Gossamer

Part 4: Tendrils

Emily's rocker creaked a merry rhythm as she sat there on the front porch, some time past midnight. The police officers had just left.

She gazed at the shining tendrils they'd left behind like an overlay on reality. One went down the street to the first vandalized car. The other crossed the street to Margret's house, looping over to her broken window then around to the front door which still gaped open.

Both shining gossamer threads then spun to the corner and down the lane, in pursuit of the burglar. Perhaps she should have gone with them, Emily thought. She could point out his exact path, hazing in a spiky purple trail, even though he'd probably left no signs that most folks could see.

But how would she explain? They'd think her a daft old woman.

"Cat sight," they would repeat, cocking eyebrows. "Yeah, sure, lady."

From a couple streets to the south came the honk of a car horn and the screech of tires. No crash of impact, thank goodness. No scream of pain. Just the sound of a motor revving and driving on.

Still, the noises had jarred. Emily shook herself. She ought to go back inside and lock her doors in case the burglar – a vengeful guy? -- circled around through alleys and yards and came looking for the lone witness.

First the walker, Emily decided. Time to retire it to the hall closet. She rose like a ballerina from the rocker and tripped down the steps. Not "tripped" like "fell flat on her face," but "tripped" like the goat prancing across the troll's bridge.

Light on her feet, light in spirits with a new lease on life, light in the trip-trip of her rejuvenated heartbeat, Emily danced a waltz with her walker just for the giddiness of it.

The notch-eared cat returned, weaving a silky filament through the bushes across the street.

Other feline shadows gathered, trailing sleek shining threads through the wee hours.

They all grew still, looking toward the corner. Not north down the lane taken by burglar and cops. Toward the south. The direction of those screeching tires a few moments ago.

A shimmering shape drifted into view. Definitely feline, but all aglow, and its paws did not seem to touch the ground. It padded on feet softer than ever up a shining rainbow ribbon toward the treetops, toward the stars.

Emily shivered. "Oh sweet baby," she called after it. "Used up all nine lives, have you? What a beautiful path you follow!" She sighed in awe, watching the marvel fade and darkness settle back over the neighborhood.

Twice in one night, cats disbursed like ghosts blown away by the wind. The lone human watcher turned back to her house. "Well, Emily old girl," she murmured, "do we have nine lives, too?" She ticked off her near-death experiences. "Three down. Six to go. Aaah! However long we have, it's good to know the RainbowBridge actually awaits!"

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This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Christine Larsen, a long-time Weekend Write-in maven who leaves many delightful tales and poems in her wake...