Cats Triumphant

“I can’t believe it, Loretta,” Mira said into the phone. “After all I’ve done to keep the place spotless, Zoomer has fleas. Stop it, sweetie. Not you, Loretta. The cat’s nagging me. One more treat, and that’s all.” She shook a few Petreats out of the pink-labeled can, set them on the floor, and put the can in the white-fronted cabinet above the refrigerator. It was a long stretch for her five-foot-three, but the highest possible spot in the kitchen. The fat brown tabby cat chomped down the morsels and sat looking hopefully for more. “No! Honestly, you’re going to turn into a balloon.”

“Fleas can come in clinging to anything, you know,” Loretta said, sympathetically. “Did you try … you know?”

Neither one of the women liked to talk about the subject on the telephone—people might be listening. Ditto for the Internet. No references to you-know-what. Magic. But she didn’t have to be specific with her co-religionist and sister nature priestess.
All right, say it
, she chided herself.
Fellow witch
.

“In the nicest possible way,” Mira said, fiddling with a lock of her short, permed auburn hair. “I
disinvited
them. But there’s just one I simply cannot seem to shake, so to speak. It drives me insane watching Zoomer scratch at his neck like he’s trying to shred himself.”

Loretta sighed. “Have you just tried combing the little bugger out and squishing it between your fingers?”

“Bad karma,” Mira said, twirling the long curly wire so Zoomer would jump for it. The cat gave it a few cursory hits, then settled down, meatloaf style, facing the cabinet.

“You mean you did try and you couldn’t catch it.”

“Bingo. Never mind. They can’t have a very long lifespan, and it’s like there’s only one. Except for the scratching it doesn’t seem to be bothering Zoomer much. He’s been very content lately.”

“It’s those new treats,” Loretta said knowingly. “Humphrey
loves
them. I have to hide the can or he pries the lid off with his teeth. You know the slogan: ‘Petreats make your pet feel so good.’”

“Zoomer loves them, too. I wish we had treats that made us feel good.”

“We do,” Loretta laughed. “It’s called chocolate.”

Mira glanced through the yellow kitchen curtains at the horizon. “Gotta go. The sun’s about down, and I want to get that ritual going before the kids come home from band practice.”

“Good luck,” Loretta said, with a trace of envy in her voice. “Let me know how it went.”

* * *

Mira didn’t care what all the old books said about covens. Magic was a solitary practice, intended to get a person in touch with the infinite. With a husband who ran a busy cleaning service out of a home office and a son and daughter involved with every activity under the sun, Mira had little chance for privacy, so what she had she cherished.

Ten years and fifteen pounds ago it had been easier to crawl into the tiny box room off one side of the attic of their 120-year-old Cape Cod house. The kids had used it as a secret hideout until they were informed it would never in their lifetimes be wired for electricity or cable. Mira had taken it over as a cubbyhole for those moments when she wasn’t working, chauffeuring, cooking, cleaning, or one of the thousand other things for which she was responsible. The walls were a deep burgundy red, Mira’s favorite color. In exchange for painting Loretta’s kitchen her friend had made her a thick velvet curtain to block the entrance. A square footstool against the north wall served as an altar. Mira had read about personal altars in a women’s magazine and liked the concept of a focus for her personal energies. She adorned it with dried flowers and other little things she’d picked up in places she loved. The kids were forbidden to touch it under pain of death.

Candles in wonderful holders, all purchased at a home sales party, were everywhere. She lit them with a red electronic-ignition lighter like the one they had for the fireplace downstairs. A big fat blue cushion sat in the exact middle of the room for her. Another lay against the east wall for Zoomer, who never missed a chance to curl up in somewhere warm, dark and peaceful.

Certain that her husband and kids were not going to be around for at least two hours, Mira eschewed the floor-length flowered caftan she kept on a hook in her sanctum sanctorum and sat nude on her cushion. In the flickering candlelight she couldn’t see the uneven bulges in her thighs and could ignore that incipient pot belly. In her mind she was sleek and taut as a nymph. She concentrated on capturing that wild, powerful side of herself that rode the sunrise bareback.

Something was on the floor in front of the altar. It was the rattle that was used to summon her familiar. Mira picked it up and held on to it. She didn’t need it for the ritual, but it felt good to have it in her hand. Mira had carved it herself out of a fallen tree branch, attached strings of wooden beads to one end and painted it with the symbols she found in a book. She loved the smooth texture of the foot-long, 2-inch thick rod—but what was this? It felt as if it had been stuck all over with a pin. The kids knew better than to touch it. She peered closely at the rattle. She recognized those gouges. They’d been caused by Zoomer’s teeth. He’d been playing with it. Where was he?

Zoomer elbowed his way past the curtain and trotted over to lie down. His cushion was flanked by twin candlesticks in ribbed glass chimneys that cast tabby shadows. She gave him an exasperated look and bent to put a tablet of charcoal in the incense burner. It was filled with ashes. Hadn’t she cleaned it out last time? She shook her head. She must really have been zoned out when she closed the circle last time.

Small wonder, considering what she’d been doing.

In the books she’d been reading, the authors had mentioned a place beyond death where loving souls met again, called the Summerland. Mira had been very close to her great-aunt Violet. Violet had died at age 92 two years before while Mira and her family were on their first and only trip out of the country. Mira always regretted never being able to say goodbye, but worse yet, Violet was the last of her generation. Mira had been interviewing her to get all their family history written down for her children and, she hoped, one day, grandchildren. The two of them had managed to chart down almost all of the relatives, but didn’t have the name of the village in Eastern Europe where their ancestors had come from. Considering the way borders moved around during the last century, they weren’t certain which
country
it was in. Violet had told Mira the name was just on the tip of her tongue. Since she was sick in bed she promised to give the matter all her attention and she’d tell Mira when came home. Mira had never seen her alive again.

More than anything she wanted to see the old woman and tell her how much she loved her. Mira had to admit that she also wanted the name of the village. She
hated
to leave a task unfinished. Violet was the same way, organized and goal-oriented. Couldn’t that be a karmic reason for their souls to meet again? She firmly believed in reincarnation, so it was a risk even to go looking for Violet. She might already have gone on to her next life. Mira felt anguished. What if the old lady wasn’t waiting for her? A part of her history would be gone forever!

She glanced over at Zoomer. The sight of the cat washing himself as if he hadn’t a care in the world gave Mira confidence. Zoomer put a leg up in the air and bent his head to a task that Mira wouldn’t undertake for a million dollars or a date with Mel Gibson.

She preferred to think of herself as a weekend witch. The faith had always interested her. Most of the stuff in the history books about trials seemed to be attacks on uppity women more than against anybody practicing black arts or summoning Satan. Now that she’d done more reading, she realized the stuff about Satan was a put-up job, too. There was a mother goddess, and her consort was a horned forest god, like Herne the Hunter on that
Robin of Sherwood
TV show years ago. While part of her was nervous about envisioning God, she had become comfortable with these archetypes. They were the guardians of the universe as well as its creators. The God she grew up with felt too far away, uninvolved.

The idea of having a familiar came from a book on shamanism she got out of the local library. Their purpose was to act as a guide in the underworld, or as they called it in Dungeons & Dragons, an alternate plane of existence. A familiar was a servant, but also a friend, an auxiliary battery for power, and a go-between completing the circuit between her and the great source of all power. They also amplified whatever magical abilities a person had, so you had to choose an animal whose strengths and weaknesses were the opposite of your own.

She’d done a calling, as the book named it, expecting to make contact with a badger or a fox, some savage creature who would help her tap into her inner reserves. Instead, she got Zoomer. Zoomer, whom the kids had named for the way the stray kitten had shot into their kitchen one cold night and made himself at home, had looked up at her with wise, wise eyes that touched her to her soul. Mira stopped herself from putting him out the door. In four years, he had grown up to be a placid, fat tabby who liked to sleep in the sun. Mira liked cats, so she didn’t really mind.

That expressive look was the last open vestige of wisdom the cat had manifested. Since then, he became a persnickety consumer of cat food, expert mattress tester and devoted companion during Mira’s private endeavors into the occult. He gave off the greatest karmic kick. From the beginning of their association Mira felt a pick-me-up every time she tried one of her rituals, so she guessed the book was right. She also noticed she saw better in the dark.

The best thing about Zoomer, other than his purr, which could rattle the chandelier, was his intelligent silence. He never interrupted Mira with a clarion yell just as she was going into a meditative trance, saving it instead for later when Mira descended, clothed, to the kitchen. Zoomer listened to everything going on. When Loretta came over a month before to learn the familiar-summoning spell, Zoomer watched as if making sure they did it right. But how would he know if it was right? He hadn’t been there the night Mira did it to call him into her life. Loretta cooed over him, saying how cute he was. Zoomer had stalked off, offended. Maybe he’d chewed on the wand because Loretta had handled it last. Mira hadn’t been in the sanctum since then.

Mira was surprised how well her magic was coming along. She thought she must have a natural aptitude. She succeeded in making things work that neither Loretta nor most of their friends could accomplish. The most spectacular was her levitation spell. She’d come across it in a dusty old book in the library. It took ages to get all the ingredients for the potion together, and even longer trying different inflections on the incantation, but it worked. She could float on the air like a feather. Too bad that Lewis wasn’t interested in trying it. Levitation offered some really interesting possibilities.

She drew a circle on the floor in blue chalk, then lit a candle and an incense burner (purchased at Service Merchandise) placed on her altar. That sealed the room. No other living presence could pass within the chalk, and the ring of candles prevented malign forces from coming in. With some difficulty, she folded her legs into a double lotus. As fragrant smoke rose from the tiny pressed cone, Mira started chanting. According to the planewalker spell she had to rise above earthly things. With levitation that was no problem. Falling into a gently rhythmic mantra, she began to lose the tension bunched up in her shoulders and neck. Her limbs fell loose as her body started to rise. Any minute now she was going to pass into a different realm of existence. She was going to see Aunt Violet again! This would work!

But the power not as high gain as usual. She got an inch off the cushion, then plumped back to earth again. Exasperatedly, she opened her eyes and glanced toward Zoomer, who was grooming his toenails with his teeth.

“I get the impression you’re not giving me all your attention,” she said. “Please concentrate. I need you. I need to do this.”

The cat actually stopped what he was doing and stared at her. Satisfied, Mira closed her eyes and put her thumbs and forefingers together.

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “Mmmmm.” To her delight, she felt the cushion drop out from underneath her bottom. She enjoyed the sensation of hovering in the air. It was
comfortable
.

The next part of the spell was new. She’d had to memorize it carefully because she wasn’t going to be able to bring physical things with her into the alternate planes. But she hesitated, nervous. If she succeeded, was she sure she could find Aunt Violet? Mira didn’t exactly have an address for the old woman. And what would she do if she couldn’t get back to the real world again?

A throaty purr interrupted her musings. Good old Zoomer, Mira thought, just before the sound of vigorous scratching made her change her mind. He considered this no big deal. Neither should she.

“Open the gate,” she intoned, confidently. “Bring me through to the other side, to the gardens of the Summerland. Show me the ones who have gone before. Open the gate. Bring me through … ”