Maple and Palm

8/9/07

The sign was commonplace enough: A torn strip of cardboard adorned in white paint. It appeared to have been created quickly, without a great deal of forethought. The letters were big and thick, and the cardboard strip was so thin that only four letters could fit on each line. Thus, it read:

“CATS
KITS
MAPL
PALM.”

It had caught Mary’s eye on her long drive to visit her newly-engaged sister in Williamsport. She’d spent the night there with her sister, Maggie, and her new fiancé. This simple cardboard sign had stuck in her mind the whole time.

Ever since Maggie had moved up north with Ed, Mary had felt a little neglected, and more than a little lonely. Both of their parents had been dead for years, and though Mary dated often, she hadn’t been in a long-term relationship since college.

On her depressing drive through the mountains to visit her happily engaged sibling, this sign had seemed to speak to Mary. “The least you could do is get a cat,” it seemed to say. “Isn’t that what lonely single women usually do?”

Mary had thought about it all the while she was with Maggie and Ed. Whenever Maggie and Ed lovingly embraced each other—

CATS

As Ed told the story of how he proposed to Maggie on the beach in Cape May—

KITS

When Maggie asked Mary to be her maid of honor—

MAPL
PALM

Now on her way back home through the endless throngs of thick trees, the sign called to Mary again. She stopped her car in the middle of the road to get a good look at it (And why not? There weren’t any other cars around).

She idly studied it for a few moments. The edges of the cardboard were frayed and wrinkled, as if it had weathered a few storms. Mary thought perhaps all the cats were gone by now, but she immediately dismissed the idea. They couldn’t have generated much interest with a cardboard sign on a dark mountain road that was deserted most of the time. It wasn’t exactly Craigslist.

Finally Mary turned the steering wheel and headed down Maple Street. The road was narrow and lined with overgrown hedges, which almost completely obscured the two or three small wooden cabins that must have passed for houses in that area.

As she drove further down Maple, the road grew wider and the cabins closer together. There were no street-lamps in sight, but just enough of the evening sky glowed through the tree branches to bathe the leaf-strewn road in warm orange sunlight.

Mary suddenly slammed on the brakes as something darted across the road. The car screeched to a halt, missing the creature by one of its long strands of fur. It ran to the side of the road and turned its glowing eyes on Mary. Through a streak of sunlight Mary could see that it was a cat.

The cat snarled and hissed at the car, clearly angry at almost having been squashed like a pancake under a tire.

Mary rolled down her window. “Sorry, kitty!” She called. Looking closer Mary saw that this wasn’t your ordinary, run-of-the-mill tomcat. It had long white fur and round blue eyes set in a flat face, like the kind of cat you would see in a Fancy Feast™ commercial. It was the kind of cat that people bought from catteries for hundreds of dollars, lovingly groomed and presented in cat shows.

Only this show cat looked as if it had been off the circuit for years. Its fur was matted and smeared with mud; a few stray dead leaves were tangled in its tail. A crusty black substance surrounded its large blue eyes and its gray paws were coated in dirt.

Mary was suddenly overcome with pity for this creature. She pictured herself taking it in and restoring it to its former glory. She would name it something posh like Wellington or Millicent, bathe it and brush it and feed it overpriced canned food. “Well,” she thought aloud. “I did come here to get a cat.”

She switched off her car and slowly opened the door. The furry cat sat licking its paw, seemingly oblivious to Mary’s plans.

Mary stepped out of the car and crept over to the cat. “Nice kitty,” she cooed. “Good kitty. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The cat quickly lifted its head, focusing its crusty blue eyes on her.

“It’s OK,” Mary whispered, leaning toward it. She reached out her hand to let the cat smell it. She’d seen people do that when approaching a strange animal.

The cat cautiously raised its concave face to her hand and sniffed.

“That’s it,” Mary smiled, stepping closer. “Good kitty.”

The cat began to rub its head against her hand, purring. Mary seized the opportunity and gently wrapped her hands around its middle.

Its purring abruptly morphed into a low growl. Before Mary could pull away, Wellington/Millicent had sunk its sharp teeth into her arm. She cried out in pain and yanked at her arm, but the cat’s grip was firm.

Mary jumped up and shook her arm as hard as she could. The cat held on, digging its front claws into her for added support. Its muffled growling grew louder as its furry body swung back and forth on her arm.

Searing pain shot up to Mary’s shoulder and she began to scream, “Get off! Get off, you little bastard!” She slammed her arm against a tree, but the cat still clung to it. She hit the tree a few more times, certain she had killed or otherwise debilitated the creature. Finally it let go and dropped to the ground, gracefully landing on all four dirty gray paws. It sat down under the shade of a bush, casually licking blood from its paw and purring.

Mary turned her wild eyes on her throbbing arm. Blood was dripping from the sleeve of her jacket and had already formed a crimson puddle in the grass below. She glared scornfully at the cat, who was now calmly wiping her blood from its mouth with its paw.

It was then that Mary decided to go home. “I’ll go to a pet shop like a normal person!” She yelled at the creature. It ignored her and continued grooming itself.

Mary carefully slipped her jacket off and wrapped it around her wounded arm. “I’ll probably need a rabies shot,” she groaned, shooting another scornful glare at the cat. She silently wondered if rabies shots really consisted of eight needles in the stomach, as she had been told as a child.

The sun began to sink behind the trees, and a chilly breeze rustled the branches. Mary shivered and turned to walk back to her car.

She screamed again and jumped back as something furry appeared in front of her: Another cat. This one was obscenely large with fur as black as night. One enormous yellow eye stared at her from its massive head. The other eye was red and cloudy, and coated with some sort of brown slime. This mammoth beast planted itself directly in front of Mary and let out a deep, throaty howl.

Mary froze in terror, still shaken up from the show cat who’d attacked her. She’d always been told to play dead if confronted by a bear; she now wondered if the same rule applied to one-eyed mutant cats.

From behind her, the fluffy white cat answered the mutant one’s call with a high-pitched “mew.” As frightening as the situation was, Mary couldn’t help but find it adorable. She would have let out an “aw,” if she hadn’t been rendered speechless by fear.

She could see her car over the giant cat’s head. A scruffy-looking brown tabby was sprawled out on the hood, writhing happily in the few remaining rays of sun squeezing through the trees.

The freakish black cat howled again. Rustling sounds suddenly filled the road. In the ever-dimming evening light, Mary saw them. Cats, maybe thirty of them, were creeping out from behind the trees and brushes, cats of every size, shape and color: Old sickly ones and tiny kittens, long-haired and short-haired, bright orange to dull gray. Some hopped into Mary’s car, as others crawled slowly toward her.

Mary began to back away into the woods. A screeching sound pierced through the eerie silence as her foot trampled the tail of a scrawny white cat with two different colored eyes. The other cats paused in their pursuit, temporarily distracted by their injured friend.

While their heads were turned, Mary ran. She bounded through the thick trees and over the rocks and dirt as quickly as her shaky legs would carry her. Warm blood still oozed from her injured arm and dripped from the sleeves of her jacket-turned-bandage. It left a scarlet trail in the dirt as she ran.

The woods grew thicker and the sun set lower, veiling the trees in darkness. Behind her, Mary could hear the cats clawing through the scattered leaves, growling and hissing. She could think of no other option but running faster.

There was a clearing up ahead, dimly lit by the setting sun. Below the canopy of trees Mary saw what looked like the roof of a small wooden cabin. She headed toward it, brushing up leaves and dirt as she ran.

The cabin appeared ancient and decrepit. One half of the roof was sunken in, and one of the front windows was shattered. The front door hung loosely from one hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze.

Mary stepped cautiously onto the dusty porch, which was partially submerged in the mud surrounding it. She poked her head in through the open door. “Hello?” She called timidly. “Is anyone there?” Her only reply was the creaking of the one remaining door hinge.

Mary listened carefully for the sounds of approaching cats. She could hear the distant howls of their ringleader, the oversized black cyclops. No sounds came from inside the run-down cabin.

She took a step inside and was immediately struck by the strong odor of mould and rotted food. The front room of the cabin appeared to be its only room. There was a blackened sofa in the center, in front of an antique television with a rabbit ear antenna. The TV rested on an old wooden crate. In the corner was a small round table set for one. The single platter on it held bare chicken bones. Beside the plate, an overturned glass rolled back and forth in the breeze.

Mary reached out a trembling hand to steady the glass, but she only managed to knock it to the floor, shattering it to bits. She jumped at the clatter of the broken glass. She clutched her bleeding arm and collapsed onto one of the rickety wooden chairs to rest. Her heart pounded in rhythm with the throbbing of her arm. Outside, the sun had almost disappeared, and the cabin was now growing dark.

Mary’s mind raced. She didn’t know what she’d planned to do once inside the cabin. It wouldn’t exactly provide protection with its smashed window and busted door. She briefly wondered what had happened to the cabin’s previous inhabitants.

A low growling sound from the tiny kitchen area behind her interrupted her morbid train of thought. She whipped her head around and spotted two glowing green eyes, leering at her from a dark corner.

Instinctively Mary bolted up out of her chair and turned to run, but a sharp pain in her leg stopped her. The green-eyed cat screeched as it dug its claws into her calf again and again, shredding her skin. She buckled backward over the chair and landed hard on the kitchen’s tile floor.

The cat pounced on her chest and its fangs pierced her chin. Screaming, Mary grasped its neck with both hands and squeezed as hard as she could. It made strange gagging sounds but held on.

Mary rolled over so that she was on top of the cat. Its claws ripped at her chest and stomach, but it finally loosened its jaw. She pried it away from her and threw it across the room. It crouched in a corner, hissing and spitting.

Mary reached for a wide cabinet door to lift herself up. It swung open suddenly and something big tumbled out. A rancid odor, even worse than the ambient rank in the cabin, overcame Mary at once and she recoiled. She couldn’t quite make out what the object was in the dim light of the kitchen window, so she moved in closer to examine it.

A scream barely escaped her lips as she realized what had happened to the cabin’s previous inhabitant. She was gaping down at the mauled body of a man—or at least she thought it was a man, he was so badly mangled it was difficult to tell.

Mary scrambled up off of the floor, ignoring the pain in her limbs, chest, stomach and chin. She picked up one of the chairs and made a mad dash for the door, flailing the chair in front of her.

Three more cats met her on the porch. One was a small gray kitten, about the size of a grapefruit. It let out a squeaky mew and the trio lurched forward. Mary brought her chair down on them and they scattered. The kitten managed to wrap its tiny mouth around her Achilles tendon. Pain washed over her and she crumpled back onto the floor, tearing the door from its single hinge and landing on it, just inside the cabin.

Before Mary knew it, four cats were piled on top of her, hissing, biting and clawing. She grabbed one by the scruff of its neck but was unable to wrench it off. She cried out, “Help! Somebody help me!” Although she knew the town was deserted, and now she knew why.

A loud noise made the cats abruptly halt their attack. A few scampered away and hid under the sofa. Others stood completely still, their ears twitching. The sound came again, and this time Mary recognized it as a gun shot. The cats must have recognized it this time too, because the rest of them clamored off of Mary to find hiding places around the cabin.

Mary tried in vain to get back on her feet. “Is someone there?” She called. “I’m in here! Please help me!”

She heard heavy footsteps on the porch, and a gruff male voice bellowed, “Get out of here, you mangy beasts!”

The gun fired once more and the sound of scurrying paws filled the cabin. A few of the animals reappeared from under the couch and bounded out the broken front window.

A large man in a camouflage coverall and a bright orange vest appeared in the doorway. He carried a long shotgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

“Oh thank God!” Mary breathed.

“You alright, lady?” The man asked around a mouthful of chewing tobacco.

The little gray kitten scooted out from under the coffee table and growled at the man, its 2-inch tail sticking straight up in the air. The man spit a clump of dark brown goo at the at the kitten, hitting it square on the head. It hissed and hurried back to its hiding place.

“Little bastards,” the man grumbled. “Took over the whole dang town.” He reached out a thick, calloused hand to Mary, which she gratefully accepted.

She stumbled at first, but managed to stand on her bloody, trembling legs.

“Looks like they had you for lunch,” he said with a raucous laugh. “I’m Tom Simms. Came out here to hunt deer. Ended up hunting cats.”

“I’m Mary,” she replied, forcing a smile. “And I’m very glad you were hunting today.” She noticed one of his camouflage sleeves was torn and stained dark red with blood.

He laughed again. “Guess I was too late to save that fella,” he said, shining his flashlight on the corpse in the kitchen. “His face looks like ground meat!” He chuckled and spit again, this time just missing Mary’s shoe.

Mary began to feel nauseous. “Please, let’s just get out of here,” she said, her voice quavering.

They stepped out of the cabin and into the dark forest. Their only light came from Tom’s flashlight, which he kept pointed at the ground in front of them.

“My car’s out on the road at Maple and Palm,” Mary said. “The cats had…” Her voice trailed off.

“Taken it over, just like they did this town,” Tom supplied.

Mary nodded solemnly, even though he couldn’t see her through the darkness. A cold breeze made her shiver, and her teeth began to chatter. She thought longingly of her car’s warm interior.

“Do you think they were all sc-scared off by your g-gun?” She asked.

“I’m sure they—shh!” Tom stopped short and shined his flashlight to their left. “Hear that?” He hissed.

Mary listened carefully, trying to ignore the clicks of her chattering teeth. A soft rustling noise was coming from a nearby bush.

“Wait here,” said Tom, cocking his gun and heading toward the sound.

Mary opened her mouth to stop him but nothing came out.

“Come on, you flea-bitten fur balls,” Tom whispered. “Come say hi to Uncle Tommy.”

He walked on until he was swallowed up by the darkness, and all Mary could see was the faint beam from his flashlight. Then even that disappeared behind the bushes. His footsteps slowed to a stop, and a still silence fell over the woods. Even Mary’s teeth stopped chattering.

Mary was suddenly terrified to be alone. “Tom?” She called softly. She started walking slowly toward the spot where he’d disappeared. “Tom!” She tried again. Still there was no reply.

Mary’s heart began to beat faster, and she felt her legs begin to shake again. Another rustling sound came from the bushes and Mary covered her mouth to stifle a scream. “Tom!” she yelled. "Come back! Please! I’m scared!”

More rustling sounds came, and then Tom’s voice, “Gotcha, you son of a—“ He was cut off by another gunshot.

This time Mary didn’t stifle her scream. She let out a long, loud shriek as the beam from Tom’s flashlight flailed around wildly in the trees. Tom’s screams joined hers, along with the familiar hissing and growling of a pack of angry cats.

Mary ran away from the screams, her arms held out in front of her, grasping at the trees through the oppressive darkness. Dozens of glowing eyes watched her from the branches; some were descending on her.

Something heavy and furry suddenly thumped down on Mary’s back, and she fell to her knees in the dirt. The pairs of eyes came closer and closer, led by one lone yellow eye that seemed to be missing its partner.

Mary felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as the creature on her back bit down on her. Her hands waved frantically around on the ground until she found a large rock. She swung it at her back, hitting the cat several times. It hissed angrily and climbed off.

Summoning all the strength she could, Mary lifted herself from the ground, rock in hand, and resumed running, kicking furry creatures every step of the way. A few tried to pounce on her from low tree branches, tearing at her shirt and ripping off chunks of her skin with their claws. She swung her arms frantically to keep them at bay.

As Mary ran, she tripped a few times on the unsteady ground. Each time she forced herself to get back up, and fight off the animals with whatever crude weapons she could collect from the black earth beneath her. She didn’t know in which direction she was running, only that she had to keep going. Every part of her ached and bled from cat-induced gashes; the brisk mountain air stung her lungs as she gulped it in, but she kept going.

Mary was shocked at how many cats kept coming after her. There seemed to be hundreds, lurking in the bushes and tree branches.

Finally, Mary’s feet felt firm ground beneath them, and all at once the sky was alight with stars. She had reached the road at last. The woods trembled behind her as the cats clawed their way out, their ungodly howls reverberating through the trees.

Mary scanned the road for something—anything—that could help her. A nearby telephone pole caught her eye. A tattered strip of cardboard hung from it, swinging in the breeze. It was the makeshift sign which had drawn her there in the first place. She stared up at it for a moment, trying to picture the unfortunate citizen of Maple or Palm Street who had created it. She could see an unsteady hand hastily painting it, as several hungry cats looked on, licking their chops.

The same hungry cats were advancing on Mary now. She quickly reached up, yanked the sign from its pole, tore it in half and heaved it into the woods. One of the cats yelped as the heavy cardboard thumped down on its head.

Quickly Mary turned and ran in the direction of her car. It sat just where she had left it, with only one obese calico cat splayed out on the hood. When it saw her, it stretched its paws sleepily and rolled off, obviously too fat and tired to pursue her.

The sounds of frenzied little paws on the road behind her meant the other cats were quickly approaching. Mary stepped over the fat calico and dove into her car. She turned the key in the ignition, half expecting the engine not to start, like in some B horror movie; it started up right away. Seeing the headlights shine on the asphalt before her brought a rush of relief. She sped off down the empty road without looking back.

• • • • •

“Ever owned one before?” The cashier asked, filling out a form.

“Owned one? No,” Mary replied, gingerly scratching at the bandage on her arm.

The cashier glanced at her briefly over his blue plastic clipboard. “This breed is a bit of a handful,” he remarked.

Mary couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I can handle it,” she said with a wry smile.

The cashier shrugged and handed her the clipboard. “Sign here,” he sighed.

Mary signed the form and picked up the little cardboard pet carrier on the counter. “Come on, Wellington,” she said in a sing-song voice.

The tiny puppy in the pet carrier barked happily in reply. Mary laughed again and limped out of the pet shop.

As she passed the store window, Wellington began yapping loudly and jumping around in his box. Mary looked up to see a litter of kittens staring back at her through the window. Wellington barked louder and scratched at the side of the box.

“Good boy, Wellington,” Mary said. “We’re going to get along great.”