| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted November 1, 2013 |
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A cat, his master, and the unthinkable:
The Welcoming (Part-2)
by Ric Myworld
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
Honza was a striking cat. An ancient Persian and Siamese mix, whose bloodlines undoubtedly crossed at some point with a much larger carnivorous breed, evidenced by the remains of his nightly hunting excursions. He resembled a leopard, except for the variations of his colorful unpatterned specs, rather than a uniform scheme of spots.
Twice the size of a normal house pet, he slithered round and round Durco’s neck like a snake on a branch and, as if mimicking a rhythmic romantic ritual, he licked him like a giant totem pole of catnip. Intelligent to a fault, he was aware of every move of his surroundings, inside and out. He was a big cat with a don’t-give-a-damn disposition and a jealous obsession with old man Durco; and over time, he grew more possessive and unpredictable.
Butterflies and brown bees flew from one wild flower to another, landing for a split second before flying to the next. Wood bees, often mistaken for the more aggressive big black, yellow vested bumble bees, swarmed from the loft of the deserted and dilapidated barn. Birds sang from the briers and trees, and grasshoppers shot with a buzz like torpedoes with wings, jumping all over the farm’s overgrown fields behind the house.
Irresistible to Honza’s greedy appetite was the unlimited variety of mouth-watering game that waited just outside his reach. Therefore, at first chance, he made his getaway—up and over the garage and down under the hedgerow he crept—fleeing to escape Durco’s restrictions and guidance, and for the awaiting smorgasbord of critters. Honza crawled on his stomach, inch by inch, under the fence and out of sight.
The tranquil setting was delightful. Durco swung and listened to the squeak of the springs that connected his swing to the gazebo’s rafters, relaxing and admiring the joys of nature. Freedom at last, from the late nights in the dungeon of a death house, life was finally good.
Then, just as Durco was about to nod off, Honza exploded from out of nowhere and leapt through the air like a super hero, seizing a defenseless sparrow between his paws, and with one furious bite, feathers flew, and the tiny bird was dead. No sooner had he attacked than he was gone.
Motionless, hidden underneath the brush and completely invisible, he would pause once more until all was calm. Patiently he would lay, his eyes focused, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before another clueless snack would meander too close. An instinctive killer, he waited to ambush and overwhelm his unsuspecting prey, repeatedly.
A brilliant sun of orange sorbet with a rim of vanilla faded beyond the field. Durco called Honza every few minutes for well over an hour, but he did not come. It was time to call it a day in order to beat the darkness.
In the distance, a pack of coyotes howled. Then, suddenly there was silence, to highlight the kill. At Honza’s size it was highly unlikely that he was their meal; although, Durco knew that with a large enough pack of cowardly coyotes, anything was possible. Considering these thoughts, he climbed the fence and walked back through the weeds and thickets into the woods.
He came upon a slight clearing, where Honza lay sprawled out beside a dead rabbit: what must have seemed to be the biggest mouse he had ever seen. Still not responding to his calls, Durco walked over and bent down to pick him up. Surprisingly, he let out a nasty hiss, gashed Durco’s arm with a swat of his claws and bit his hand. Durco slammed Honza to the ground, and kicked, catching only air where the cat had been. Then, headed for the house, red-faced and shouting obscenities, “To hell with you, cat.”
More than a week passed with merely glimpses of Honza, and by then, Durco missed his meowing friend. Somewhat numb from the distress of Honza’s shocking behavior, he decided to set up a trap baited with a mixture of liver and tuna. He put the food in the back corner of the cage and rigged the door with a stick and bungee cord; and surprisingly, trapped Honza the very first night.
Honza seemed different. No matter when Durco approached the cage, Honza became bristled, snarled and would show his teeth. This went on for days. Honza was not just Durco’s pet. He was his friend and the only life partner he had ever known.
Pushed beyond his normal limit, Durco was nearly ready to consider him a lost cause and release him into the wild forever. However, in time, Honza mellowed and gradually began to act like his old self. Extricated from his confinement he responded to Durco’s kindness as he rubbed and licked, following him wherever he went.
All of life seemed pretty much back to normal, except for a larger than normal number of stray cats carousing the neighborhood. Durco assumed that his old sidekick must have made some cuddle-buddies during his week in the wilderness, that handsome devil. Outside, cats sat looking in from the windowsills and were scattered throughout the limbs of trees, bushes, and they traipsed all over the field, watching like keepers of the sheep.
Many afternoons Durco and Honza would sit and swing for hours in the backyard gazebo, like old times, often well past sunset. Every neighbor on the block would hide behind his or her window curtains or a shrub in an adjoining yard to view their interactions.
As a result, they were the usual topic of conversation at most community gatherings. A typical discussion consisted of descriptions of how Honza would run, jump, and strike at the tinkling wind chimes before retiring to Durco’s lap to rest. Much like any domesticated cat. Then, at the slightest sense of a too-close-to-suit observer, Honza would send a warning with a vicious show of his razor-sharp teeth and let out a piercing hiss, all of which, were anything but ordinary.
Overly aggressive at times, even with Durco, Honza would sprint from chime to chime, across the grass, up a nearby tree, and fly twelve or so feet through the air back onto the gazebo’s roof, scampering headfirst over the edge and down a four-by-four post to where he had started.
Never again had anyone seen him challenge authority, nor had he, since he ran away. Henceforth, a quick scolding of a few harsh words had always brought him instantly under control. Today, however, was different. He was acting uncharacteristically strange and unruly.
“Stop,” Durco screamed so loudly that it shook the antique mirror off the wall. Violently it crashed, shattering his vague reflection. Pieces of jagged glass scattered across the floor and some lay in clusters. If there is any truth to the old "Seven Years of Bad Luck" adage, at his age, his chances for good luck were looking grim.
He groaned and plopped down into his rickety hundred-plus-year old rocking chair. The speckled, nasty-tempered tomcat paid no attention to his yell of discipline, jumped right back onto his shoulder, and began wrapping himself around Durco’s neck, rubbing and twisting.
Unmistakably agitated, the harder Durco tried to make him stop, the wrigglier he became. The dampened, matted fur of his belly reeked of urine. It clung and pulled at Durco’s skin. The smell of perfumed litter coupled with the raw fumes of ammonia burnt his nose and brought tears to his eyes.
Softly, Durco took hold of Honza with both hands and caressed his rigid spine until his tantrum was soothed. Calmly, he began to ease Honza away from his neck, but immediately his fur stood straight up all over.
Instantly, he latched onto the tender, sensitive areas of Durco’s neck, burying his claws all the way to their base at his paws. Durco winced and shook, quivering in pain as he tried again to pull Honza away, but even the slightest movement caused him to bite at Durco’s hands and with every tug, he bit harder. His claws gripped like a vulture securing his catch and preparing to fly.
Durco grabbed both hands full of cat skin, fur, and whatever else he could. Squishing guts gurgled as he squeezed with all of his might. Honza let out an eerie squeal like nothing anybody has ever heard. Durco yanked and pulled at the cat’s sunken claws until they eventually ripped away, along with hunks of his flesh. Blood poured from his gaping neck wounds and ran down his chest and back.
Honza kicked and thrashed, splattering bits of meat and blood in a spray that covered Durco’s face and body, including the walls and floor. Relentlessly, Durco applied more and more pressure, twisting Honza’s head and neck; seemingly, not noticing the penetration of the needle sharp teeth that bit furiously into his hands. Frothing at the mouth, Honza snatched his head back and forth trying to mutilate Durco’s fingers into shreds like a rabid tiger.
Exhausted, Durco collapsed back into his chair. Brokenhearted, he looked down upon his dead pal lying at his feet.
Honza was a striking cat. An ancient Persian and Siamese mix, whose bloodlines undoubtedly crossed at some point with a much larger carnivorous breed, evidenced by the remains of his nightly hunting excursions. He resembled a leopard, except for the variations of his colorful unpatterned specs, rather than a uniform scheme of spots.
Twice the size of a normal house pet, he slithered round and round Durco’s neck like a snake on a branch and, as if mimicking a rhythmic romantic ritual, he licked him like a giant totem pole of catnip. Intelligent to a fault, he was aware of every move of his surroundings, inside and out. He was a big cat with a don’t-give-a-damn disposition and a jealous obsession with old man Durco; and over time, he grew more possessive and unpredictable.
Butterflies and brown bees flew from one wild flower to another, landing for a split second before flying to the next. Wood bees, often mistaken for the more aggressive big black, yellow vested bumble bees, swarmed from the loft of the deserted and dilapidated barn. Birds sang from the briers and trees, and grasshoppers shot with a buzz like torpedoes with wings, jumping all over the farm’s overgrown fields behind the house.
Irresistible to Honza’s greedy appetite was the unlimited variety of mouth-watering game that waited just outside his reach. Therefore, at first chance, he made his getaway—up and over the garage and down under the hedgerow he crept—fleeing to escape Durco’s restrictions and guidance, and for the awaiting smorgasbord of critters. Honza crawled on his stomach, inch by inch, under the fence and out of sight.
The tranquil setting was delightful. Durco swung and listened to the squeak of the springs that connected his swing to the gazebo’s rafters, relaxing and admiring the joys of nature. Freedom at last, from the late nights in the dungeon of a death house, life was finally good.
Then, just as Durco was about to nod off, Honza exploded from out of nowhere and leapt through the air like a super hero, seizing a defenseless sparrow between his paws, and with one furious bite, feathers flew, and the tiny bird was dead. No sooner had he attacked than he was gone.
Motionless, hidden underneath the brush and completely invisible, he would pause once more until all was calm. Patiently he would lay, his eyes focused, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before another clueless snack would meander too close. An instinctive killer, he waited to ambush and overwhelm his unsuspecting prey, repeatedly.
A brilliant sun of orange sorbet with a rim of vanilla faded beyond the field. Durco called Honza every few minutes for well over an hour, but he did not come. It was time to call it a day in order to beat the darkness.
In the distance, a pack of coyotes howled. Then, suddenly there was silence, to highlight the kill. At Honza’s size it was highly unlikely that he was their meal; although, Durco knew that with a large enough pack of cowardly coyotes, anything was possible. Considering these thoughts, he climbed the fence and walked back through the weeds and thickets into the woods.
He came upon a slight clearing, where Honza lay sprawled out beside a dead rabbit: what must have seemed to be the biggest mouse he had ever seen. Still not responding to his calls, Durco walked over and bent down to pick him up. Surprisingly, he let out a nasty hiss, gashed Durco’s arm with a swat of his claws and bit his hand. Durco slammed Honza to the ground, and kicked, catching only air where the cat had been. Then, headed for the house, red-faced and shouting obscenities, “To hell with you, cat.”
More than a week passed with merely glimpses of Honza, and by then, Durco missed his meowing friend. Somewhat numb from the distress of Honza’s shocking behavior, he decided to set up a trap baited with a mixture of liver and tuna. He put the food in the back corner of the cage and rigged the door with a stick and bungee cord; and surprisingly, trapped Honza the very first night.
Honza seemed different. No matter when Durco approached the cage, Honza became bristled, snarled and would show his teeth. This went on for days. Honza was not just Durco’s pet. He was his friend and the only life partner he had ever known.
Pushed beyond his normal limit, Durco was nearly ready to consider him a lost cause and release him into the wild forever. However, in time, Honza mellowed and gradually began to act like his old self. Extricated from his confinement he responded to Durco’s kindness as he rubbed and licked, following him wherever he went.
All of life seemed pretty much back to normal, except for a larger than normal number of stray cats carousing the neighborhood. Durco assumed that his old sidekick must have made some cuddle-buddies during his week in the wilderness, that handsome devil. Outside, cats sat looking in from the windowsills and were scattered throughout the limbs of trees, bushes, and they traipsed all over the field, watching like keepers of the sheep.
Many afternoons Durco and Honza would sit and swing for hours in the backyard gazebo, like old times, often well past sunset. Every neighbor on the block would hide behind his or her window curtains or a shrub in an adjoining yard to view their interactions.
As a result, they were the usual topic of conversation at most community gatherings. A typical discussion consisted of descriptions of how Honza would run, jump, and strike at the tinkling wind chimes before retiring to Durco’s lap to rest. Much like any domesticated cat. Then, at the slightest sense of a too-close-to-suit observer, Honza would send a warning with a vicious show of his razor-sharp teeth and let out a piercing hiss, all of which, were anything but ordinary.
Overly aggressive at times, even with Durco, Honza would sprint from chime to chime, across the grass, up a nearby tree, and fly twelve or so feet through the air back onto the gazebo’s roof, scampering headfirst over the edge and down a four-by-four post to where he had started.
Never again had anyone seen him challenge authority, nor had he, since he ran away. Henceforth, a quick scolding of a few harsh words had always brought him instantly under control. Today, however, was different. He was acting uncharacteristically strange and unruly.
“Stop,” Durco screamed so loudly that it shook the antique mirror off the wall. Violently it crashed, shattering his vague reflection. Pieces of jagged glass scattered across the floor and some lay in clusters. If there is any truth to the old "Seven Years of Bad Luck" adage, at his age, his chances for good luck were looking grim.
He groaned and plopped down into his rickety hundred-plus-year old rocking chair. The speckled, nasty-tempered tomcat paid no attention to his yell of discipline, jumped right back onto his shoulder, and began wrapping himself around Durco’s neck, rubbing and twisting.
Unmistakably agitated, the harder Durco tried to make him stop, the wrigglier he became. The dampened, matted fur of his belly reeked of urine. It clung and pulled at Durco’s skin. The smell of perfumed litter coupled with the raw fumes of ammonia burnt his nose and brought tears to his eyes.
Softly, Durco took hold of Honza with both hands and caressed his rigid spine until his tantrum was soothed. Calmly, he began to ease Honza away from his neck, but immediately his fur stood straight up all over.
Instantly, he latched onto the tender, sensitive areas of Durco’s neck, burying his claws all the way to their base at his paws. Durco winced and shook, quivering in pain as he tried again to pull Honza away, but even the slightest movement caused him to bite at Durco’s hands and with every tug, he bit harder. His claws gripped like a vulture securing his catch and preparing to fly.
Durco grabbed both hands full of cat skin, fur, and whatever else he could. Squishing guts gurgled as he squeezed with all of his might. Honza let out an eerie squeal like nothing anybody has ever heard. Durco yanked and pulled at the cat’s sunken claws until they eventually ripped away, along with hunks of his flesh. Blood poured from his gaping neck wounds and ran down his chest and back.
Honza kicked and thrashed, splattering bits of meat and blood in a spray that covered Durco’s face and body, including the walls and floor. Relentlessly, Durco applied more and more pressure, twisting Honza’s head and neck; seemingly, not noticing the penetration of the needle sharp teeth that bit furiously into his hands. Frothing at the mouth, Honza snatched his head back and forth trying to mutilate Durco’s fingers into shreds like a rabid tiger.
Exhausted, Durco collapsed back into his chair. Brokenhearted, he looked down upon his dead pal lying at his feet.
Twice the size of a normal house pet, he slithered round and round Durco’s neck like a snake on a branch and, as if mimicking a rhythmic romantic ritual, he licked him like a giant totem pole of catnip. Intelligent to a fault, he was aware of every move of his surroundings, inside and out. He was a big cat with a don’t-give-a-damn disposition and a jealous obsession with old man Durco; and over time, he grew more possessive and unpredictable.
Butterflies and brown bees flew from one wild flower to another, landing for a split second before flying to the next. Wood bees, often mistaken for the more aggressive big black, yellow vested bumble bees, swarmed from the loft of the deserted and dilapidated barn. Birds sang from the briers and trees, and grasshoppers shot with a buzz like torpedoes with wings, jumping all over the farm’s overgrown fields behind the house.
Irresistible to Honza’s greedy appetite was the unlimited variety of mouth-watering game that waited just outside his reach. Therefore, at first chance, he made his getaway—up and over the garage and down under the hedgerow he crept—fleeing to escape Durco’s restrictions and guidance, and for the awaiting smorgasbord of critters. Honza crawled on his stomach, inch by inch, under the fence and out of sight.
The tranquil setting was delightful. Durco swung and listened to the squeak of the springs that connected his swing to the gazebo’s rafters, relaxing and admiring the joys of nature. Freedom at last, from the late nights in the dungeon of a death house, life was finally good.
Then, just as Durco was about to nod off, Honza exploded from out of nowhere and leapt through the air like a super hero, seizing a defenseless sparrow between his paws, and with one furious bite, feathers flew, and the tiny bird was dead. No sooner had he attacked than he was gone.
Motionless, hidden underneath the brush and completely invisible, he would pause once more until all was calm. Patiently he would lay, his eyes focused, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before another clueless snack would meander too close. An instinctive killer, he waited to ambush and overwhelm his unsuspecting prey, repeatedly.
A brilliant sun of orange sorbet with a rim of vanilla faded beyond the field. Durco called Honza every few minutes for well over an hour, but he did not come. It was time to call it a day in order to beat the darkness.
In the distance, a pack of coyotes howled. Then, suddenly there was silence, to highlight the kill. At Honza’s size it was highly unlikely that he was their meal; although, Durco knew that with a large enough pack of cowardly coyotes, anything was possible. Considering these thoughts, he climbed the fence and walked back through the weeds and thickets into the woods.
He came upon a slight clearing, where Honza lay sprawled out beside a dead rabbit: what must have seemed to be the biggest mouse he had ever seen. Still not responding to his calls, Durco walked over and bent down to pick him up. Surprisingly, he let out a nasty hiss, gashed Durco’s arm with a swat of his claws and bit his hand. Durco slammed Honza to the ground, and kicked, catching only air where the cat had been. Then, headed for the house, red-faced and shouting obscenities, “To hell with you, cat.”
More than a week passed with merely glimpses of Honza, and by then, Durco missed his meowing friend. Somewhat numb from the distress of Honza’s shocking behavior, he decided to set up a trap baited with a mixture of liver and tuna. He put the food in the back corner of the cage and rigged the door with a stick and bungee cord; and surprisingly, trapped Honza the very first night.
Honza seemed different. No matter when Durco approached the cage, Honza became bristled, snarled and would show his teeth. This went on for days. Honza was not just Durco’s pet. He was his friend and the only life partner he had ever known.
Pushed beyond his normal limit, Durco was nearly ready to consider him a lost cause and release him into the wild forever. However, in time, Honza mellowed and gradually began to act like his old self. Extricated from his confinement he responded to Durco’s kindness as he rubbed and licked, following him wherever he went.
All of life seemed pretty much back to normal, except for a larger than normal number of stray cats carousing the neighborhood. Durco assumed that his old sidekick must have made some cuddle-buddies during his week in the wilderness, that handsome devil. Outside, cats sat looking in from the windowsills and were scattered throughout the limbs of trees, bushes, and they traipsed all over the field, watching like keepers of the sheep.
Many afternoons Durco and Honza would sit and swing for hours in the backyard gazebo, like old times, often well past sunset. Every neighbor on the block would hide behind his or her window curtains or a shrub in an adjoining yard to view their interactions.
As a result, they were the usual topic of conversation at most community gatherings. A typical discussion consisted of descriptions of how Honza would run, jump, and strike at the tinkling wind chimes before retiring to Durco’s lap to rest. Much like any domesticated cat. Then, at the slightest sense of a too-close-to-suit observer, Honza would send a warning with a vicious show of his razor-sharp teeth and let out a piercing hiss, all of which, were anything but ordinary.
Overly aggressive at times, even with Durco, Honza would sprint from chime to chime, across the grass, up a nearby tree, and fly twelve or so feet through the air back onto the gazebo’s roof, scampering headfirst over the edge and down a four-by-four post to where he had started.
Never again had anyone seen him challenge authority, nor had he, since he ran away. Henceforth, a quick scolding of a few harsh words had always brought him instantly under control. Today, however, was different. He was acting uncharacteristically strange and unruly.
“Stop,” Durco screamed so loudly that it shook the antique mirror off the wall. Violently it crashed, shattering his vague reflection. Pieces of jagged glass scattered across the floor and some lay in clusters. If there is any truth to the old "Seven Years of Bad Luck" adage, at his age, his chances for good luck were looking grim.
He groaned and plopped down into his rickety hundred-plus-year old rocking chair. The speckled, nasty-tempered tomcat paid no attention to his yell of discipline, jumped right back onto his shoulder, and began wrapping himself around Durco’s neck, rubbing and twisting.
Unmistakably agitated, the harder Durco tried to make him stop, the wrigglier he became. The dampened, matted fur of his belly reeked of urine. It clung and pulled at Durco’s skin. The smell of perfumed litter coupled with the raw fumes of ammonia burnt his nose and brought tears to his eyes.
Softly, Durco took hold of Honza with both hands and caressed his rigid spine until his tantrum was soothed. Calmly, he began to ease Honza away from his neck, but immediately his fur stood straight up all over.
Instantly, he latched onto the tender, sensitive areas of Durco’s neck, burying his claws all the way to their base at his paws. Durco winced and shook, quivering in pain as he tried again to pull Honza away, but even the slightest movement caused him to bite at Durco’s hands and with every tug, he bit harder. His claws gripped like a vulture securing his catch and preparing to fly.
Durco grabbed both hands full of cat skin, fur, and whatever else he could. Squishing guts gurgled as he squeezed with all of his might. Honza let out an eerie squeal like nothing anybody has ever heard. Durco yanked and pulled at the cat’s sunken claws until they eventually ripped away, along with hunks of his flesh. Blood poured from his gaping neck wounds and ran down his chest and back.
Honza kicked and thrashed, splattering bits of meat and blood in a spray that covered Durco’s face and body, including the walls and floor. Relentlessly, Durco applied more and more pressure, twisting Honza’s head and neck; seemingly, not noticing the penetration of the needle sharp teeth that bit furiously into his hands. Frothing at the mouth, Honza snatched his head back and forth trying to mutilate Durco’s fingers into shreds like a rabid tiger.
Exhausted, Durco collapsed back into his chair. Brokenhearted, he looked down upon his dead pal lying at his feet.
 Recognized |
|
This is the second part of the 3-part story.
It was written to be read all at once, therefore, the first part is slow, but I think that you will find it gets more interesting in each of the last two parts.
Thanks again, to "Sarnewfie" for the use of the picture, "Michu."
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. It was written to be read all at once, therefore, the first part is slow, but I think that you will find it gets more interesting in each of the last two parts.
Thanks again, to "Sarnewfie" for the use of the picture, "Michu."
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