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Cats
It started as a low rumble. Then, it inched upward and emerged as a full throated scream.
It might have been a child crying. Matthew had never heard anything like it. He turned
toward the kitchen table where his mother and Aunt Sarah sat reading the evening paper.
He’d have to move quickly.
Matthew sprang from his chair and opened the blinds. Two cats were locked together.
The big one was on top.
“Matthew Carpenter, get back where you belong!” It was his mother. He
was being punished for hitting his younger brother. It was becoming a daily ritual.
There was still 20 minutes.
“Why are they fighting?”
“Never mind.”
Aunt Sarah pushed aside her paper. “They’re not fighting, sweetie. They’re playing.”
“Like you and your brother,” his mother said. “They don’t know how to play nice either.”
“It doesn’t look like playing to me,” he said. At least she was talking to him. Even another scolding was better
than having to sit by himself and wait for her to recognize him. She always favored Peter anyway.
That’s why Peter was sent to his room to watch television, while he had to sit by himself
in the corner and stare at the clock.
“Why don’t you cover your ears,” his aunt said.
Matthew tentatively placed his hands over his ears.
“I can still hear them.”
Aunt Sarah smiled. He could always make her smile. “Cover them good.”
Matthew pushed until he heard the ocean.
“You’re lucky you never married, Sarah,” his mother said.
Aunt Sarah shrugged.
“Sometimes I think I must have been crazy. One was enough.”
Aunt Sarah loosened a dark plastic comb that anchored a bun of silver hair. She was sixty and looked it. A
dark semi-circle underlined each eye.
“Oh, Elizabeth, you know you don’t mean that. You wanted the second one as much as he did.”
“Well, I’m done. I don’t care how much he wants a baby girl.”
“You’re tired. You’ll feel differently after a good night’s rest.”
“No, I won’t, Sarah. I’m serious. I know he’s your brother, but enough is enough.
He has no idea. He's hardly home anymore; I’m beginning to wonder. Nobody works those kinds of
hours. When he’s home he collapses on the couch and falls asleep. He barely knows I’m alive.
Besides, he lets them run wild. He has no sense of proportion.”
Aunt Sarah laughed. “He’s a man. They’re his boys. This is a wonderful time for him.”
“What about me? When will it be my wonderful time?”
Aunt Sarah grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed.
“It’s like I’m invisible, Sarah. Suddenly I feel very old.”
Elizabeth rose from the table and walked over to Matthew. When she got close, he lowered his
head and stared at the floor. She tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed, “five minutes.”
Matthew nodded.
Aunt Sara joined them. “Take your bath, Elizabeth. I can watch him and put both boys to bed.”
“Mind your aunt,” Elizabeth said.
Aunt Sarah waited until she heard the door close. Then, she pulled out a chair and sat next to Matthew. She pointed to her ear and held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
Matthew spread his fingers. The bellowing had stopped.
“You see,” she said. “Nothing lasts forever.”
He smiled and removed his hands. “Is Mama still mad?”
Aunt Sarah reached over and ran her fingers through his hair. “Of course, not, sweetie.”
“Why does she always take Peter’s side?”
Aunt Sarah wrapped an arm around Matthew. Then she motioned toward Peter’s room and placed a finger over her lips. “He’s still a baby. You’re Mama’s big boy. Pretty soon you’ll be starting middle school. She counts on you now that your father is away so much.”
“I wish Daddy was home more. When I was little he was here all the time. He and Mama played with me all night.”
“I know, sweetie.”
Matthew pushed his chair close to Aunt Sarah. “Do you want to know a secret?”
“Of course, sweetie.
“Sometimes, I wish I was little again.”
“Oh sweetie, why would you wish for something like that?”
Matthew leaned over and rested his head on Aunt Sara’s shoulder. “Because Daddy and Mama would be friends again.”
Aunt Sara wrapped a large arm around Matthew and kissed him. “Be patient, sweetheart. Things will be fine again.”
“Promise?”
She raised her three middle fingers and slid her pinky under her thumb. “Scouts honor,” she said.
Matthew smiled and stretched his arms. It was already past his bedtime. “Why were the cats crying?”
“They weren’t crying, Sweetie. They were singing.”
“Why were they singing?”
Aunt Sara slid back her chair and looked at her watch. “Time for bed, sweetie. I promised your mama I’d have you and Peter in bed before she finished her shower.”
Matthew rose from the table and walked to the window. “You still haven’t told me why they were singing?”
“Because it’s spring,” Aunt Sara said. “It’s spring and each has found someone to love.”
***
Matthew turned quickly at the sound of a door closing. His mother must have finished her bath. He could hear her singing softly as she walked to the bedroom. She’d be checking on him soon. He ran to the kitchen window and opened the blinds for one last look. He watched as the two cats separated and headed in different directions. ”I don’t know, Aunt Sara,” he said. “It sure sounded like crying to me.”
Joseph Cavano began writing for publication in 2007. During that time he has had two collections of short stories published Half-past Nowhere, 2008 and Love Songs in Minor Keys, 2009) and won many awards. His two most recent stories are scheduled to appear in 2012. “The Honey Wagon,” the 2011 second place winner in the Doris Betts Fiction Contest, will appear in the 2012 summer issue of the North Carolina Literary Review. “Story Cloth,” is scheduled for publication by Potomac Review in the spring 2012 issue.
An accomplished jazz pianist, Joseph often performs at his signings in order to illustrate the similarities in creating a work of fiction and a musical piece.
Email: Joseph Cavano
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