A Life Worth Living (or Accidental Baroque)

The cat pattered down the cobblestone steps. The stones were warm beneath her feet, a comfort that stretched across her body like sunlight. The day was drenched in it. The cold water from the fountain glittered like diamonds; the oranges on the tree were ripe with solar sweetness. The cat flopped down beneath the tree, rolling in the grass before she lay still, lulled to sleep by the light flittering through the branches. The day felt both old and new, a moment in time that the cat basked in, content as the spots of sun speckled her black-brown fur.

Soft words and gentle hands cooed the cat awake. “My girl,” was repeated affectionately as the cat’s head was tenderly squished between cupped palms. The cat relished in the young woman’s touch as she was scooped up. The woman's hair was brown just like her own, a soft texture the cat tried to chew on as the woman dusted loose dirt and leaves from her tail. “My sweet girl,” the woman laughed as she pulled her hair out of the cat’s mouth. “Don’t be nasty.” The cat grew restless then, wiggling in the woman’s arms, and she placed her back on the ground.

The woman walked down the garden and into the house. The cat trailed after her. As the woman opened the back door, the cat slipped in between her legs, tempted by the voices and smells that escaped past the threshold. The cat’s arrival to the kitchen was welcomed by the people cooking and chatting, some peeling onions and garlic, some tossing sizzling meat and eggs into the skillets on the gas stove, some washing beans and rice and ripe greens. Hands were spared a moment to reach for the cat, stroking and scratching her back as she meandered around tall legs. The cat voiced her approval with meows that bubbled up from her throat, musical in their own way. She was rewarded with a small bit of ground beef.

The hallway was cooler than the kitchen. With no near windows to let the morning light in, the hall was host to gossamer shadows that wrapped themselves around picture frames nailed into the plaster walls. Against one wall, a wooden stool presented a vase full of dahlias. The dahlias kept their own shadows close, tucking them into the innermost corners of their yellow petals. The cat rubbed up against the wooden stool, catching the faint scent of the flowers when she heard whispers. A door down the hall was cracked open. The cat pushed her head in, squeezing her body through the opening. The room, like the hallway, was darker than the shared spaces of the house. Still, the sun was persistent. Light leaked from the gap between drawn curtains like water, a golden halo joining two faces. On the bed, two teenage boys held each other, cheek to cheek, murmuring their affections to each other. The cat hopped onto the bed to join them. The boys jolted from her sudden entrance. One yelped, startled, and gasped when a questioning voice from the kitchen called out from the hall.

Both boys lurched from the bed. Their panic struck through the cat, setting her fur on edge. She scrambled beneath the bed as one of the boys tossed back the curtains and jumped through the opened window. The other was breathing heavily as he went to his hands and knees, reaching for her in frustration. Her back legs skidded against the hardwood floor as she bolted from the room. Blindly, she fled down the hallway, colliding into someone’s legs, falling, then skidding out an open door. The young woman cried out after her as the cat ran through a hole in the garden gate.

Houses and gardens were a blur as the cat ran across a waking street. She slowed down as houses became tall buildings. The street was a constantly shifting wall of feet and noise. The highest points of tarp-covered stands poked above the wall. The cat smelled many things: kettle corn, wheat beer, sun-bleached linen, heirloom tomatoes, flowers, sweat, green herbs, soap, hot rotisserie chicken, and honey. She kept to the furthest edge of the sidewalk, her side brushing up against buildings. As she passed by the wheels of a stroller, a gurgling squeal leapt from its sheltered seat. The baby inside smiled at her, eyes shining like jewels as it grabbed for her with sticky hands. The cat turned away from the stroller and crouched in a small patch of shade beneath a window box. Hidden behind overhanging rosemary branches, she watched the ever-moving market through the gaps of tiny leaves and soft purple blossoms. Somewhere above her, a little bell jingled as a door opened and closed. She crept out from the shade, passing white steps and a blue door with a brass bell. The window she had sheltered under displayed a delightful scene—red sausages hanging on strings, a wheel of cheddar sealed in wax, a hock of ham preserved in salt and pepper, and dried fish piled on a plate—all of it laid out on checkered cloth. A man inside noticed her staring at the window. Opening the door, he tossed her a sliver of fish. She all but pounced on it. It tasted of brine and dill and was gone too soon. It made her linger on the doorsteps of the shop, hoping for more, until the barking of a dog struck her ears.

Saliva sprayed from yapping jaws as the German Shepard strained against its leash, pulling with such a force that it reared on its hind legs. The cat bolted, turning a corner and running up concrete stairs. She could hear the dog still, but its barking had faded into a part of the wind. She jumped up onto the low-lying stone wall that framed the stairway. Below her, tents were collapsing and tables were being folded flat. What had begun as a lively sort of chaos was quieting down. The cat settled down on the stone wall. The day was shifting its color, once bright and crisp, now a shade of gold. In the golden light, there was a different sound: rhythmic chanting, the words stomping in time with determined feet. A throng of bodies marched through the streets, some faces wearing masks, others bearing their frustration openly. They held up homemade signs, presenting them to the sky. Within the crowd, one mask turned to her. As the mass of bodies marched onward, the mask lingered, then slipped off. The revealed face looked up at her and smiled, pointing at her and waving. The cat saw curly hair, thick brows, and bright eyes. Then she saw smoke.

Chanting ruptured into yelling; yelling grew to screaming. The cat hunched down low, ears flat, fur raised. Her pupils grew round as silver cans flew into the crowd, a strike of metal billowing vulgar smoke. Voices roared against the static bellowing of a raging megaphone. The day was no longer golden; it had become like that of firelight. The crowd was set ablaze by it as they threw chairs and banners at a wall of plastic shields. Behind the plastic, a dark, gloved hand raised a silver can and threw it. It clattered against the street, spinning like a smoking wheel. A body broke free from the crowd. The shadows cast over them were as dark and unyielding as steel. With their face covered with the crook of their arm, they snatched the can and flung it back to where it had come from.

The wall of hard plastic bent as smoke enveloped them. Bodies scattered as sirens echoed through the air. Those who were limping were carried by a friend. As the sirens grew closer, the cat jumped off the wall and ran from the harrowing racket. Her pulse hammered through her little ribs as she dove into an alley. There was an empty crate discarded beside a molding wall. She rushed inside of it.

As the sun went down, so did the sirens. The sky turned from orange to dark blue. The alley grew cold. But it was not silent. The cat crouched as far into the crate as she could when the shuffling of feet scooted into the alley. The white beam of a flashlight shone through the slats of the crate, sliding from left to right as stout legs bent before it. Over the edge of the crate, the cat saw a wizened cheek heavy with liver spots. The legs bent further, keeping a good distance away, as an old face met the cat’s own. No eyelashes, no brows, no lips, just long, knotted, gray hair.

“Th-th-thought you w-w-were a racc-cc-ccoon.”

The cat stared at the woman. Her features were sunken, a deflated silhouette of a once full face. The creases in the corners of her mouth and eyes were darkened by thin lines of dirt. Her hand holding the flashlight was bone-thin, with knobbed knuckles and long fingernails; the ankles poking out from beneath the frayed hem of her coat were thicker, bulging out slightly from the old shoes. The cat was frozen except for the heavy breathing in her chest.

“D-d-d-don-t mind m-m-me,” the old woman said. She shuffled further into the alley, dragging a rusted shopping cart behind her. With a groan, she knelt, one arm pressed against a wall for balance, then sat down. She grunted as she drew her knees closer to her chest and pointed the flashlight back at the cat. “Pretty,” she murmured. She cleared her throat and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Pretty l-like . . .” Her gaze lowered to her feet for a moment. “Got n’th-ing t-t-to f-eed ya,” she admitted.

Slowly, the cat inched out of the crate to regard the old woman. The woman looked up at the cat and smiled. Her smile was a checkerboard, each yellow tooth accompanied by a hollow gap. “Big belly,” she observed. “Y-y-y-you are l-loved. O-or l-l-l-lucky.”

With one eye kept on the woman, the cat lowered her head to lick the dirt from her body. The woman laughed quietly at this. “N-n-oththing c-clean h-here,” she said. “Nothing.” Tucking her arms closer to her body, she sniffled against the cold night air. “Y-you t-t-t-t-too fat . . .” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Terra,” she finally said. “Mine’s name was T-terra.”

A wind pushed through the alley. The cat tensed against the cold and moved closer to the woman. Tentatively, the woman held out her hand. The cat sniffed her fingers, smelled something indescribable, then pushed her head into her hold. Her skin was warm despite the alley, and the cat was grateful for it.

“S-s-some-b-bodies,” the woman whispered as she stroked the cat, relishing in the silkiness of her fur. “Your s-s-s-somebodies. B-b-bet all th-th-those people s-scared ya’ away. S-s-sure as hell s-scared me.” The cat rubbed up against her coat, enjoying the mild scratch of wool. “Like it?” the woman smiled. “It’s all I-I’ve g-g-got left. My-my f-first big girl purchase. B-b-beads and f-feathers, th-that’s what we w-were. N-n-n-never ne-ne-ne—” the woman pushed her chin out, trying to force the word from her throat, “Needed to speak.” She sighed when the cat looked up at her. “D-d-dancing d-d-doesn’t need t-talking.”

The cat flopped across the woman’s shoes, raising her back leg to lick at her nether regions. “If I-I-I c-could do it t-too, I-I would,” the woman joked. “B-but l-l-ife ain’t k-kind and my b-back is b-b-bad.” She stayed unmoving as the cat lingered at her feet, content to watch her, even if it meant being stuck against the wall. “I-I-I loved her,” she said. “My Terra. B-beads, f-f-feathers, a-a-and Terra.” She looked around the alley. “If I s-stare a-at the w-w-wall, I-I c-can s-s-still see th-th-the s-stage, th-the g-g-girls, th-the s-s-stags. Sh-she lived w-w-with us, Terra, sh-sh-she loved a-a-a-attention, u-u-u-unlike m-me.” The cat paused her cleaning to look up at her again. The woman’s face was cast in black shadow by the flashlight beam, her eyes reflecting slivers of the white light. “M-m-m-maybe th-that was th-th-the problem,” the woman mumbled. “N-n-n-never s-sure h-h-how to b-b-be l-l-l-like T-terra, n-never a-a-able t-to . . .” The woman lowered her gaze to the cat, her eyes wet. “S-s-s-someone’s m-missing y-you,” she said. “St-st-stay h-here as l-long a-as you w-want, b-b-but g-g-go w-when y-you can. Th-th-that’s all I g-g-give you.”

The woman leaned her head back against the wall, her gray hair pushing outward on the sides of her head like a crown. Closing her eyes, she turned off her flashlight. The cat stared up at her through the darkness; encased in the night, the woman appeared like a stone statue. The cat stayed like this for a while. The woman remained still, her breath shallow. As the dark blue of the sky grew pale—the first ounce of sun peaked over the rooftops—the cat could hear no breath at all. The cat left the alley then, looking back only once. The woman’s head was bowed down, away from the light that began to spread into the narrow backstreet. The morning was devoid of voices, except for those that belonged to birds.

The cat walked down the waking streets. Around her, a few people worked to rid the sidewalks of broken wood and empty canisters. Beyond them, a café opened its windows to let in the morning. As the cat walked on, tall buildings shrunk into one-story shops; small shops turned into houses. The cat was careful to move around the chuffing spray of sprinklers as she passed by front lawns and gardens. The smell of ripe oranges was her guide, a perfume that touched her nose like a beckoning finger. It drew her toward a garden gate, and she slipped in through a hole at the base of it.

The garden was drenched in sunlight. The cold water from the fountain glittering like diamonds; the oranges on the tree were ripe with solar sweetness. The cat flopped down beneath the tree, rolling in the grass before she lay still, lulled to sleep by the light that flittered through the branches. The day felt both old and new, a moment in time that she basked in, content as the spots of sun speckled her black-brown fur. Just a moment of fresh warmth, a fleeting peace that any creature could cherish, if not just the cat.