the last sentinel
I am death incarnate.
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A force of nature cloaked in darkness, I walk the ledge, smelling the air. The slightest hint of sulfur mixes with that of burning flesh as wickedness draws close.
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I flex my claws, sharper than the talons of any raptor. I am ready.
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As the last sentinel that walks the Witching Hour, I move to the edge and sit. Adjusting my eyes to the pitch, I watch as it slowly crawls out from under the door like a spider with broken legs.
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The wretched thing, its movement twisted and tortured, drags itself inside the kitchen. It raises its head, sensing me, yet unable to find me.
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The time has come.
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With silent ferocity, I leap from a height six times my size and engage the threat. Claw and fang, flesh and blood; I wreak havoc upon the evil that intrudes upon my inner sanctum.
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With seconds passing as lightning, I swipe my claws once more and catch the legs from under it. It hisses in pain, and I bare my fangs with contempt. No remorse shall be found here.
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With one last hiss of defeat, the darkness crawls away, slowly dragging itself back under the closed door. I patrol the bastion, ready for another attempt… but none comes.
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A long night, but a victorious one.
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As light begins to dawn, I make my way to Claire’s room. It is in front of her closed doorway that I succumb to slumber.
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Hours later, Claire’s voice wakes me. “Beans!” She calls, scratching the fur behind my neck.
Like liquid, I shift my body forward until her scratches are where I desire them. Right on my lower back, just north of my tail. For a simple, bumbling creature, my Claire has the best scratches in the house. Though endearing in her ineptitude as a hunter, I chose her as my favorite long ago. Yes… she is loud and awkward in her movements, but she is also kind and needs protecting.
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Protection in exchange for scratches is a suitable arrangement.
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I just wish she would stop saying “Beans” every time she sees me.
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“I’m sorry, Beans. I forgot to leave my door open,” Claire says, as she scratches under my chin. “You must not have slept at all last night.”
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She mumbles on, but I perk up my ears as I hear something skittering in the darkness. From under her bed it crawls, lurching forward to attach itself to her shadow like a parasite.
Needing her to move immediately, I bite down on her hand. I drew back my strength, but my fangs are too sharp, and I hear her cry out in shock. She quickly withdraws, leaving to run her hand under cold water.
Perfect.
I turn on the shadow that has found itself without prey. Its soulless eyes meet my yellow ones, and I bear my fangs in challenge. It does the only thing it can do and turns to flee.
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Chasing after it, I throw myself under Claire’s bed with all the speed that I possess. I catch one of its legs and crush it in my mouth. It tastes of bile and of things long dead. I don’t stop. I devour it, and in doing so, end its existence—and its threat.
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The taste of it is a thing I cannot master, and I wretch under Claire’s bed.
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It is a gruesome process, but my humans are safer for it.
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When my Claire leaves for something called school, I use the many needed hours of quiet to catch up on sleep. I go to where the shadows cannot walk.
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Pure sunlight.
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It shines in from the grand window behind the sofa. Leaping majestically onto the highest point, I curl into a ball. I will be safe here.
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Thirteen hours later, I rise from my slumber to the sound of a can opener. Arching my back 45 degrees, I shudder off the effects of sleep and move to investigate the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen.
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My Claire is seated at the table, moving a yellow stick around, while large Claire is busy unearthing the robust scent of seasoned poultry.
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As the only qualified inspector of the house, I leap onto the counters to further investigate the work of large Claire.
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“No, Beans!” Large Claire shouts. “Get down! Cats don’t belong on counters.”
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I am helpless as large Claire grabs me under the arms and lifts me into the air. She sets me upon the floor and returns to work on the dead bird. However, large Claire has not beaten me.
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I am the master of this domain.
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I slink to my Claire and leap onto her lap. She welcomes me, as she should, and I sing her the song of my people as I rub against her. Her hand, not using the yellow stick, comes down to deliver scratches.
It is nice, but it is not enough. It is not my endgame.
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Leaping to the tabletop, I arch my back before her. She continues to scratch, but only uses one hand. This is unacceptable.
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It’s time for the big guns. I rub my cheek against the hand that holds the stick and then, without warning, I offer the one thing these giant, bumbling kittens cannot resist.
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With a regal flourish, I lie on my side and then twist onto my back. In doing so, I expose the feathery-soft, downy fur of angel wings that reside on my belly.
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Like a moth to the flame, Claire has no resistance.
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I allow her to grant an offering of acceptable scratches before I swat her hand away and sit up to call to her. A smile spreads across her face—as beautiful and vibrant as it is joyful.
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When she smiles at me like that, I feel infinite.
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Swelling with pride, I watch as my human goes into the kitchen and sneaks a handful of the seasoned bird to bring to me.
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Daintily, I accept the offering from her hand, as though it were her idea all along to treat me from the kill of large Claire.
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My Claire is small, but she is my favorite.
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It is the witching hour once more. I cannot place it, but something is more wrong than usual. There’s a crackle stuck in the air, thrumming as it longs to become lightning.
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Large Claire’s footsteps pace, and I can smell fear through her closed doorway. I don’t know what it is, but something is coming.
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Unnerved, I go to check on my Claire. She sleeps, but it is not the peaceful kind.
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I know what to do.
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Climbing onto her chest, I stretch out as I lie facing her. My weight grants comfort, and soon my Claire’s breathing comes easier.
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I slip into the song of my people, and the vibrations that resonate within my chest, warm hers, adding to the depths of her slumber.
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Though she’s still asleep, her small hand comes to caress my head and scratches me behind the ears. It is not long until I join my human in that world of dreams.
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The hour is late when the front door slams.
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I smell the monster even before it roars its displeasure. “Where is everyone?!” It thunders. Its footsteps shake the landing with resounding thuds as the verbal tirade continues. Panic fills my heart as the one monster I cannot protect my Claire from, begins to climb the stairs.
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Awake now, Claire quickly grabs me and takes me with her under the bed, where the shadow monsters reside. She cannot see them, but I can.
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I watch as the spider-like creatures shrink away, paling in comparison to the greater evil that clambers down the hallway. They are comprised of depression, fear, self-loathing, guilt, and sorrow, that latch onto my humans like parasites. Not tonight, though. Tonight, they must all submit to the wake of the one who created their existence within this household.
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The light in the doorway dims as a figure looms at the entrance. I eye his feet with loathing as the hair on the back of my neck rises.
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“Claire! Where are you?! Get out here, right now !” Its voice cracks, unable to function under the abuse of the unnatural volume.
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My Claire doesn’t move, save to pet me reassuringly on the head, but I know better. I can hear the staccato rhythm of her heart. “It will be okay, Beans,” her small voice says against my fur, barely loud enough for even me to hear.
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The monster steps inside the room, and I hear the air catch inside Claire’s lungs.
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Worming my way from her grip, I move towards the edge of the bed. The silence is deafening as the monster takes a knee and begins to lift the bed skirt, bending to peer underneath.
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I draw in breath to the bottom of my lungs and release it with an otherworldly scream of outrage. When the one meant to be my Claire’s greatest protector becomes her greatest fear, I must step into the void to meet the darkness.
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I rip my claws down the monster’s face, red furrows appearing in their wake. Flashing my fangs, brilliant in the darkness, I hiss at him, imitating the very demons I hunt.
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A vengeful spirit, I tear out from underneath the bed, eyes locked on my giant adversary. The monster curses me and reaches out to catch me.
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His large hands are a death sentence, but my speed is a mockery of his.
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He tears down the stairs after me, stumbling like a baby, and I pause my flight to watch his ineptitude. I want him to recognize my superiority and be shamed by it, as a monster should be.
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“I’m gonna kill that damn cat!” he growls, finally reaching the bottom step.
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Gracefully leaping from the floor to the counter, to the fridge, to the tops of the cabinets, I perch at the summit of the kitchen, looking down upon the monster with pure disdain. Flicking my tail as though I’m bored, my soul cries out with relief. The monster took the bait this night.
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I was able to protect Claire.
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She is kind. She is small. And she is mine.
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