Precious Moments

My wife left me 6 months ago. After 10 years of marriage, she deserted me. No note. No text message. Not even a smoke signal saying she was unhappy. All her possessions were gone. Her clothes, her jewelry, her beloved books, her collection of Precious Moments figurines that always disturbed me. Vanished, as if she had never lived in our house, as if she had never existed. 

She was obsessed with purchasing Precious Moments figurines for every season, every holiday, every birthday, every anniversary and proudly displayed her collection in the living room. She amassed over 100 of those creepy figures. Each time I passed the large display case of oval heads, unusually large teardrop eyes, button noses and half smiles, my body shuddered. It was as if hundreds of macabre eyes were following me around.

The frightening demure pieces were a heated point of contention in our marriage, maybe the only point of contention. I complained about them all the time, told my wife to get rid of them, they were taking over the living room, they possessed dark and evil spirits. She told me I was being ridiculous, that they brought her joy, gave messages of hope, represented dreams to be fulfilled. They were like the children we never had.  

The week before she disappeared, we had our biggest fight. 

“It’s either me or those damn toys!” The creepy porcelains were taking over our house. I gave her an ultimatum, hoping she’d be reasonable and do the right thing.

“They are not toys! They are my most cherished possessions.” Her body was reverberating. I thought she was going to explode. “I’m not giving up one of the few things that give me happiness!”

“Fine!” I crossed my arms like a petulant child. My neck prickled. I peered over my wife to see tiny bulbous eyes turning completely onyx, their gazes shooting daggers to my heart. 

My body quaked.

My wife turned around and instantly, the miniature eyeballs went back to their serene blue or soft brown color.

I shook my head. I probably wasn’t having enough sleep.

Without another word, my wife stormed out of the living room, her feet stomping loudly on the floor. She was seething so much with anger, she didn’t notice the Peloton bike. She slammed her mouth on the machine, cracking one of her front top teeth. 

Later that week, the dentist pulled the chipped tooth out, leaving a visible gap.

She left me on a Monday. We both commuted into our respective offices, me five days a week, her three days a week. I took the bus into the downtown area. She took the train to the outskirts of the city. We followed our Monday routine like any other Monday - the timer for the coffee machine went off at exactly 6 am, she showered while I did a quick 30-minute run on the Peloton. While I showered, she got breakfast ready. We meal-prepped for the week on Sundays, so all she had to do was put two frozen egg quiches in the oven at 400℉ for 13 minutes. We systematically left our house at 7:15am. She drove me to my bus stop, then parked the car at the train station to catch her ride. She was to pick me up at precisely 5:10pm. 

It was a routine we thrived in. We both valued control, reliability, and practicality.

On that Monday, I was still waiting at the bus stop at 5:15pm. My brows furrowed while checking the time on my phone. I shot a quick text. Where are you? Running late? 

The text remained unread, along with the other subsequent 48 messages, 26 missed calls and 17 voicemails. 

The detectives half-heartedly searched for my wife. They botched her missing persons case so much that I lost hope and trust with the police department. 

If my wife was to be found, it would be through other means.

After 6 months of dead ends, lack of evidence and no leads, the cops eventually closed her file. 

After 6 months, my wife’s existence was just a memory.

After 6 months, a black cat appeared on my doorstep. 

The first time the ebony feline materialized, I was sitting on the porch, enjoying my coffee and donut. It was a crisp fall day. The light winds cooled my skin. My coffee warmed the insides of my body. The contrast felt refreshing, reassuring me I was still alive, I was still feeling, I was still breathing. After my wife’s vanishing act, I stopped meal-prepping. Everyday was like an adventure. I didn’t know what I was going to have for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was living on the wild side, just another way for me to know I was still existing.

The cat was hiding in a bush, still as a statue. It blended so well in the shadows. The only reason I noticed it was because its blue eyes shimmered so brightly within the green leaves. We locked eyes. My breath hitched and my heart stopped for a millisecond. It started slinking onto the porch like it was a slithery snake, but furry, its unusually long body gliding across the ground. It stopped right near my boots, sat down, and peered at me. Examining it closer, its eyes were the color of glacier blue, bordering on white. 

We started a staring contest. I blinked first and lost.

After what seemed like several long minutes, sharp hacking noises came from its throat. Loud, rough and dry. 

Blech. Hhck. Khk. 

“Are you okay?” I knew it wouldn’t understand me, but I spoke to the raven kitty cat anyways. “You need some water?”

Ping.

A gold ring landed on the ground.

What in the holy hell?

The jewelry piece was shiny, maybe from the cat’s saliva. I cautiously picked it up. The words “Aisling & Rex. Est. 2016” were etched inside the ring.

It was my wife’s wedding band.

The cat bolted away and disappeared underneath a parked car. “Hey! Come back here! Where did you get this?” I wasn’t sure why I was still talking to it like it was a human. And yet, here I was, yelling at a feral animal like it was a neighborhood teenager who got caught stealing.

I made my way to the street, crouched on all fours and looked under the stationed vehicle. Nothing. The feline was gone.

For the next 5 days, I sat on my front porch every morning at the same time as before, the same hot coffee and donut in tow, waiting for the furball to reappear. I decided to name the cat Houdini and I decided it was a female. Houdini never came. I poked my stomach. It felt more soft. Maybe I needed to switch to hard boiled eggs or avocado toast instead of donuts. I didn’t want to change the routine, though, for fear she would never come back. Maybe the cat was waiting for me to recreate the exact conditions before reemerging. 

Before my wife went missing, I violated one of my protocols only once during our 10-year marriage. I forgot to wear my lucky cap on a Golden State Warriors game day. They broke their 16-game winning streak that day. 

On the morning of the 6th day, I moseyed to the front porch, holding a mug of coffee and a donut and waited for the black cat once more. After 14 minutes of staring into space, icy blue irises sparkled in the middle of the bush. 

There you are, Houdini.

I sighed with relief.

Just like before, our eyes locked. Just like before, Houdini sailed up to the porch, seated herself in front of my boots and started coughing.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Thud.

A Precious Moments figurine dropped on the floor. It was the “Season of Hope” Limited Edition, 3 ethereal angels with halos and wings holding the word “HOPE”, a mistletoe wreath making the O. I remembered when Aisling bought that. It was Christmas 2019, right before a global pandemic took over our lives.

3 pairs of dewdrop eyes gazed at me, turning blue, then charcoal. 

My body shivered.

Laws of physics and my limited knowledge of cat anatomy were thrown out the window. I wasn’t dealing with facts and truths anymore. I was dealing with something else, beyond reason.

Just like before, as soon as I picked up the piece, Houdini hightailed it towards the street and disappeared. 

Every 6 days, the dark furry creature would reappear, and every 6 days she hacked out a Precious Moments figurine from Aisling’s collection.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Thunk.

The next one was the “You Sweep Me Off My Feet” piece. It was of a boy holding a duster and and a girl holding a mop. They were in a one-arm embrace, looking at each other with fondness and love. Aisling bought this for our 3rd wedding anniversary as a way to encourage me to do more housework.

I didn’t pick up a broom. I spent my time golfing, instead.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Thud.

Then came the “Get Well Soon” little porcelain piece. The tiny statue was of a blonde girl with a blue ribbon on her head holding a “Get Well” sign. My wife purchased her when I got sick with Covid for the 1st time. I quarantined myself in our guest room, leaving my wife to tend to our responsibilities. Aisling slipped the figurine under the door. The girl’s eyes filled with a black void, as if she was possessed rather than comforting.

I hid it in the closet the whole time I was in isolation, hoping Aisling would forget it ever existed.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Whump.

“What the World Needs Now” was the 4th gift Houdini hawked out. Made of ivory white porcelain, the piece was of a girl standing next to a table, her hands clasped in prayer. On the table was a globe and the Holy Bible, a tiny cute bird perched on top of the globe. My wife brought the piece home for my 32nd birthday. At the time, we were married for 2 years and had grand plans to travel the world, buy a one-direction airline ticket that would expire in 6 months, and hop from continent to continent, country to country. 

We never took that trip. Work and responsibilities and a mortgage got in the way.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Plop.

The 5th surprise was the “Jesus is Coming Soon” figurine. It was of a nun wearing a white cloth over her head, sitting down, knitting a small bootie, a basketful of yarn balls in front of her and more balls of yarn, colored pink, blue, yellow and beige, laid scattered on the floor. Aisling gifted this to me to try to convince me to go to church with her. She was afraid I was living my life with no direction, no purpose, and maybe God would be able to light my path. 

I did not attend one sermon. Religion freaked me out. 

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Plunk.

“A Poppy For You” Precious Moments appeared as the 6th installment. It was of a girl wearing a hat, fragile poppies surrounding the circular brim. She was holding a pot with one poppy. The piece was vintage, from 1994. Aisling snagged the cute gardener during the spring of our 5th year of marriage. She wanted to commemorate the beginning of a massive landscaping & gardening project she wanted to do in the backyard. When we purchased the house, the yard was overgrown, full of weeds and dead trees. We kept putting off the task, prioritizing other house projects I deemed more worthy. Finally, after 5 years of shuffling our feet, I promised her we would start on her dream plans of lush garden beds, jasmine trellises and hidden alcoves to relax and read.

We never started the backyard endeavor. I ended up spending the money we budgeted for the project to convert the garage into a man cave.

6 days after “A Poppy For You” showed up, Houdini came back to my porch just like clockwork. She started hacking, like clockwork, except she was taking 3 times as long to spit out what was lodged in her infinity size stomach. 

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Thunk.

“R Is For Rejoicing” Alphabet Angel Figurine.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Thud

“E Is For Enriching” Alphabet Angel Figurine.

Blech. Hhck. Khk.

Thunk.

“X Is For X-Tra Special” Alphabet Angel Figurine.

When Aisling gifted these 3 alphabet knick-knacks to me, she also gave me another piece of a girl holding a “Happy Birthday” cake. It was for my 40th birthday, the last Precious Moments she gave me before she evaporated from my life. She was hoping that would be the year we would finally take our trip around the world, the one we wanted to take after our 2nd year of marriage. We had big dreams back then of going on exciting travel adventures, taking our children to Disneyland, filling our home with smells of lasagna, pot roast and apple pie.

We never took that trip. Children did not exist. Our home was filled with no delicious smells. All our meals were frozen. 

Aisling left and did not come back.

My eyes and mouth opened wide. I could feel my neck tendons tightening. I looked at Houdini, her icy blues completely fixated on me.

“What in holy hell from below, Houdini?”

With a half smile, she vanished.

I waited for her for 18 more days. 

I gained 20 lbs and was constantly jittery.

Houdini did not return.

On the 18th day after Houdini’s last visit, I spread all the horrific figurines the black cat gave me across the living room floor, right in front of their former home, the large empty glass display case. I picked up each piece, one by one, examining the smooth porcelain, the delicate facial features, the intricately painted outfits. I started rearranging them in the order in which Houdini expectorated them out.

“Season of Hope” 

“You Sweep Me Off My Feet”

”Get Well Soon”

“What the World Needs Now”

“Jesus is Coming Soon”

“A Poppy For You”

“R Is For Rejoicing”

“E Is For Enriching”

“X Is For X-Tra Special”

All doe eyes turned wholly black.

Ice flooded my veins.

There it was. 

Plain as day. 

Right in front of my face.

These figurines were no longer Precious Moments. They were Abhorred Moments. Hated Moments. Despised Moments. Disappointed Moments.

Not by me, but by my wife.

Hope - You - Get - What’s - Coming - For - You - R - E - X

Houdini suddenly appeared inside the glass display case, glacier blue eyes zeroed in my direction, her piercing gaze lasering through my pupils. My pulse picked up. Sweat was coming down my forehead. I felt a tingly sensation in the back of my neck. 

Instead of Houdini doing one of her usual disappearing acts, my body was the one becoming transparent. I couldn’t see my hands, then my arms, then my torso, then my legs, then my feet.

Before vanishing completely, I peered up. Houdini’s lips stretch back, her mouth wide, exposing, not small canines, but big white teeth. 

There was a visible gap in her sinister smile. 

One of her top front teeth was missing.

Well, at least my wife finally answered my message.