Absent Mother - Part 2

“Tommy, I'm locking the door, but you need to put on the chain after I leave, okay?”

Their apartment was on the second floor. A girl of babysitting age lived across the hall with her father, but they weren't home. Tommy would have to be the babysitter. It was a good neighborhood and Mama had her phone, just in case. Only an hour or so. And he could call if he got nervous. But he wasn't scared. He was ten.

Although he was mature and meant well, he couldn't control his younger brother. Didn't want to, wasn't even interested in trying. No parent home meant more time on the Game Cube. More time for Mario Cart.

An hour after Mama left, Tommy's little brother, Michael, emerged from the bedroom. His finger hung from the side of his mouth. His toddler forehead creased. Worry grew like ivy across his face. His pot belly stuck out from his tiny stick legs.

“You hep Lighting?” he asked his older brother. Lighting was Tommy's blue and white parakeet. Caged up in their bedroom on a high shelf safe from Daisy, the family cat. Tommy raced to their bedroom and howled in grief. Lightening's blue and white feathers tinged with red decorated Michael's duvet cover. The empty bird cage sat on the floor, door propped open.

When mama got home some time later, a blue, white and red lump was laid out on the kitchen table, cradled in paper towel and a dirty grey dish rag. Her eyes fell upon another, much larger lump on the couch under a comforter. Tommy's sobbing floated out from under the blanket. Her hip met the edge of the couch as she sat and curled herself over him oozing guilt. “Baby, what happened?”

Snuffling whispers rose from under the blanket. “Michael took Lightning out of his cage and Daisy was in our room.”

Daisy. The rambunctious family cat. That would explain the mess in the paper towel on the kitchen table, she thought to herself.

“I'm so sorry, baby.” Evaporating words, numbing caresses and meaningless promises tumbled from Mama's mouth. The boy shrunk beneath her hands as he willed his body to recede into the couch cushion, as far away from her as he could get.

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Scrrrrrchhh, scccrrrrchhhh, scrrrrrchhhh....
Claws engraved tunnels into wood as the cat searched for freedom from inside the bathroom.
"Reeowww...... reeowwwww....."
Scrrrrrchhh, scccrrrrchhhh.

Tommy twisted the handle and pushed the door with his shoulder. Something resisted from the opposite side allowing him to barely open it. Daisy forced her flattened body through the opening and leaped to the top of his dresser, sending Highlight magazines flying to the floor. Litter sprang from between her toes, cascading onto the floor and his brother's comforter.

“Pee yew. You stink,” said Tommy lunging for the black tail and dragging the furry bundle onto his lap. Daisy vibrated, purring like a generator under his fingertips.

Later that evening, when Mama tucked him into bed, the cat planted herself on Tommy's stomach, there for the night.

Mama stood to leave and bits of litter stuck to the bottoms of her feet. The smell of the overflowing litter box seeped out of the crack between the door and the floor and crept through the boys' bedroom. Straining to push the bathroom door open, she flipped the light switch to survey the cat's room.

Dirty litter piled in corners, sprinkled on the counter top. Brown paw prints on the floor, the sink, the top of the litter box. Ammonia stung her nose and eyes; they watered as she digested the scene. The plastic box liner was torn and clawed, pulled out from the sides of the box and spilling litter to the floor. Hardened brown feces lay like mines in the corners with the dirty litter.

“Disgusting,” she choked and pulled the door tight. She would have to clean it tomorrow, she thought, her stomach clenching.

Weeks later, the odor was worse and permeated through the bedroom and into the hallway. They had been discovering surprises behind the favorite overstuffed armchair and in the back corner of the boys' closet.
“Damn that cat!” Sometimes the surprises were hard and easy to pick up with a paper towel. Other times, it was more scooping and scraping instead of picking up, and then scrubbing was required. She had to put some muscle into it.

“Mommy, I think she doesn't like her litter box.” Daisy wound figure eights between Tommy's calves and rubbed her forehead on the faded knees of his jeans.

“I told you to leave your bathroom door open a little. She can't GET to her box, that's why she's doing this.”

“But it makes our room stinky.” Ten year old arms wrapped around the cat and deposited her on the couch.

Mama blew an angry sigh from her nose, "I'm so sick of this." Then she went to the kitchen to fetch rubber gloves, garbage bags, a full roll of paper towels, vacuum and Mr. Clean.

This time, she was able to open the door wide, like a mouth full of decaying teeth. She took shallow breaths through her mouth only. The mess was inconceivable. When was the last time she had cleaned the litter box? Could it have been that long? She sat on the edge of Tommy's bed and pulled a plastic grocery bag over her right foot, followed by a rubber band to keep it in place. The same routine was followed for the left foot.

The hardened turds were tackled first; they were easiest to get into the garbage bag. The plastic litter box liner disintegrated and spilled more feces and litter to the floor as she tried to lift it and jam it in the garbage. She swore and coughed, dust clouding the air. Every time she scooped up some of the dirty litter, single pieces dropped from the dustpan and bounced like a rubber ball, then settled behind the toilet. The thought of scrubbing the shit and stains and stink from the plastic of the litter box made her retch. She shook out another garbage bag, and dumped the entire litter box into it. Litter boxes were not that expensive.

Once the litter box and hardened feces were in bags, she began to suck up the litter with the vacuum cleaner hose. It was much easier than trying to sweep it into the dustpan and went faster. Occasionally, she had to use the end of the hose to scrape hardened cat turd off the floor, and then sucked it up. There was even litter and hardened feces in the tub. Thank God they had two bathrooms in this apartment.

An hour later, she had removed the grocery bags from her feet and the garbage was ready for the dumpster. The vacuum cleaner followed the garbage bags into the waste management bin behind their building. No way was she going to clean anything else with that hose.

*******************

It wasn't until the next evening that Tommy noticed Daisy was missing. He hadn't seen her all day and couldn't find her to put her in bed with him. Mama pretended to look under his bed, then flicked her eyes to his open bedroom window.

“Did you open that?” Her widened eyes accused Tommy. The screen had been pushed out and hung by a corner and balanced on the window ledge leaving a large gap about a hand's width across.

“It wasn't me,” a whisper floated from his down-turned lips. Crestfallen brows, welled up tears painted his face.

“It's late. We'll have to look for her tomorrow,” Mama said and tucked him in with no Daisy.

As she wrapped Tommy tight in his blankets, she avoided thinking about her trip to the forest preserve yesterday. She blocked out the memory of smuggling the meowing, wiggling bundle down the back stairs and dropping it onto the passenger seat of her minivan. She pushed away the feeling that she may have done something she couldn't undo.

She gave in and let a small memory squeeze through.“Go. Go on, now.” Mama had whispered, nudging Daisy away from her with the back of her hand and pushing her into the blanket of fallen orange leaves.

It didn't occur to her until weeks later that her actions would cause her first son's heart to break into pieces.