THE CAT'S MAW

CHAPTER XII (Part 2)

Enid pressed her grooved palm against the mesh, gave him a pained smile, and closed the screen door.

'Maybe I saw it in my dreams.'

Her words fused with the sounds of chatting cats in the yard. They stayed with him as he pressed the tips of his crutches into the uncut grass, and hobbled over to the stone arch. They hovered in the air as he stood in the shadow of the stones, and followed the line of her gaze up to the dying trees, rusted gates, and cluster of graves on the hill.

'You'll feel it in your bones,' she had said.

Billy steadied himself against the column of stone, closed his eyes, and took a long, deep breath. He listened to the cats trilling, and the wind whistling, and a truck making shockwaves in its passing.

In a moment of stillness, he put his weight on his right foot. Daggers of pain stabbed at his leg, tremors and shocks ripping through his guts and chest, and exploding in his head. White-hot tracers strobed behind his eyelids, and the boy bit down on his lip and held his breath to keep from screaming.

'And nothing should stand in your way.'

Billy lifted his foot and opened his eyes. With a gasp of relief, the air rushed from his nostrils and the world came flooding in. He slid the crutches under his arms and plodded back to the stone table, grinding his molars to dull the pain that now came with each step.

A pair of lean black cats hopped from the stool to the tabletop, making room for him to sit and unzip his pack. Everything was still in there, except for the book that Mrs. Thomas had borrowed.

Billy was ready. His mind was made. All he had to do now was wait

--

The old lady was a heavy sleeper, which one would have to be in her situation. Her afternoon rests - 'kips', as she called them - usually lasted around an hour, and she was quick to drift off when she set herself to it.

Mrs. Thomas was long-since immune to the daily din of scratching posts, litter scuffing, and greedy eaters. At the same time, she had shown herself quick to waken at the first sign of more serious kitty commotions. But those were rare - the cats seemed to know her schedule, and tended to shift their furry gears midday to join her in sleep.

Billy grabbed the walkie-talkie from his bag and pressed the call button. The squawk of static made nearby cats spin perked ears and curious heads in his direction. Billy turned down the receiving volume, and pressed the button again.

"Are you there, Mom?"

There was a pregnant pause, with low fuzz coming through the receiver. The cats around his feet went back about their business of sniffing and stretching and rubbing their scent on the stools. The two black cats on the table took some cautious steps closer, lost interest, and began to groom each other.

"I'm here," belched the radio, his mother's voice distorted into a beefy baritone. "Can you hear me? Is this thing on?"

"You don't need to shout, Mom. I can hear you." Billy held the walkie close to his mouth. "I just wanted to check in. Everything's good."

"Good...that's good. When do you need me to come over?" she said, softening with a hint of a slur.

"Not for an hour or so. We're just...talking history and stuff. She's gone in to find some photo albums."

"Take your time dear, take your time," his mother said, a glassy clink in the background.

"I will. See you later," Billy said, turning the knob to 'OFF'. He put the radio back in his bag and zipped it shut.