“To Where the Sun Sets”

The Cat Lady

The Cat Lady.
By B.H. Wydeven

Raven stared into the creature’s big round eyes, so bright and yellow. They stared right back at him, watching him curiously. Raven extended a hand towards the creature’s soft pointy ears, but it meowed and jumped off its perch on the sofa and dove into the kitchen.
“That was Jasper,” Mrs. Higgins said softly. Jasper, a yellow and orange tabby, was long gone, but in his place four multicolored felines approached Raven curiously, investigating the stranger seated on their couch palace.
“Your son said you heard the voices at night,” Raven said as the fattest of the feline gang hopped onto the couch next to Raven. He had shaggy orange fur and feet that were barely visible under his round furry body. If the cat had stripes, Raven imagined that it might be mistaken for a fuzzy basketball. Raven winced as the fuzzy basketball trampled his lap and settled in with Mrs. Higgins.
“That’s right.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t one of the cats?”
“The cats stay downstairs, most of them anyways. I let Jasper come upstairs with me sometimes. He likes to sleep at the foot of my bed. He was Jacob’s cat.”
“Your husband.”
“That’s right.”
“And you think Jacob still visits the house?”
“I know he does. I heard him whispering in my ear,” she said. “But never when I’m awake. I’m always asleep when he does it. It’s as if he knows I’ll always listen then.”
Raven felt something soft rub against his legs. This one was completely black except for a mark of white on the tip of his tail.
“How many cats do you have ma’m?”
“Oh I think there’s probably about fifteen now.”
Raven lightly shoed the black cat with a light push and glanced at his friend Benny Cavoto, sitting in a large arm chair with a big fat gray cat cradled in his arms. Benny had dragged him to this house of cats and strange old lady smells (and strange cat smells) because he believed Raven could help her. Benny owned a bar on the north side of town and more than a few people knew that he and Raven specialized in ghosts, or spiritual communication as it was called among the general population.
One of Benny’s regulars, a young conservative lawyer by the name of Neil Higgins, had spilled the embarrassing details to Benny about how his mom was convinced his late father was visiting her at night. What normally would have been a tight lipped secret spilled to the floor after a few speedballs.

“Hey Cavoto, I heard you help people with fake ghost problems.” Neil had said to Benny as he polished off a Long Island ice tea, his third.” There was a lot of distress in the man’s voice, despite a conflicting comical demeanor. Benny glanced over at Raven, a lump of long hair slumped on his usual spot at the far end of the bar. It was almost closing time and Raven was right on schedule.
“That’s not really how I would describe it,” Benny smiled. “My friend Raven actually sees ghosts, and sometimes people really are hearing what they think they’re hearing.”
“But most of the time they’re not right?”
“Most of the time,” Benny explained with a grin. “People don’t really know what the hell they’re hearing.”

It didn’t take much effort on Benny’s part to convince Raven to meet with kind old Mrs. Higgins; Benny promised to get him drunk at the bar afterwards. Being drunk was Raven’s only remedy against the misery of his sixth sense. Helping spirits make peace with the ones they left on earth, usually rather suddenly, helped manage Raven’s aggravating headaches and night terrors.
But Benny never said anything about the damn cats.

“You’re the spiritual medium right?” Mrs. Higgins said to Raven. Raven nodded. “I don’t want anybody to provoke my Jacob to prove he’s here like on TV, I just want to know what he’s trying to tell me.”
“You don’t know what he was saying to you?”
“I can never remember. By the time I wake up, it always feels like it was just a dream. But then one time I awoke, I looked over and he was sitting in the rocking chair in our bedroom. And he was just sittin’ there, watchin’ me sleep. He looked so peaceful and content. It was just about the break of dawn so his shape was all in silhouette, but I knew it was my Jacob. His silver hair was all curly and it glowed in the early morning light you know? When I saw him sittin’ there, I just couldn’t believe my eyes, but I couldn’t look away either. Finally, I blinked and he was gone. But the rocking chair, the rocking chair was still moving. Jasper saw it too. He was meowing all morning that day, telling me what he saw.”
Mrs. Higgins smiled a glowing glee as she recalled the encounter fondly. Her hair was short and her bright blue eyes revealed a hint of carefully reserved youth behind thick glasses. She seemed to be very convinced that her husband had visited her and she seemed very encouraging of Raven’s ability to discredit her claim. Her knowledge of spiritualism was better than most people he’s helped. Raven carefully considered that it was more likely that she wanted to see her husband’s ghost, but he couldn’t help but feel the positive energy living in her living room.
“How did your husband die?”
“Heart attack. Died in his sleep. Nice and peaceful I say. He fought in World War II and there he could have gone slowly and painful. His brother Greg did, and several of his friends, but fortunately he didn’t. No, he came home and gave me three beautiful boys. He lived a good long life my Jacob did.”
“Could I see your room please?”
“Of course. That’s what you came here for isn’t it?”
As Mrs. Higgins slowly raised herself from the couch, a cat mewed and several balls of fur dashed about like flying bullets. The house was neat and surprisingly clean considering the amount of traffic. She led them through the kitchen to an old wooden staircase concealed by a door.
“Jacob put the door in to keep the cats downstairs,” she explained. “He didn’t want the cats getting into his study with all his old books. He collected first editions. I’ve given most of them to the boys but I don’t have the heart to part with his favorites. He was big fan of Hemmingway and of course Edgar Allen Poe. He had a first edition of Poe’s.”
At the top of the stairs, Raven unzipped his backpack handed Benny his EMF meter. The meter was about the size of a DVD case and was connected to a small red sensor. If Raven couldn’t feel the presence of Jacob Higgins, the EMF meter would.
The hardwood floor creaked under Raven’s feet as they entered the bedroom. Raven entered first and motioned Benny to wait at the door. The room had windows on two sides, letting in a healthy dose of sunlight. Beside the door was a small closet, closed, and in the far corner was the old wooden rocking chair, a lace sheet draped over the back. Raven rested his hands on the metal end frame of the bed and closed his eyes, inhaling with all senses the flavors of the room.
It was mid afternoon and the birds were chirping their rush hour chorus. The traffic was thin outside. Higgins lived on a quiet country road. Fifty years ago, the house was the heart of a dairy farm but now it sat just outside the town of Lafayette, in the former dairy land of America.
Carefully, his mind checked off all the noises outside the windows and moved closer to the ones within reach. A clock in the hallway tapped steadily but soon his mind wandered to the rocking chair, which stood in silence in its corner, soaking in the afternoon sun. Raven gave the chair a moment to move if it wanted to. He listened carefully for a creak or a rock but the rocking chair had no comment.
Raven let go of the brass end board and held his hands before him, fingertips up, eyes still shut.
“Jacob Higgins, my name is Raven James. I am here to help you communicate with your wife.”
There was a light tap that sounded like a heater. It came from behind the chair. It tapped again six times in a rhythm. When the tapping finally stopped the room went quiet again.
A draft touched Raven’s long brown hair, tickling his ears and neck.
“Raven,” came Benny’s whisper behind him. “Full throttle.”
Full throttle meant the needle on the EMF meter had spiked. There was an unseen spirit in the room with them.
Eyes still closed, palms still up, Raven walked three paces forward, near the old rocking chair.
“Jacob Higgins,” he said softly. “Can you give us a sign of your presence?”
“Yes,” whispered a voice. “But my name is not Jacob Higgins.” Raven’s spine grew cold. This was no longer the peaceful encounter he thought it was. This man’s voice was deep and scornful, not the gentle sweet voice Mrs. Higgins had hyped. There was a strange tone to the room, the difference between baby blue and blood red. Opening his eyes, he looked around the empty room, and then turned to Mrs. Higgins. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t expel the words, the frustration that sat in the back of his throat. Yes, your bedroom is haunted, but it’s not the man you were married to for 65 years, he wanted to say. He only gave her a dirty look, that wrinkled face and bright eyes did not deserve a rude comment. Or did they?
“Go get your cat,” he said finally.
“Which one?” Oh that’s right. You have 15 fricken cats in this house.
“Jasper. The one who knows your husband.” Raven listened for Mrs. Higgins to descend the creaky wooden stairwell before whispering to Benny: “Who the hell is this woman?”
“I don’t know her personally,” Benny whispered back. “Her son Neil is a year older than me. All I know is what he told me. You know my meter spiked, right? Did you see him, Jacob? Is her house really haunted?”
“It wasn’t Jacob.”
“Then who is it?”
Creak. Creak. Creak. Raven’s eyes got wide as he heard the sound behind him. Benny’s eyes did the same and his mouth gapped as well as he looked behind Raven. He turned back to see the old rocking chair swinging slowly back and forth on its wooden crests. “What is your name spirit?” Raven insisted, loosing the soft calm voice he had channeled a moment ago.
“Charles,” the voice said. There was no apparition but Raven could feel the man’s presence turning the sunny bedroom into a walk in freezer.
The downstairs door opened with a creak, followed by slow footsteps up the old wooden stairs. Every single step made a loud creaking noise. At one point, Raven heard a dramatic meow.
“Let him in here,” Raven said when Mrs. Higgins had returned. She let Jasper down and he ran into the bedroom, hoping up on the bed. The rocking chair had since stopped. Everyone watched to see what the cat would do, but he remained seated at the foot of the bed, watching the motionless rocking chair as if someone he knew was seated there.
“Who’s Charles?” Raven said with bluntness yet constrain.
“My brother,” Mrs. Higgins said surprised.
“Does he have sort of a deep voice?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“He’s the one in your bedroom.”
“No,” Mrs. Higgins said quickly. “It’s got to be a different Charles. Charlie isn’t dead.”
Raven looked at her firmly. He wanted to know it was true. He hated delivering bad news. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Mrs. Higgins didn’t respond. Her face was grim and it was obvious that it was not an easy answer. It seemed the old cat lady was not as straightforward as she seemed.
He turned back to the rocking chair and closed his eyes. “Charles, we’d like to ask you some questions. Would that be alright?”
Creak. Creak. Creak. The rocking chair rocked again. Jasper meowed. Raven heard his paws click softly against the hardwood floor. Raven slowly opened his eyes to see an elderly man in a blue and white flannel shirt and jeans rocking in the chair.
“My mother used to rock us to sleep in this chair,” Charles said slowly. “Tell Ruth that. She remembers.”
“That rocking chair was your mother’s,” Raven said without looking back at Mrs. Higgins. “She’d rock you in it.”
Mrs. Higgins slowly walked up to her bed on the side closest to the creaking rocking chair and sat down.
“And Jasper,” Charles continued. “Was born at my house.”
“You got Jasper from Charles,” Raven said to Mrs. Higgins, who watched the chair rock hypnotically. “Why are you here Charles?”
“To say goodbye to my sister,” He said. “We haven’t talked in years and I’ve been, well I’m on my death bed. Tell her Jacob is watching over her. He’s at peace. Just like I will be soon.”
“Charlie; your brother,” Raven choked. “Came to say goodbye. He wants you to know that Jacob is here too.”
Mrs. Higgins weather face grew dim, but her eyes stayed dry. “Charlie and I haven’t spoken in three years,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Raven said. “You don’t need to explain it to me. I’m not a therapist.”
“But I do! Because I need you to ask him something. It’s not going to make sense to you, but he’ll know what I mean.”
“He can hear you. Talk to the rocking chair.” The rocking chair stopped rocking but Charles did not disappear.
“Charlie, did you repent for what you did?”
“Yes, Ruth I did. Tell her—tell her I repented to a priest and that I am truly sorry for what I did.”
Raven repeated the message. Ruth Higgins began to sob.

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