Part 3 of Micky’s Auction Room’s Strange Cat
“She’s all right, she’s all right. It was a terrible dream. You ate too much before you went to bed last night, “he told himself as he stumbled out on to the landing and took the stairs two at a time his bare feet losing their grip in the threadbare carpet. Breathless with fear he pushed open the kitchen door terrified of what he would find there.
Morag stood in front of the old kitchen dresser her hand on her belly a strange look on her face. Weak with relief Connor rushed over, and wrapped his arms around her and began to babble about his dream. “Not a dream a terrible nightmare,” he babbled.
Thrusting his arms away Morag ignored him and pointed at the old dresser.
“What’s that smell,” Connor asked coughing. As he drew in a deep steadying breath an overpowering pungent smell filled his lungs.
Silently, Morag pointed to the old teapot. Its broken lid lay in two halves at the foot of the dresser and a white cloudy substance was streamed out of its gaping mouth.
As Connor reached up to examine the pot the cat crunched beside it growling deeply in its throat.
“Leave it where it is,” Morag said sharply.
From that day on the cat became Morag’s shadow; winding its long tail around her as if she was its possession.
Every attempt by Connor to catch it ended in its escaping but not before it left long angry claws marks on his hands and face.
The first time Morag woke up to find the cat licking the mound of her belly she screamed for Connor. The next time it happened she felt a strangely soothing hypnotic dream-like effect on her.
As it drew nearer to the birth of her baby she noticed there was a certain pattern to its licking. Round and round the cat’s tongue licked in ever increasing circles.
As darkness came down one winter evening the niggling labour pains Morag had been feeling all day suddenly intensified. She gripped her teeth as another wave of pain hit her. “Damm you Connor couldn’t you have come straight home tonight instead of visiting your granny,” she panted into the silent kitchen.
Connor glanced absently at the old hospital. Overgrown weeds, trees and shrubs populated the old grounds. Hs eye caught a movement in the trees. An old man was trimming one of the trees. “If he can tackle that maybe he could help clean up the garden of the old house,” he said. On impulse he stopped and asked would he come and cut back the garden in the old house they had bought.
The old man shook his head vehemently. . “
“You don’t know where I live yet,” Connor said.
“Is the cat there?”
Connor stilled. Briefly he related the story of his granny finding the old teapot and the way the cat seem to come with it and how it killed the baby bats.
“Get home to your wife before her son is born,” the old man mumbled.
Connor startled. He didn’t think he had mentioned Morag was pregnant. He took a closer at the old man. I wonder was he a
patient here at one time, he thought looking into eyes that seemed devoid of life. It’s a strange thing for him to be doing – trimming just one tree in an overgrown abandoned hospital, he thought.
“Where are you going,” he called as the old man made for the gates of the abandoned hospital.
“To repent of my sin and be free, “the old man mumbled.
The hairs rose on the back of Connor’s neck. “What sin,” he asked fearing the answer.
A long low sigh carried in the wind.
“Because of me a young nursemaid killed all the new born babies in the old house you bought,” the old man mumbled.
“I too found an odd looking pot in an auction room. I gave it to the nursemaid as a wedding present – except there never was a wedding. I jilted her at the altar. She killed the baby she was expecting and all the other babies that were born in that old house.” A tremble passed through him.
“She was committed for life to the old hospital.” He paused, a faraway look on his withered face. “The feral cats that roamed the grounds became her sole companions. She asked when she died that her ashes be sealed in the pot. And that her money used to feed the wild cats; ever since, wherever the old teapot is a feral cat is too.”
Connor broke into a run. “What about the cat?” he shouted as he raced down the rutted lane that led to his house.
Walking around and round in circles crying and clutching her stomach, Morag stopped beside the dresser and locked eyes with those of the cat. She startled as the cat’s green eyes gleamed and it licked its lips
Her skin prickled. Above her head she could hear the soft flapping of the bats wings. She glanced at the kitchen door leading to the back stairs. It was open but the cat was showing no sign that he wanted to sneak up to the roof-space.
The kitchen was black as coal now except for the faint glow of the fire. The small table lamp flickered from the draught casting shadows on the walls.
The cat started down the old dessert the reflection of its teeth dancing eerily on the wall. Morag sensed its eyes probing into hers like two poker hot orbs. Suddenly, she was very afraid. Helpless with pain she thrashed about screaming out hysterical curses. Words she didn’t even know that she knew flew from her mouth. She cursed Connor. She cursed the cat. She cursed the old granny for giving her the old teapot.
She could feel the baby pressing down pushing its way into the world. She knew now her baby was going to meet the same fate as the helpless baby bats. A primal scream escaped from her. Like the terrifying cry of the mother bats as they tried in vain to save their babies she was going to be helpless to save her baby.
The cat’s ears pricked up. It stopped it descent, listened and uttered a deep guttural growl. Someone was coming.
There was a beat of silence and then Morag heard the crunch of feet outside.
Hope rose up in her giving her renewed strength. Locking her teeth against the waves of labour pains that threatened to overcome her she gripped the legs of the old dresser and with all her might began to drag herself upright.
There was a loud clatter and the sound of the old knocker on the front door echoed through the house.
Clinging to the dresser Morag cried helplessly Connor had forgotten his key again.
With one leap the cat landed on her back knocking her onto all four on the floor.
She could feel the baby’s head beginning to push out. Desperately, she tightened her body in a vain attempt to delay its birth. Beside her she felt the old dresser tremble and moan.
The next minute there was a loud splintering of wood and the sound of breaking glass and Connor and an old man stood in the kitchen.
Screaming wildly Morag felt her son slide from her and into the world just as the dresser crashed to the ground.
Morag stared dead eyes at her baby as Connor related the tale the old man had told him.
“Where’s the old teapot,” he suddenly asked. Morag looked up at him.
“Your granny took it.” Connor felt his blood chill.
For the first time Connor saw what his granny saw, Morag’s eyes were as green as the missing cat’s.
In the auction room a man was turning over an odd looking pot in his hands. “Pity about the broken lid but I’m sure it can be mended,” he murmured. “Now to check out that old house that has just come on the Market. It’ll be nice to have a place of our own before the new baby arrived,” he mused, as he paid for the strange teapot.
Gemma Hill 2020©
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