The Fisherman's Cat

         The Fisherman’s Cat

By Matthew Boggs

Rolo Grenville Paulson’s boot narrowly missed the dead seagull on the dock, as he disembarked from the fishing vessel Ann’s Wave. He grunted, struggling with the bulk of his baggage. The fisherman didn’t bother waving farewell to the rest of the crew. He wasn’t well respected onboard the ship.  Rolo’s small stature and frail body made him the obvious choice to be the ship’s “bait boy”.  He could easily clamber into the iron crab pots, set the bait, and scuttle back out.  It was uncomfortable work, usually reserved for the most junior of crewmen.  This wasn’t the case onboard Ann’s Wave, much to Rolo’s displeasure. At 34, he was likely the oldest “bait boy” on the island.

Rolo was an odd looking man.  Barely over five feet tall, with a huge hawk-like nose, bald head, and long braided beard, he never commanded much respect from anyone. His grey eyes seemed to be locked into a permanent expression of surprise.  The fisherman was glad to be back in Talys-on-Sea after many weeks on the ocean, and anxious to get home. While Rolo was at sea, his wife had given birth to their first child. He didn’t yet know whether he was father to a son or daughter.

Rolo waved down a carriage and loaded his gear onto the back; everything except for the wooden cage, covered by a musty blanket.  He took this inside with him, and ordered the driver to take him home.

An agitated growl issued from beneath the blanket. Rolo lifted the edge of the blanket, whispered some soothing words, and had a look at the animal within.  It was a cat, but like nothing the fisherman had ever seen before. It was exotic, beautiful, and had a primal gleam in its eyes that exhilarated Rolo.  The cat’s coat was fiery orange, and it was striped with black, like a miniature tiger.  He continued to soothe the creature with his voice, while the cat’s eyes watched Rolo intensely.

The cat he acquired from a tribeswoman on the savage island of Jumanne, several hundred miles to the east of Talys-on-Sea. Rolo intended the animal to be a gift to his wife upon returning home. He was sure Lakeisha would love the cat, and hoped his son or daughter would play with it when the child was old enough.  Rolo never had the luxury of pets as a child, and was excited to be offering his kid that experience.



When the carriage arrived at the Paulson home, Rolo paid the driver and was met at the door by Lakeisha, his wife of over 12 years.  In her arms, wrapped warmly in a clean woollen blanket, was his son.  The fisherman dropped everything, quickly kissed Lakeisha’s cheek, and then held his boy for the first time. 

“I’ve named him Fearghal Alger, after our grandfathers.” Lakeisha smiled.

“Fearghal, may you never have to cast a net or bait a pot.” Rolo laughed gleefully.  He kissed the boy’s forehead and handed him back to his mother.  “Go on, I’ll meet you inside.”

When he was finished bringing his baggage into the small shack they shared, he joined his wife and son at the kitchen table.  Fearghal was feeding at his mother’s breast.

Rolo smiled and looked on proudly. A few strands of Lakeisha’s henna-dyed red hair had escaped from the bun on the back of her head, and he watched her brush them away from Fearghal’s face.  Lakeisha was not a beautiful woman by most standards, but to Rolo she was a priceless treasure.  He didn’t care that her legs were hairy, or that her breasts drooped, or even that her buttocks were lumpy.  He had taken many prostitutes, who were more beautiful than his wife, but she was his, and he loved her for it.  In Rolo’s mind, Lakeisha was the only woman who had ever truly respected him.

“I have a gift for you.” Rolo said when his son was finished suckling.  Instead of seeing his wife’s eyes light up as he expected, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Rolo, how much did you spend?”

He didn’t answer; instead he lifted the cage up and set it on the table. He dramatically pulled the dirty blanket off revealing the exotic cat in all of its glory.

The cat crouched quietly in the cage, its piercing yellow eyes darted around the room before settling onto the baby in Lakeisha’s arms.  It stared intently, the child’s mother nervously covering Fearghal with the blanket. 

“You know the money is tight.  Can we afford this silly animal? And look how he watches your son. It’s not right Rolo. I don’t like it.”

Rolo frowned. “What’s not to like? You are the only woman in Talys-on-Sea with such a magnificent pet! Such a remarkable beast! Never will you see a wharf cat of such beauty!” 

He opened the cage, and the cat gingerly slinked out onto the table. It sniffed the air, and slowly crept closer to the baby.  Lakeisha protectively cradled Fearghal deeper into her bosom. 

“Put it back in its cage. I don’t want it near my son.” Lakeisha stood up, shoving back her chair. The cat chirped and scurried away from the sudden movement and noise. 

“You’ve frightened it!” Rolo growled. 

“I don’t care! Keep it away from Fearghal.” 

“He just smells the milk!” Rolo’s voice raised as his wife left the kitchen. Fearghal began to cry, unsettled by the commotion.

“Not home an hour, and you’ve already made your boy cry. “  The bedroom door closed and Rolo stood alone in the kitchen.

The fisherman silently fumed for a few moments.  The cat stared at him from under the cupboard. Rolo growled quietly, and poured himself some wine.  He chugged it and poured another.  He threw a piece of smoked fish to his pet, which just turned up its nose at the food.

“Blasted cat. It was good enough for you on the boat, but not in my home? What? Think you’re the new king of this castle, do you boyo? You best think again.”  Rolo raged, and jammed his boot up under the cupboard. It connected with the cat’s haunches, and the beast bolted away with a hiss.  Rolo didn’t see where it took refuge, so he returned his attention to his wine.

Rolo sat at the table, forehead resting against his palm, and polished off a few more cups of wine.  His anger turned to sadness and disappointment. They struggled for years to have a child. Lakeisha was just shy of her 30th year, and they were both afraid of being childless forever.  In this land people did everything young. You married young, had a family at a young age, and died young.  You were lucky if you lived into your forties, and luckier still if you died an old man in your own bed.

Rolo’s fist slammed down, knocking his cup over. The last drops of wine seeped into the wooden table.  Yes, the cat came at a hefty price, Lakeisha was not wrong about that. He cursed himself as he thought back to the day, when he stood amazed at the tribeswoman’s exotic cat.

 

The Ann’s Wave had been replenishing supplies on the jungle island of Jumanne. The island was home to tribes of primitive and often savage people, among other things.  Local tribes, whichever ones weren’t actively killing each other that is, would set up bazaars when the fishing and whaling vessels came.  It was at just such a bazaar, where Rolo would find his new pet.

The fisherman had been browsing various wares, most of which he considered worthless junk.  Who would want to buy a skirt made from grass? Or a piece of wood painted with coloured mud and animal dung.  He wanted to get Lakeisha a gift, but he wanted something very special to celebrate the birth of their child.

Exasperated by the lack of items he deemed appropriate, he sullenly started back to his ship. It was then that he noticed another merchant, tucked away between two mud huts.  It was the cat’s fiery orange fur that caught his eye.  He approached, and marvelled at the animal’s markings.  This was nothing like the mousers which scurried from shadow to shadow back home. 

Rolo and looked up from the cat, and to the tribeswoman standing quietly next to him. Her skin was blacker than the night, her eyes deep brown, and her hair was the most striking of all. It was nearly the same orange colour as the cat.  He imagined she must have traded something to a foreign fisherman for some henna, like his wife used back home.

“How much for the cat?” Rolo asked.

“This kitty, not for sale to sand-flesh.”  She replied in a heavy accent. Rolo bristled at the insult. Sand-flesh. Men whose skin was white like the sandy beaches of Jumanne.  It was never a friendly term.

“I’ll give you 20 gold pieces for it, and the cage.”

“Not for sale, sand-flesh.”

“Thirty.” Rolo countered flatly.

The tribeswoman shook her head, and looked away as if business was done.

“I will give you FIFTY gold pieces for that blasted animal and the cage.” Rolo said angrily.

“Animal like this, not for sand-flesh.”

Rolo muttered a racial insult, and then took a deep breath.

“Please. My wife has just had a baby, and I want to get her a fitting gift. Now will you take sixty gold pieces for it? Please?”

The woman looked ready to again deny Rolo the purchase, then paused.  “100 gold pieces and you have gift for new sand-flesh baby.” The tribeswoman smiled for the first time.

Rolo cleared his throat. That was an absurd amount of money for a fisherman of low status such as himself.  He cleared his throat again and opened his coin pouch. He looked at the coins in the leather bag.  “It’s a deal.”

The fisherman held out the coin pouch to the woman, and just as she was about to take it, Rolo let the bag fall from his fingers. The pouch landed with a clink, spilling a few coins onto the ground. 

“Oh I’m so sorry…” Rolo apologised as the tribeswoman turned around and bent down to retrieve the money. He glanced around, and seeing no one, slipped his fillet knife from his belt.  In a flash he was behind the woman. He grabbed her around the mouth with his left hand, and then plunged the knife into the side of her neck. Violently he jerked the blade up and down, as the knife severed arteries.  The woman spasmed as blood pumped out of her body. Rolo released her and she slumped to the ground.  He quickly grabbed the cat’s cage, and as an afterthought, retrieved his coin pouch.  He ignored the six or seven coins that had spilled out, and ran towards the safety of the Ann’s Wave.

 

The feeling of the cat rubbing against his leg brought him back to attention. He reached down and rubbed the animal’s head. It meowed, but allowed him to continue. 

“Going to be a friendly puss now, eh?” Rolo chuckled.  He stroked the cat’s back, following the curve as it arched in response.

“I’m supposing you’ll need a place to have a shit, won’t you?” He asked the cat before preparing a pan of sand. Rolo set out a bowl of water and some smoked fish.

“If you don’t eat that, then you better catch your own damn food.”

Lakeisha emerged from the bedroom and laid Fearghal in his crib. The bub had fallen soundly to sleep again.  The orange cat sat silently at Rolo’s feet, keeping a sharp eye on mother and child.

Rolo and his wife lay together in bed. There was an awkward silence between them. Hungry from weeks at sea, the lustful fisherman began to kiss and grope at his wife.  He refused to buy services from the ebony whores on Jumanne. He found he had no taste for them.  “I would sooner turn you over in your rack and have my way with your arse, than fuck a savage.” He had said once in jest to a fellow Ann’s Wave crewman. Mostly in jest that is.

Lakeisha pushed Rolo away.  “It’s been a long day; I’m weary from looking after the baby.” She didn’t sound very convincing to Rolo.

“I’ve been away for weeks… I have not touched a woman since last we were together.” He retorted.

“Maybe tomorrow. Surely you must be tired as well from your travels?”

“Not that tired…” He slid his hand between her legs, and she quickly removed it.

“Not tonight.” She said irritably and rolled over with her back to him.

Rolo lay fuming, watching the ceiling. In his mind he thought about how he had spent the last several weeks, breaking his back on a fishing boat, earning the money that would keep them alive.  He remembered his efforts to find Lakeisha an unforgettable gift, and the steep price for the beast.  The only time he had ever spilled another person’s blood, and he did it for her.  She wouldn’t even reward him with a proper “welcome home”.  No, he thought. I will not go to bed angry and unsatisfied.

He bolt upright in bed, forcefully rolled Lakeisha onto her back, and hiked up her nightgown. Rolo then took what he felt was rightfully his.

 

For several days Rolo struggled to adjust to life with a baby. The worst part was the crying and screaming at all hours of the night. His relations with Lakeisha were strained, so he did his best to help her look after Fearghal. Rolo got used to changing and cleaning nappies, and had learned he could rock his son to sleep in his arms.

Lakeisha had become more accepting of the cat. She’d actually pet it sometimes now, and wasn’t as nervous about it around the baby.  It’s just attracted by the smell of milk, she told herself. It made sense, because the cat really did seem more interested in the bub after it had been fed.  Sometimes she was a little jealous when Rolo would come home and pet the cat, before greeting her. Overall, life in the Paulson home seemed to be improving.

“Does this cat eat anything that you give it?” Rolo asked Lakeisha.

“No, he just turns up his nose like he’s too good for any food I give him. I’ve never seen him eat anything.”

“He ate fish while we were on the boat, but not a bite since.” 

“Must be too full of rats then.”

“Must be. Although I’ve never seen it catch one either.”

“Who knows what it eats when you let it outside. Maybe he only likes fresh fish, and he’s a better fisherman than you.” She teased.

“My arse he is.”

 

Lakeisha woke with a start. Fearghal was crying again, but the cry sounded different, muffled maybe.  She got up and walked into the other room where Fearghal lay in his crib. She glimpsed a shadow scurry away as she entered.  The cry returned to its usual volume.  Lakeisha picked up her bub and rocked him gently.  It hadn’t been very long since she fed him, and she’d only been asleep again for maybe half an hour when the crying started. She offered her son a breast, but the infant wasn’t interested. Quietly she rocked and sang Fearghal back to sleep.

She awoke the next night to the same muffled cries. When she rose, the crying again resumed its usual sound. Fearghal lay trembling in his crib, his face slightly pale in the dying light of the fire.  Lakeisha picked him up and cradled him, soothing him with words and song. The exotic feline lay by the fireplace, cleaning himself. It looked up at Lakeisha for a moment, before continuing.



The next afternoon Rolo returned home from the boat, and found Lakeisha cradling his son with a worried look on her face.

“I think Fearghal is ill.” She told him when he asked what was wrong.

“How so?” Rolo asked, concerned.

“He won’t take much milk, he doesn’t cry as much, and I’ve only changed his nappy once all day.”

The fisherman took the bub from his wife and examined his son’s face. He was pallid and weak.

“Tomorrow I will take him to a healer. They should be able to help him.”

“If he sees tomorrow…” Lakeisha said tearily.

“Do not say such things woman!” Rolo bellowed, although he was just as scared as she.  Lakeisha sobbed and pulled Rolo close to her. The three of them huddled together for some time.

 

As night fell, Fearghal’s health continued to decline.  Lakeisha could not bear to put her boy down into his crib. Fearghal lay in bed, snuggled between his parents.  The fisherman’s wife offered milk to the infant, who accepted a small amount. She listened to Rolo’s snoring for a while before drifting off to sleep.

Lakeisha became slowly aware of a slight sputtering noise, and the faintest of lights she could sense through her closed eyelids.  She opened her eyes and shrieked.

The orange cat was lying on her baby’s chest; its mouth was upon the baby’s mouth. A misty white light was being drawn forth from the bub’s lips into the jaws of the cat.

“Rolo!” She shrieked. The cat bolted from the bedroom as Lakeisha grabbed Fearghal.

“What’s happening?” Rolo stammered, throwing off his bed sheets and jumping from the bed.  His wife was hysterical, sobbing and rocking the baby against her breasts. 

“The cat was killing our baby! I saw it stealing Fearghal’s breath!”  She wailed.

Fearghal looked lifeless in his mother’s bosom. Rolo stood there, shocked and confused.  The fisherman’s cat stood at the doorway, and Rolo watched it lick away milk from its whiskers.

“It…it was just licking a bit of milk from Fearghal’s mouth; that was what you saw…”

“I know what I saw! KILL it!” Shrieked Lakeisha. 

The cat looked indifferently at Rolo, and then focused those yellow eyes once more on Fearghal.  Rolo kept a club under his side of the bed for meagre protection from bandits. He snatched it up and charged at the cat, which chirped loudly and ran for its life.  Rolo brought the club down but only just clipped the back end of the cat. The beast screamed and ran through the house.

The fisherman chased it, bellowing like a mad bull.  The cat cowered in a corner, hissing and growling like no other cat Rolo had ever heard.

“I’m going to smash you, you fucking cat.”  He raised the club, and the cat emptied its bowels.  As Rolo swung the club, the animal launched itself at the fisherman’s head. It clawed at Rolo’s face, and then darted across the house. Rolo roared, and turned to see the cat take a flying leap through a glass window.

Carefully avoiding the broken glass, he looked out into the night. He couldn’t see where the animal had gone.  He never saw the cat again.  On a broken shard of glass, still attached to the window, Rolo saw a clump of orange fur.  It reminded him of the dead tribeswoman’s henna-dyed hair.