The black cat pounces hungrily on the stewed meat, which looks like chicken when sliced up. He enjoys it as much as I enjoyed my time with her in bed earlier. I brush a few white strands back, but since I’m on my knees, they are still sweeping the floor. I feel the urge to lift them into the air against gravity, but I suppress it with a deep sigh. Even through the closed door, the stench of kennels seeped in. I need a shower… Dinner’s ready, so I’ve got time before I need to pick up Jev at the airport.
I keep my eyes on the chewing cat. Even after all these years, I’m still amazed at how much smaller they are than the specimens from the afterlife, no horns or imposing tail, shorter fur, but the same greed and bloodlust.
When he is done, the cat cleans his face.
The warmth of the shower on my satiated body…
I stroke his head and he purrs, pressing his forehead into my palm.
“I don’t know how you do it… Balthazar arrived two weeks ago and since then he’s been aggressive towards everyone. Even neutering hasn’t made things better.” She comes closer and the cat ruffles his fur, hissing. “I see you don’t need supervision,” she walks out of the visitors’ room, her grey aura flows after her as a barge.
Well, some things can’t be helped by castration or restraint. The civilized world can suppress animal instincts, but it will never eliminate them.
Sometimes we have to let off steam.
I reach for the stick with the feather on the end. I drag it across the ground a few times, alternately writing different patterns in the air, imitating the unpredictability of a living creature. Balthazar’s pupils dilate and flatten, his tail swings left and right as his head follows every movement of the feather. He waits for the right moment. He strikes. He sinks his teeth and claws into the feather’s strands, then lets it go and waiting for another opportunity.
After two or three attacks, his attention fades. His paws still flick at it occasionally, and finally he stretches out in passivity.
What does not live cannot be killed. So why bother…
It’s like smoking for me. It deceives my senses; it’s as if I’m draining a soul, but it won’t fill me up.
Evening crept in through the window, casting shadows in the corners. The light from the lamp broke on the white wall. Balthasar lifts his head and listens. When he sees the moth, his whole body tenses.
The moth describes changing circles, the warmth of the bulb sometimes banishing it to a lower orbit, but it never descends to within reach. At least not for Balthazar. I stand up and with one swift movement, lock it in my grip. Careful not to squeeze it, but leaving no gap between my fingers, I step back and hold it out to the cat. He sniffs my hand, his ears fluttering to the rhythm of butterfly wings against my skin.
I feel the same thrill on my hunts. I have learned to hide my cruelty behind a kind smile. But there is no need to do so in front of him.
Kill it, – I spread my fingers.
The butterfly takes off immediately, but Balthazar beats it before it can get far. There it is, writhing under his paw.
The red-haired girl below me…
I don’t see the aura of animals, but I can clearly feel our ecstatic energy fields merging.
Instead of eating it, he sets it free. But only to give it false hope…
Her skin against mine, lustful sighs in my ears.
…which he can take away at any moment.
I’m delighted by the graceful movement as he catches it again and again, tearing, ripping, while the butterfly, wings injured, twitches on the edge of life and death at his feet.
Limbs in the web of my hair. Terrified eyes staring at me. She knows there is no way out. Yet she struggles.
He leans over it, hunched, then his mouth closes around it. I hear the crunch of the tiny body.
The last heartbeat as her soul leaves her body… – My teeth open up behind my smiling lips.
The face that no one could ever love.
He comes to me, pressing his cool nose against the back of my hand. I stroke his fur, shining with happiness.
He doesn’t know how lucky he is that the butterfly isn’t wearing his nose.
The door swings open, amplifying the smell of excrement, pet food and cleaning products. Balthazar runs under the table.
“Excuse me, I’d like to close up now.”
It is not visiting time. The only reason I’ve been allowed in so late is because every month since we moved here, I’ve ordered enough food for all the cats in the shelter.
“Thank you for letting me stay so long.”
She nods solemnly in my direction and heads for Balthazar’s lair.
“Come on, you demon…” She reaches under the table, gloves on. The cat huffs, creeps further inside but she grabs the skin over his shoulder blades and pulls him outwards. The animal squeals, digs its claws into the carpet and won’t let go.
“Can I try?” I put my hand on her shoulder and she steps aside. There’s something mocking in her movement. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like any of us. Not even if Balthazar were tame and I had enough cat food to last ten years. Her dislike is deep, visceral. It’s the way the prey feels about the hunter.
Slowly, I reach under the table with both hands, my hair crumbling into the dust, blocking the outside world from the terrified cat. I grab him under the first limbs and lift him out. His pupils dilate, his face stretches. He knows what’s coming: the moment of betrayal.
“You should take him home,” she says.
“My job doesn’t allow it. I travel a lot and my boss won’t let me have pets.”
Blood on my hands, the stench of guts in my nose.
Her fingers dig into the animal’s neck. Holding its head and legs wide apart, she scurries away before Balthazar could recover and counterattack.
“I’ll be right back to see you out!”
“Don’t bother, I can find my way out…”
…back to the prison called civilization.