Flash Fiction Friday
A Cat-tivating Short Story
This week I decided to go with a witchy short story. It actually sounds like the beginning of a paranormal women’s fiction story, huh? Let’s see what you think.
The Catnip Connection
Ten minutes before my scheduled arrival, I double-check the address on the pet sitting app, then gaze in awe at the narrow Victorian townhome before me. This is the only one on the row of townhouses that is painted black with red and gold gingerbread detailing, practically vibrating with an energy that resonates deep within me. It’s like something out of a dream, a house I'd always imagined but never thought existed. Sooo my style!
My black-lace granny boots knock on the wooden staircase as I ascend to the entrance. A golden glow emanates warmth from the interior, and I sigh. What a delightful, cozy energy.
A black cat silently leaps into the bay window drawing my attention.
“Hey there, handsome.” I grin and pivot toward the cat, tapping an ebony acrylic nail against the glass toward the feline’s nose. “Look at those beautiful green eyes,” I breathe. They sparkle like pale emerald orbs.
After a curious tip of his head, the cat leaves the window and I turn back to the front door, which swings open before I can rap my fist against the decorative wood.
An older woman, perhaps in her forties, shifts her weight onto her back leg as her eyes inspect my Victorian-style goth clothing. Yeah, I get that a lot, but I don’t mind. Not anymore. I am who I am, and I don’t feel the need to make excuses for being me, which is why I ended up getting divorced.
She finally lifts her gaze to mine. “I’m Esther. You Miss Hawkins?”
“Melody, please. I hope I’m not too early.”
“We like punctuality.” Esther steps aside to let me in, and as if waiting for my arrival, the black cat sits in the center of the foyer, those jeweled green eyes locked to mine.
“I’m assuming this is Nicodemus?” I crouch and extend my curled index finger in greeting.
Nicodemus dips his head, as if to nod, then places his paw onto my curled digit.
“Oh, my god, he’s adorable.” His human-like interaction goes straight to my heart.
Esther rolls her eyes. “Merlin’s beard, he’s already full of himself. Flattery is to be avoided.”
Nicodemus growls.
I chuckle.
“Thank you for doing this.” Esther wraps her paisley scarf around her throat, and shoulders her large purse. “I won’t be gone long.” Her keys jingle as she pulls them from her coat pocket and descends the stairs to the drive.
I close the door behind her and turn toward Nicodemus. “You know,” I begin, hands on my hips as the feline gazes up at me with curiosity. “I usually pet sit for days, not hours. What kind of trouble could you possibly get into that warrants constant supervision?”
“Mmr-wowem,” the cat replies, then trots down the hall toward the back of the townhouse.
I don’t speak catonese, but I can easily imagine his response matches the mischief in his eyes, so I follow him.
At the end of the hallway is the kitchen, and I stop to admire the Old-World European atmosphere of the oak cabinets and the marble-topped island. What a dream come true! I would die for a kitchen like this!
Nicodemus chitters and sits in front of a small door behind me, just next to the entrance to the hallway where we entered. He tilts his adorable head back and meows at the doorknob.
“Are you taking me on an adventure, little one?” I crouch and run my hand from his head to his bottom, which raises in response. He quietly pads to the side, allowing me to swing the door open.
The basement door creaks on its hinges, revealing not a dark, cobweb-filled cellar, but a staircase leading down toward a yellow glow reminiscent of candlelight. My furry charge glides down the stairs and I follow, instinctively closing the door behind me.