Sylvester

Carefully, so I don’t wake the sleeping humans, I trudge downstairs for a drink of water. The house is so peaceful. Though, sometimes it’s lonely, so I curl up at the humans’ feet and join their slumber. Before I can do that tonight, I need to get a drink of water - my tongue is feeling awfully dry.  

I push on the bathroom door to get to my water bowl. The door swings around, hitting the wall with a low bang. Surprised, I spring backwards. Hopefully the humans didn’t hear that. I lean down and lap at the water. It’s warmer than it was this morning, but it’s still water I suppose. It runs down my throat and I smack my lips – warm yet refreshing. When my thirst has been quenched, I leave the bathroom. 

A small glow emits from the living room, lighting the dark halls. The humans must have left the fireplace on, because as I turn the corner, I can feel the heat. Sure enough, I’m right. The fireplace is shimmering and shaking in its spot at the corner of the room. I’ve heard the humans say that it isn’t real, “synthetic” was the word they had used to describe it. I don’t know what synthetic means, but the fire looks real to me.  

Gills, the humans’ goldfish is swimming in his bowl on the coffee table. I’ve never liked Gills; he always gives me the stink eye, but the humans have made it quite obvious that I’m not allowed to eat him. This must be why he thinks he’s safe. He’s wrong. That fish is just one innocent tip away from crashing to the ground, and being scooped into my mouth. The majority of my Sundays have been spent devising plans to get him – that, and napping.  

I find myself drooling as I stare at Gills. He really would make a nice snack, but for tonight I will have to settle for my iams. Beef flavour is probably better than goldfish anyways. As I pass him on my way to the kitchen, Gills gives me his usual dirty look. He won’t look so smug when he’s sliding down my throat. 

After my light snack, I pace around the kitchen in search of leftover scraps from tonight’s dinner. I’m out of luck; the tiled floor is spotless. Henry must have cleaned the kitchen while I was having my evening nap. He usually does, but sometimes I get lucky and find a piece of chicken or salmon that had been missed. Salmon is my absolute favourite. 

The window above the kitchen sink has been left open, and with the breeze brings a hidden aroma. Fish. Not quite salmon, but not pike either… perhaps it’s trout? I spring onto the counter in seek of the fish. Ah ha! A leftover dinner plate is sitting next to the fridge, and to my delight, there’s a piece of fish and a side of mashed potatoes. The humans must have forgotten to put it in the fridge. I’m pretty full from my iams, but I figure I have room for a couple bites. 

As I gorge on the trout (yes, I was right), I stare at the picture on the wall. Henry painted it years ago. It’s of two humans in tuxes, facing one another. You can’t see their faces, but I’d like to think they’d be smiling, what with being surrounded by all those beautiful flowers. 

I’m ready to explode by the time I finish my second bedtime snack, and my eyelids are heavy. Time for bed. I slide down from the counter and make my way to the stairs. I’m almost feeling too lazy to climb the stairs, and for a moment, I consider sleeping at the bottom of the spiraled staircase. But I can hear George snoring from upstairs, and I decide against it. The humans’ bed will be much comfier. I trudge up the stairs and quietly enter their bedroom – the first room on the left. 

The room is warmer than the rest of the house, but it’s just how I like it. Silently, I jump onto the bed and take my usual spot at their feet. Tonight their legs are hanging out of the bedding. They usually do this in the summer when it’s too hot. Before I lie down, I lick Henry’s toes a couple of times. This has become a routine for me. It helps me sleep. I curl up in a ball at the end of the bed and close my eyes. I begin to purr, joining in unison with George’s snoring. 

- - - 

A crash wakes me. My head jerks up and I look out the open bedroom door. It must have come from downstairs. A quick glance tells me that the humans haven’t woken. I lay my head back in my paws, preparing to go back to sleep, but I hear a second crash and curiosity nibbles at my senses. I should go investigate. 

I slip to the floor soundlessly and sneak out of the room. The sound of footsteps on broken glass stops me dead in my tracks. Intruders? I know I should wake the humans, let them know what’s going on, but curiosity gets the best of me as I make my way down the staircase. Through the railing, I can see a silhouette of three humans. The fireplace illuminates their features, and I notice that they’re dressed in long, white hooded cloaks. What an odd way to dress. My humans would never wear something like that.  

One of the humans is whispering to another, but I’m too far away to pick up what they’re saying. The shortest of the three is chuckling to himself as he knocks a vase to the floor. Henry made that vase himself; it was something he seemed proud of. The largest man is tapping on Gills’s bowl. “Nasty bugger,” he says, turning back towards the other two. “Check upstairs, that must be where the bedroom is.” 

The bedroom? But that’s where my humans are sleeping. I bolt up the stairs to warn them. I don’t know who these cloaked humans are, but my instincts are telling me that they weren’t exactly invited. 

Once I’m back inside the bedroom, I don’t bother to be quiet. I leap onto George’s chest and begin to lick his nose, willing him to wake up. He stirs, but his eyes don’t open. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose. I bite down on his ear. George shoots up, eyes wide open, hair ruffled, and I’m knocked off his chest. I slide in between him and Henry and let out a shocked mewl.  

“Sylvester, what-” he begins, but he’s quickly interrupted by the heavy thudding of footsteps from outside the bedroom door. His head snaps to the two cloaked men that now stand in the doorway. His hand slides to Henry’s shoulder, gripping him tight.  

“Who’s there?” he asks. I can tell that he’s trying to sound brave, but the tremble in his voice betrays him. Beside me, Henry stirs. He sits up, but he’s still half asleep.  

“George, dear, who are you talking to?” he asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. 

The men in the doorway have yet to speak. Without a sound, they step into the room and approach the bed. Beside me, Henry and George tense, and grab for each other’s hand. I notice that the taller of the two men has a ring of hair around his lips, similar to George’s.  

“Sinners.” That’s the last thing I hear before two piercing sounds ring through my ears. One of the cloaked figures is holding something in his hands. As the ringing slowly fades, he slowly lowers the object. Its metallic surface reflects in the moonlight that filters through the window.  

The man with the beard lays his eyes on me, gripping the object tighter in his hands. I hiss and protract my claws. My fur stands on end as I watch the silver gadget move towards me. I hear a small click that seems to be coming from the thing in the man’s hand, and I hiss once more. 

“Leave the cat, it’s innocent,” the other man says gruffly, pushing the object away from my face.  

The two men turn and retreat without another word. 

Henry and George haven’t spoken for a while, so I bring my attention back to them. They’re lying very still beside me, like the statues in our garden. Why would they go back to sleep? I meow and press my paws into Henry’s chest. There’s something wet and gooey on his shirt and I lean down to lick it off for him. It tastes crude, like a mixture of pipes and salt. My face scrunches and I pull away. Looking very closely, I notice that it’s seeping down his sides and onto the white sheets. That’s going to stain. I suppose they’ll have to clean it up in the morning.  

For the second time that night, I take my spot at the end of the bed, lick Henry’s toes, and close my eyes.