Flash Fiction

The Black Cat and the Back Door

Walter Grey had never before seen a black cat slink through the neighborhood, but on the hazy Saturday afternoon of July tenth, the slight flutter of its tail caught his eye. He had always found a cat’s presences to be ominous to the point of creepy. Their silently cunning demeanor hid them until they had already rubbed their flea soaked fur all over your kaki pant leg.  Once they got what they wanted from you they disappear, leaving only itchy bug bites and lost hairs.            

This particular cat was no exception. Walter first caught a glimpse of the cunning creature while it darted across the road, never looking both ways, its self centered mindset left the mailman climbing from a ditch.

Soon after that the rain came. Walter figured the protection of his warm dry home, would prevent any other unplanned meeting with the black cat. But the world proved him wrong and the cat sat in the tree branch at the end of his yard. The phone rang and shook Walter. He had grown used the phones habitual silence, and now its call sounded more of a siren.  He spoke briefly, and when he was done returned his handkerchief to his pocket, crumpled in a ball.

The next morning Walter awoke, much to his displeasure, to find the black cat sitting on his stoop. He dared not step out the door and risk an unplanned encounter. So he made a cunning plan, and snuck out the back.

When he returned Walter saw the black cat had left his stoop and so happily Walter trotted into he house. But when inside Walter realized that his whits had failed him and that he had left the back door open, just a crack. The black cat sat atop Walters Fridge and watched him as he entered. Walter felt the cats presence as soon as he entered the room and naively ran upstairs, locking his bedroom door behind him. He cowered in the corner of the room with the shades all drawn. Hoping the cat would cross another mans path.

Eventually Walters nerves calmed and he walked to the door and undid the lock. Walter knew the cat would be sitting at the top of the stairs, its unblinking eyes peering into the depths of his soul. Walter opened the door just a crack, and returned to his bed. The can crept silently into the room. The sight now comforted Walter, as he rested his head on the pillow. As Walter drifted off the cat began to rub its head, slowly, on Walters kaki pant.

~Emerson Doty