Chester the Cat

Chester the Cat short story

      He sat comfortably with his back pressing fully into the sofa. The black and white cat, whom he had finally named Chester, lay happily in his lap. The animal was resting its head and purring loudly.

      "And today in local news," the anchor rattled on, "The suspect who robbed the Chicken Nuggets Galore still remains unidentified and at large."

      "Oh my!" James fretted sarcastically at Chester. "Not another maniac running away with three unpaid large Nuggie value meals!" He just loved the action that took place in the small town of Merville, population 1,421. He scratched Chester behind the ears. "I'm surprised no one has called asking for their missing cat to be returned."

      In the three weeks since James had found Chester pacing along the gravel road about half a mile away from his ten-acre property, all dust-worn, bruised, and even bleeding slightly, James had not heard or read anything about the cat's possible owner. That was strange: nothing in Merville was ever hidden from the small town's gossip line-not even the mayor's secret trip to Omaha during his weekend off to buy more toupaes, the juiceman's secret replacement of tomato juice for the more expensive fruit punch when delivering to Old Man Morris, a veteran who had claimed to have lost his senses of taste and smell in the war (when in truth he had lost them after years of eating his wife's overboiled porridge); or the fact that James was still a single man in his early thirties with a four-bedroom house, no debts, and no wife. There was no problem with James not hearing from Chester's real owners. In fact, he was hoping to never hear anything from them. He didn't feel so alone with this new companion at home.

      James flipped off the television with the remote. He lifted Chester up above his head. "You're such a good cat, oh yes you are!" James placed the cat on his lap again and began pulling bits of fur on its back. Chester growled and swiped at its new owner.

      "Relax, I'm just teasing you, you goofy guy!" James replied. Chester rubbed its head against James's hand as if he understood. Gosh, James thought, cats really are smart. Chester jumped to the floor and went to the adjacent room, where his Meow Mix lay Unfinished.

      Yes, this is the best gift I could ask for.  The cat thought to himself, as he tried to chew his hardened food. My darn food's dried up again!

      The next morning, James slept until ten. For no reason, he had taken the whole week off of work. He was just sick and tired of managing the local car wash. Customers always complained that the hoses only operated at one pressure. If only they used their eyes! There was a dial that allowed them to switch between five different pressures.

      "Meow!" Chester came running into the room. Get up lazybones, it's past ten! 

      James sat up. "Oh, I'm sorry Chester! You must be starving!" James quickly ran to the cat bowl with Chester close behind. Surprisingly, the bowl was already full. "Strange, I don't remember your bowl being full last night," James turned to Chester, "I must have been seeing things." The cat looked up and twitched its nose. I wonder if he'll ever figure out the truth about me.

      "Now it's time for me to eat breakfast." James grinned at Chester, "I'm starving." He pulled out a frying pan and began preparing batter. Soon he was singing some country song as he mixed strawberries and bananas into the batter mix. After preparing three or four, he suddenly had an idea. Would the cat like a pancake? A whole new invention! He opened a can of tuna and placed it in the center of some batter. "What a lovely treat I have for you Chester," he hollered. After it was finished, James placed the pancake next to the food dish. Chester ran up to it.

      "You better let it cool first," James advised. To his surprise, Chester waited until it stopped steaming. He then began clawing at it to find the tuna inside. After a few bites, he looked up at his owner.

      "I knew you'd like it! I'm a genius!" James exclaimed.

      Chester gobbled down the tuna happily. He's got a few tricks up his sleeve. I think I'm going to like this guy.

      Later James decided to go for a walk down the gravel road, maybe his new bundle of joy Chester would like to come. "Chester, you want to go exploring?"

      Chester came running from his resting place on the window sill. What sort of exploring is he talking about? 

      "I'm going for a walk, you interested in coming?" The cat rubbed himself against James' leg. "I'll take that as a yes."

      Outside, the sun shone happily in the sky. James could hear birds chirping in trees all around, and once again felt young in the dawn of spring. It wasn't so bad he took the whole week off. He was starting to forget that there could be moments of innocence and beauty like this. Perhaps this walk would give him time to reflect. What was his life all about? Where was he going? There were always so many questions but never any answers.

      Memories came to a time when he was a young child, growing up in the same small town. The citizens of Merville had admired him then. He was always such a kind young lad, running errands for neighbors and doing chores for his dad on the farm. Now, as he continued to creep through his thirties, all those citizens were cursing him. He was supposed to have made something of himself! All his classmates had gone to college, gotten jobs in big cities, or settled down to get married. The only thing James had done was buy that giant house on the outskirts of town. He had outbid Mr. Nueveys, who needed a large house where he could live with his wife and nine kids. That was just plain wasteful, all he had to show for himself was a large yet empty estate!

      Why did everyone have to be so critical? They didn't know him, and they certainly didn't know what his life was like. If only someone took the time to notice. James was about to continue wallowing in self-pity when he saw Chester ahead. Chester was running along the side of the road, chasing a large butterfly in the distance. There's a difference between us and them.  All he does is feel sorry for himself, all the while missing everything around him. I, on the other hand, take the time to let everything in. It's all so beautiful. . .darn you, butterfly, I'll get you before I'm through!

      It was an early Saturday morning when he was found. The janitor on his morning rounds had seen a light on in one of the student laboratories and gone to turn it off.

      "Them damn college kids. Do all sorts of experiments 'bout all sorts of things and think they're so smart, but then they can't even turn the light off when they're done," Janitor Dwight mumbled, adding "laziness of college students" to his lengthy list of things to complain about to his wife. It was near the top of the list, next to his anger at the electric company that had cut his pension after he had worked there thirty-two years and his frustration with the government for raising the price of postage stamps, making them too expensive for him to buy new ones for his collection. As Dwight made his way to the scene, he put his face in his sleeves to keep out the foul stench flooding the labs. Those lazy college kids had been really busy this time!

      The crime was no longer a secret after Janitor Dwight discovered Professor Morris lying unconscious on the floor, his lab coat shredded and stained with blood. The janitor turned and ran out of the science building screaming bloody murder. Soon a crowd of professors and yawning college students had gathered around the science building. The man known as the main face of the college was wheeled out to the ambulance, unconscious. There was a slash mark above his right eye, and the arm skin under his torn right shoulder had several longer slash marks. It was believed that a large metal cage had fallen on his head. The EMTs placed him in the back and sped away. Everyone standing outside watched the ambulance zoom into the distance. Everyone seemed to be in shock. Nothing this serious had ever happened at the small and safe Bradley College of Arts and Sciences before. And how could anything like this happen to the renowned mammal zoologist Doctor Mel Morris?

      For the next few days, Doctor Morris continued to remain in his knocked-out-state in the nearby hospital. Doctors estimated no permanent brain-damage, just a temporary loss of memory. At the college, all biology classes were canceled as the building was closed for detectives to conduct their investigation. At first they had suspected a typical case of trespassing, vandalism, and battery. However, this theory was highly unlikely because of multiple pieces of evidence. For one thing, there was no sign of illegal entry into the building. That Saturday morning when Janitor Dwight had arrived, the science building doors had been locked. Police found none of the sealed windows broken or even cracked. It was also known that Doctor Morris and his students often worked on lab projects until the early hours of the morning, long after the campus doorman came around at 10:00 to lock all the doors.. The security camera at the entrance of the building also did not show anyone entering the building except Janitor Dwight at 6:00 a.m.

      Given the lack of damage at the scene, police ruled out vandalism. Only one lab of ten in the building had any damaged goods or instruments, and in that one lab the only damaged items were some electrical device and the large cage that had hit Doctor Morris's head. Neither did battery seem very likely. Yes, police could imagine someone throwing the large cage at him, but it was just as likely that it had fallen. And no one could offer a reasonable explanation as to how or why an attacker would slash Dr. Morris. The weapon would have been something like a nail file or the prongs of a fork. After a few days of intense searching, examining evidence, and interviewing clueless professors, students, and janitorial staff, the detectives marked the investigation as unsolved and shoved the files in the back of one of the large cabinets down at headquarters. Students were back in the labs by Wednesday, and classes continued as if nothing ever happened. An adjunct professor took over Dr. Morris's classes until further notice, most likely for the rest of the semester.

      No one even gave a second thought about Dr. Morris's research. His colleagues knew that the once-widely published researcher had not conducted a single sponsored study or written an article in three years. Since it was a private liberal arts college where research had to be sponsored by grants and outside agencies anyway, everyone had just looked the other way when Dr. Morris had started becoming lazy and careless three years earlier. As long as he taught the necessary courses and advised his biology majors, everything would be okay. He always had a guaranteed place at the college because his groundbreaking research on the psychology of cats and dogs had helped the small school to gain millions in endowment funds. Just as long as Dr. Morris was a faculty member, the small school's name would stand out among all the other schools that had better science programs but less widely-known professors.

      Eventually, life at Bradley went back to normal, but there was one student who refused to quit worrying about the mystery of Doctor Morris's injury. Michael Delmens, a senior double majoring in biology and culinary arts with a minor in modern dance, was one of Professor Morris's top students and a member of his student group, the Mammal Lovers Society. Michael was also the only one who knew that something else was going on with Dr. Morris. So when the professor's injuries became public, Michael suspected the worst. Michael knew that Dr. Morris had been studying the neurological systems in cats. No, it wasn't just studying the cat's brain and nervous system. It was a lot more than that. Dr. Morris wanted to get directly into the minds of cats-to see what it was actually like to perceive the world through a cat's eyes and to feel what a cat feels when it interacts with humans.

      When Michael had first come to Bradley as a freshman, he was fascinated by Dr. Morris's love and fascination for animals and had decided to get involved in the Mammal Lovers Society. At that time, Michael was the only new member with, three graduating seniors. The five met every other week. During the meetings, Dr. Morris showed countless pictures of his two dozen or so cats. He told how he was performing all sorts of scans of the cats' brains as the creatures went through all their daily activities. His eyes always had a twinkle when he shared discoveries about how the cats' minds were active even in their sleep. The professor seemed to be forever passionate about his work and inspiring to students. But then, towards the end of Michael's freshman year, Dr. Morris began to change.

      The professor began to have a rather bizarre demeanor and complete change in personality. Where he had once confided all of his interests and ideas, he now hid the slightest bit of information. When colleagues asked him what research he was currently working on, the man simply mumbled, "Nothing of major interest at the moment." Everyone in the department wondered what was going on with this usually bright and charming genius in his late forties. "It must be a mid-life crisis sort of thing," they rationalized. They never took the thought that he was experiencing career troubles or hiding something seriously, because everyone in the department envied Dr. Morris as a researcher and professor.

      Students also began to notice a change. Dr. Morris had once been animated and interesting in all of his classes. Now he simply stood in the front of the room and lectured in a monotone voice that was barely decipherable. He always wore a lab coat with the top three buttons undone showing a dirty white T-Shirt underneath that made the students think that he had just changed the oil in his car. And his hair was always standing in multiple directions. Overall, none of the students really cared much about the changes. They just accepted them. The other students in the Mammal Lover's Society noticed the advisor's absence from all the meetings, but they didn't care; they were graduating. Meetings just became a time for them to discuss their plans for graduation and excitement about the real world. When they left at the end of the year, Michael received a brief impersonal email that he was now the president of the group. This met he had to collaborate with other campus groups and plan events, which made him somewhat upset because he didn't have time to lead anything with his demanding double major.

      In the next few years, Dr. Morris continued his bizarre behaviors. It became obvious that he was not working on any new project or writing any new book. Rumors started going around that he was staying out late at bars on week-nights and also turning his office at the college into his home. On several occasions the board investigated these allegations, but they were unable to find any evidence that showed the professor was violating any policies in regard to conduct. Still, Dr. Morris walked into class every morning looking as though he'd been stuck in a cave for years. His hair had grown long; he tried to hide its length by tying it back into a large mass on the back of his head and then wearing a gray stocking cap. He wore the same lab coat every day, always a little dirtier, as if he was campaigning against the use of modern-day washers. No one approached Dr. Morris about his behavior directly. It was almost impossible to communicate anything with him-he was off in his own universe.

      For his whole undergraduate career, Michael had watched the professor who inspired him to study biology become more and more distant. But like everyone else, he hadn't known what to do but keep his distance and conduct business as usual. He and another younger student became the only two members of the Mammal Lovers' Society. He also had had the professor for a couple of classes, but had just looked the other way when the professor ran his hands through his hair or rolled up the mildewed sleeves of his lab coat. When Dr. Morris still lay unconscious at the hospital, however, Michael knew that he could not sit back any longer and let things simply pass by. He had to uncover the truth.

     

      On Saturday night, one week after the horrifying event, Michael pulled his rusting blue Ford pickup into 1401 Maynard, Dr. Morris's home. The house was rather small for a man of Dr. Morris's standing- just a typical one story building with large windows and a wooden front door. Michael walked up the two cement steps to the entrance and found that the door was locked. He looked underneath the welcome mat and sure enough found a spare key. After being unlocked, however, the door still would not open. After a couple of tries, Michael decided there must be another padlock on the inside. He gave up trying to open the front and went around the back.

      The night was rather cool, and Michael zipped up his coat before turning on his flashlight. Why was he doing this again? He wasn't the type to trespass. If someone caught him lurking around the professor's property, wouldn't they suspect him of having some involvement in the incident?

      "I need to do this," Michael said to himself. "Someone needs to know what's going on here." As he walked through the backyard, he noticed a light shining in a lower basement window. When he got closer, he realized the window had been broken. Whoever broke in must have been rather small- most of the window was still intact with only a medium sized hole in the middle. Without hesitation, Michael broke the remainder of the window and was then able to bust out the frame. It was now large enough for him to crawl inside.

      The room was actually connected to a much larger main room. As Michael walked in, it was as though he was walking into Dr. Frankenstein's chamber. By the far wall, there were all sorts of eccentric electrical and technological devices. There was some mini X-ray gadget and a set of surgical tools. To Michael's left, about thirty cages aligned the wall. They were all open with their locks scattered on the floor. Michael noticed some marks on the floor, and as he examined them more closely he realized they were paw prints. He followed them all the way to the next room, where they led to a hole in the air-conditioning conduct that undoubtedly led to an opening outside. Memories ran through Michael's mind of Dr. Morris describing his cats. Had all his cats broken loose and escaped?

      The lab of Dr. Morris held a world of secrets. Michael walked back into the lab, sure to find the answers he was looking to. Behind the computer were multiple notebooks, which Michael believed to be the professor's research logs. Upon opening them, Michael discovered that most of the pages had been tampered with. There were slash marks running through the middle of each paragraph, making none of the entries legible. It was this way notebook after notebook. Until finally, Michael found an entry dated from two years earlier:

October 2, 2003

      It has long been known that the brain of this species is capable of remembering and learning. But I have now discovered that with only a little modification of the brain, this creature can indeed think in more abstract and complex ways. There is a part of the cat's brain that lies lifeless, completely unused. If I perform a small surgical procedure, inserting a large vein to connect the two brain regions, the cat shall become superintelligent, thus using all its natural capacities!