muscles she never knew she had; suddenly she had the urge to leap from floor toward ceiling.

            With bag packed she started for the front door. A new keenness of smell peeked her, and she was disgusted by the smells of beer and wine throughout the house. Why had he chosen booze over her and why was he so horrible to her?

Her anger grew with these thoughts, and pain suddenly surged from her fingers and toes. She looked down to see razor sharp claws protruding from her socks. She stared, curiosity replacing anger, and watched as the claws retracted, just as her husband’s had earlier that evening. Brandishing the claws on her right hand, she slashed the door that held her, leaving a large gash that cut through the paint and exposed wood. Excitement coursed through her, and she couldn’t help but drop down to her hands and knees.

            This new view, lower to the ground suited her, and she stalked the house looking for anything she might need for the journey. Suddenly though, all she could think about was meat. She went to the refrigerator where her husband kept his daily hunts and despite her new claws, could still open the door with her fingers. She spied a bird near the front. Grabbing it she sniffed the contents and threw it back in disgust. This will not do. She needed meat, not feathers and bones.

While the desire for blood and flesh coursed through her body, she felt an electric sensation spread through her entire being. She fell to the ground seeing nothing but red until the pain ceased. When she arose, she noticed stripes of orange and black, and could suddenly feel the gentlest air moving through the fur that now covered her body.

            No longer able to walk in human form, she padded across the house from kitchen back to the bedroom. She stopped a moment at the foot of the bed and stretched her strong back toward the ceiling noticing the strength and power that surged through her soul and body. She looked out at her pathetic, inebriated spouse, curled so tight and alone at the foot of the bed. His fur was thinning and his ears drooped. She marveled at how his cheek fur now resembled that of an aging human beard, scraggly and sad. Her form reflected against the glass of the open window and she marveled at her transformation. She placed her right hand, now a paw, on the bed near his head and gazed at her new form set against his. Her powerful, massive form was no match for his pathetic being and she lifted her paw to strike.

            For a split second she remembered the love in his eyes when she’d freed him from that cage. She felt the warmth in his smile, and the safety when he wrapped his body around hers. She stared at her husband, and with front paw flexed above his head, her singular claw retracted- slowly, intentionally, away from his face as she looked at him one last time.

            Leaving the backpack and her old life behind, she gracefully leapt from the open bedroom window to the backyard and out into the night. The rain had stopped, and the smells of wet asphalt and drenched dirt filled her nostrils. Sleek black and orange stripped fur shook as she easily leapt from the grass onto the brick wall that separated her yard from the alley behind her house. For a moment She balanced perfectly still on the wall, whiskers and tail holding her motionless on the cold brick. Her senses keen, the squeak of a nearby rat piqued her interest and the roar of a car engine turning over made her shudder. She delighted in the smells of the wet, clean air, and hungry for what lay ahead, she sprang effortlessly away from the home that had held her captive for so many years. Her haunches swayed back and forth as she padded down the street, away from what no longer served her. Tail swished in the cool of the night, and with each flick she let go of an illusion from her past. With her powerful form silhouetted against the glow of the moonlit night, she strode down the sidewalk of her suburban home, into the future, and into her life.