Twenty-nine Lives

by

Kenneth Roland

PAUL WATCHED LUCKY curl up in the open suitcase. She was missing most of her tail. Lost it in a kitchen accident. She knocked a pot off the counter and it landed on her, despite her name. Lucky was now curling up on top of a folded blazer and Paul knew it would not go well for her. Perhaps, Jinx would have been a more apropos name. Lucky was one of three cats that Paul and Hannah owned. She was the only female. Her tortoise shell colouring made her stand out from the other two. Paul had heard that only female cats had more than two colours, and at least in his small world, that was true. Dusty, the British Longhair was a monochromatic, smoky, ashy colour and Ned was a two tone tabby, orange on orange. Lucky was the only one Paul had been at the adoption for. The two males had come with Hannah, who was now prepping for a work trip to Calgary. The cats always seemed to know. Paul didn’t know if they recognized the suitcase, or could just feel the tension.

Hannah came down the stairs now: “Oh! C’mon Lucky! I need that clean, I’m going to wear it during my presentation.” She quickly turned at the landing and skipped down the last few steps. She picked up Lucky in one hand and stuffed a travel toiletry bag into the side of the suitcase with the other. “Paul, instead of just standing there, you could keep the cats off my stuff.” She pulled the top of the suitcase over just as Lucky climbed back on to it. “Oh my goodness, you!” she said as she stroked the cat’s ears and gave a scratch down its back. “You are such a cutie,” she cooed.

Paul rolled his eyes. “You know I have no control of these cats. If I did, they would use the toilet and clean up their own hair.”

“Ha!” Hannah smiled. “Well, you have a week, see what you can do.” She gave him a peck on the lips as she stood. She looked around, lost in thought for a moment. “OK, I just need my chargers and I’m ready to go.” She walked away from the stairs and went through the living room to the kitchen.

Paul looked down at the cat kneading the pockets of the suitcase. “You hear that Lucky? I’m in charge. Tell the others.” He followed Hannah into the kitchen. She was unplugging one of the unsightly charging warts from the wall. “When will you be back?”

She turned towards him: “For the tenth time, I’ll be back late Friday, early Saturday really. I’m sure you’ll still be up playing video games.” She walked up to him and grabbed his shoulders. “You’re going to be OK for five days with the cats. Just make sure you empty the litter box, close the doors, and if you really have a problem, ask Mr. Andrews downstairs.” Mr. Andrews was the renter in the basement apartment. Paul was getting a bit sick of hearing about Mr. Andrews. He was a plumber and such a good handy-man. He was also a hundred pounds overweight and drank a case of beer a week and two on the weekends. Just because Paul wasn’t handy, didn’t make him less of a man.

“Yes, dear,” he sighed. “Maybe, I just wanted to surprise you when you got home with a glass of wine and a candlelit dinner.”

Hannah smiled. “Yeah, that would surprise me. I gotta run. Remember, wet food morning, top off the kibble, then after work, just top it up again and check the water. Clean out the litter box every day! I’m sure you’ll do fine, I mean, Robert does it when we go away and he’s like ten?” Robert was the little kid that lived next door. Paul felt he was a bit smug for a ten year old and was hiding his age.

“No worries, honey, I got this. Have a great trip!”

Paul’s first night alone with the cats went great. After mewing around and pawing at the door for a bit, Dusty even came up and sat on the couch beside him while he played. When Dusty curled up he turned into a solid gray mass, and you couldn’t really tell where his head was. He purred quietly as Paul played games beside him. “This isn’t so bad,” Paul thought, “I got the place all to myself.”

Day 1

PAUL WOKE UP with a heavy chest and couldn’t seem to open his eyes. His foggy brain, at first inquisitive, moved to full panic very quickly. He was having a stroke, or a heart attack. His arms were pinned to his sides. With a twist he flung off the blanket. A screeching squeal came from something in the bed and there was a thump from beside the bed. He sat up to see what it was and received scratches from a coiled up Lucky that had been sleeping on his face apparently. Pain ripped down his face and across his lip. “Son of a …,” Paul didn’t know why he didn’t swear. It was like the cats were kids. Clutching his face, he surveyed the room. Ned, the giant, orange, tabby was growling at him from the end of the bed. Paul didn’t even know cats could growl. Lucky was scampering off Hannah’s side of the bed and poor Dusty was on the floor, strutting towards the doorway as though nothing had happened.

“Why would you sleep on my head?!” Paul yelled at the bobbed tail of Lucky as she landed on the floor and sprinted out the door. Ned was still just staring at him. Paul looked back. For a while there was an impasse, and then Ned slowly slinked off the back of the footboard and onto the floor, waddling his large frame out the door. Paul sighed. “Guess it’s time to get up,” he mumbled.

Singing in the shower, Paul didn’t notice the door creak open. Not all the way, just enough for an oversized cat to squeeze through. He was part way through his lather, rinse, repeat when the shower curtain sprang into his space. He leapt back as a paw exposed itself from under the curtain. He was trying to clear his eyes, when the paw hit the water. It retracted quickly. “NED!” he shouted, rinsing off quickly and stepping out. The smell hit Paul immediately. A grungy, chunky smell of sour milk and stale bread. He almost gagged as he looked around. There on the threshold of the bathroom was the problem: a large steaming, brown turd, gifted to him from one of his feline roommates. “NED!” he yelled again.

After cleaning up, he headed downstairs to make coffee. The three cats were all around his feet, rubbing against his leg and meowing constantly. As he stared at the hair now sticking to his pant leg, he remembered that Hannah always fed the cats first, then made the coffee, then came up to shower. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He used the lint roller they kept by the door and headed to the office.

It was a rough day at work for Paul, and he was happy to return home. Robert, the kid next door, waved at him as he went into the house. Mr. Andrews’ plumbing truck was in the driveway already. Must be nice to have a job where you could bag off whenever you wanted. Paul sighed as he unlocked the front door. So good to be home. Immediately he wrinkled his nose. The smell! It punched him in the throat and he pulled his shirt up over his face. The cats! It smelled like nothing he had ever had the chance to encounter before. He dropped his work backpack and headed straight to the litter box. “These are the offenders,” he thought, scooping each treat into a compostable bag. Breathing through his mouth, he tied the bag tight and carried it out onto the porch, disposing of it in the green bin. Upon re-entering the house, he could still smell something – it was lingering. Paul went to the cleaning cupboard and yanked it open. He snatched an air freshener and began to spray it before it even cleared the cupboard door. Through the kitchen, into the living room, there was a non-stop shhhhhhh as the spray spewed forth. Paul stopped at the front door and turned. He took a tentative sniff. Lavender. A deep breath through his nose. Lavender. Perfect. Paul replaced the spray and looked at the litter box again. There were some wet spots, but surely that could wait until tomorrow. “If it’s brown, get it out of town, if it’s wet, let it set,” Paul chanted. Then he smiled and got ready for his night of relaxing alone.

Day 2

PAUL WOKE UP EARLY. He wandered to the bathroom and blinked as he urinated, trying to clear his eyes. The sun was coming through the bathroom window above the toilet, directly into his face. He smiled – it was going to be a good day. Shaking off the last of last night, he took a deep breath. Oh gawd! What was that smell? Wait … was it him? He turned his gaze to the toilet in front of him. It appeared he had been accurate. He sniffed again. Something was definitely off.

No shower first thing this morning. Paul immediately headed down to the kitchen. Six pairs of feet followed him down the stairs. He went straight to the kitchen, scratching at his boxers as he went. He quickly opened three cans of moist food, distributing them to the Lucky, Dusty, and Ned dishes. He checked the depth of the kibble and topped up the water bowl. OK. He could put on coffee and grab a shower. 

After his shower, he checked the litter box. Two logs and three ponds. Definitely going to clean those out before he left – but first, coffee. As he sipped from his super hero mug, he glanced at the box again. He was pretty sure the logs were beating out the ponds now. His eyes narrowed. Was there any point in cleaning the box now, if it was still in use?

When Paul got home, he regretted his entire life up to that point. The smell was ungodly. He cleaned the litter box. Twice. He used every air freshener they had in a concert of spraying that would inspire Mozart, his arms twirling and swirling in an exquisite display of gymnastics and grace.

Day 3

PAUL HAD GOTTEN INTO A ROUTINE. Pee, feed, start coffee, shower, clean, drink coffee. He was feeling good about his progress. Taking his coffee out onto the back porch, he yelled at the sky: “Feel the glory that is PAUL!” He smiled, then worried he might have woken Mr. Andrews. He peered over the railing, but no lights were on in the basement apartment. He felt better about that and watched the sun come up over the escarpment. Locking the door on his way to work, he finally felt like he had conquered the whole cat problem. As he drove to work Paul remembered it was Wednesday and he should have put the garbage out. He slammed his palm into the steering wheel. Normally, Mr. Andrews would have his garbage out first, which always reminded him. The basement tenant must be off for the week. Paul wished he was off.

When he returned home from work, there were no garbage cans to bring in. That kind of makes life easier, he mused. He was feeling pretty good as he opened the front door. That’s when it hit him. A smell undreamed of. A smell that couldn’t be described. He wretched and backed out of the door. The smell followed him into the yard. “Oh my gawd!” he yelled. His work backpack was now propping the door open. Paul had his hands on his knees in the front yard, attempting to get his breath back.

“Why?!” he shouted towards the house. “What evil has spawned you, demon!?” He pulled his shirt up over his face. For a second he thought he could see the smell slowly wafting out of the house. He ran into the front entrance, not breathing at all. He yanked his keys from the door and ran back out into the yard. Immediately he headed around the house to the backyard. He climbed the steps to the deck, where he was just enjoying himself that morning. “Why is the back door key different from the front door?” he whined as he flipped through the keys on the ring. Finally he jammed one in and shoved the door open. He backed up and leaned against the railing of the deck. He hoped this would create a crosswind that would free the house of the smell. “How does Hannah do this?” he wondered. “Oh crap!” he shouted, remembering his backpack was left unattended. His work laptop was in there.

Paul ran back to the front yard to find Robert squatting at the door rummaging through the backpack. “Robert!” he yelled as he jogged across the yard. Robert stood and turned to look at him.

“Your house stinks,” he said, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Yeah, I know,” said Paul, tucking stuff back into the bag and zipping it up.

“How come?” Robert asked.

“Keeps the kids out.”

“I don’t think it’s working.”

“Yeah, well, you’re out here aren’t you?”

Robert thought about that for a moment. “Does it work on cats too?”

“Does what work on cats?”

“The smell. Does it keep cats out of the house?”

“I think it’s the cats that make the smell,” Paul winked.

Robert pointed behind Paul. “Ned is over there. I’ve never seen him out of the house before.”

Paul spun around to see Ned carefully stepping around the side of the house.

“And Lucky just went around the other side of the house.” Robert pointed helpfully down the side yard.

Paul was panicked. “Can you grab her if I go grab him?” he quickly asked the boy.

“Sure!” said Robert excitedly and started down the side of the house.

Paul rushed around the corner in time to see Ned heading under Mr. Andrews’ truck. “Oh! C’mon Neddy!” he shouted. He attempted to fall to the gravel gracefully. He was going to drop to the plank position, reach under the truck with one hand and rescue the cat from its certain demise. Instead, the gravel drove into his hands with a surprising amount of force. He immediately tried to bring his hands up, which dropped his face into the gravel. He laid for a second. His body was slowly adjusting to the fact that it was laying on prickly stones and his brain was still trying to register what it was thinking about with this whole maneuver. Finally with a curse, Paul turned his head to look under the truck. Ned was looking right back at him. His little cat face appeared to have the smuggest look it could muster. Cats always thought they were better than you.

Paul watched as the cat came out from under the truck, in a manner that he could only describe as arrogant. It strutted as it walked back around to the front of the house. Paul pushed himself up. He rubbed the gravel off that was stuck to his face and hands. He paused for a moment to compose himself, then followed Ned around the front of the house. The cat was lingering in the doorway, rubbing against the door jamb. Robert appeared from the other side of the house, Lucky hanging limply from his arms. “I saw Dusty in the backyard,” Robert called out joyfully. “I think he was having fun.”

“Oh, I bet he was,” Paul sighed, shuffling forward to force Ned into the house. He took Lucky from Robert and placed her in the doorway as well. “Thanks Robert, that was a big help.”

“No problem,” Robert said happily, “Your house really does smell bad.”

“Thanks Robert!” Paul huffed and closed the front door, leaving the boy still standing on the front step. What was that smell? Paul checked the litter box again. He cleaned out the few clumps and began his air freshener routine. All the while he constantly checked on the cats and the back door, making sure no others left. Once he had the house smelling heavily of lavender, he returned to the door. He thought he could hear Dusty under the deck. He tried clucking his tongue and clicking his lips to lure the cat back into the house. Dusty was apparently ignoring his efforts.

Paul went to the kitchen cupboard and grabbed a plastic box of cat treats. He shook them lightly. Immediately Ned and Lucky were around his feet – Ned rubbing against his legs and Lucky pawing at his pants. He waited. Still no Dusty. He shook the treats harder. He could hear the thump, thump as Dusty climbed the stairs. He came swiftly in the back door, a large mouse hanging from his mouth. Paul dropped the container, his eyes exploding wide. As the treat box hit the floor the lid popped off and kibble quickly spread across the floor. The two cats at Paul’s feet leapt in surprise, Ned attaching himself to Paul’s leg like a logger on a tree. Paul screamed in pain and Dusty dropped his mouse. As soon as it hit the floor, it flipped onto its feet and sprinted across the kitchen.

This caused Ned to release his grip and with claws extended, he leapt from Paul’s legs after the mouse. Lucky was ahead of him, and she disappeared out of the kitchen, following the speeding rodent. Dusty was last to follow, skidding through the kibble as he tried to find grip on the kitchen floor. Paul watched all this holding his thigh. He could feel all the claw marks left by Ned. He was pretty sure he was bleeding. He limped through the kibble and closed the back door.

Day 4

PAUL COULD SMELL THE STENCH as he woke. There was no way this was his fault. In his boxers he trudged downstairs. His leg still hurt and there were swollen spots where the claws had been. The cats gathered around him as he rubbed his face and filled their bowls. He put on the coffee and headed back up to shower. As he entered the bedroom he stepped on something squishy. He looked down to see the remains of the mouse being ground into the carpet. “Oh gawd!” he shouted. “Oh, that’s gross!” He hopped around, his wet foot held in the air. “Oh, oh, oh.” He started the shower and immediately climbed in. The water was freezing and his boxers quickly stuck to him as he tried to lift his foot up to the shower head without touching it. He was leaning against the side of the stall, his ankle in his hand, the water just starting to warm up, when he remembered to breathe. With a sigh, he slowly put his foot down, figuratively, and literally. 

Paul called the office to say he was going to work remotely today. He locked Dusty in the office, Ned in the laundry room, and Lucky in the bedroom. Then he quickly drove out for supplies. He bought new litter boxes, cleaning supplies, a shovel, garbage bags, duct tape, masks, and gloves. For a second he worried he was setting himself up to be framed for a murder. Just in case, he pulled up his hoodie as he checked out and used cash. When he got home he set up the litter box in the office first. He checked work to make sure no one was looking for him, then did the other two rooms. So far no messes, no problems.

Donning his mask and gloves, he shoved the old litter box into a trash bag and used the duct tape to seal it up. In the backyard, he dug a three foot hole and dumped the wrapped litter box into it. He piled the dirt back on top, jumping on it to smooth it down. He saw Robert standing on his own deck watching him over the fence. “Hamster died!” he yelled, and Robert nodded knowingly and solemnly. Paul returned to the house.

Bleach was everywhere. He bleached the floor, bleached the sink, and bleached the toilets. He opened the trap in the kitchen sink and emptied out the contents. A bucket of almost boiling hot water followed him around as he scrubbed the floors and walls in the entire house. Garbage bags quickly filled with paper towels as he dusted, wiped, and scrubbed every inch. He was sweating profusely by the time he pulled his mask down and surveyed his work. The house sparkled. It smelled like lemon, orange, and bleach. Paul smiled, and his eyes looked crazed. The only thing to do now was find out which of the three rooms smelled. He would find his culprit and this entire thing would be over. There was a knock on the front door and it startled him.

Who could be coming to his house in the middle of the day, when he was supposed to be at work? Paul yanked open the door with a grimace. Standing on the porch were two uniformed police officers. Their pristine uniforms almost shone in the sunlight and Paul’s mouth stopped partway through the word “What?”

The first officer spoke immediately: “Good afternoon sir, I’m Officer Brandon Kennedy and this is Officer Michael Gibbons. Do you have a moment to speak to us?”

Paul watched as Officer Gibbons looked him up and down. He looked down at himself. Gloves, mask hanging around his neck, dirt on the knees of his pants. Oh gawd! It had happened. Someone was setting him up. “Uh, sure,” he said meekly. He peered back into the house and noticed the garbage bags, duct tape and shovel were all piled neatly at the bottom of the stairs. He took a step to his right to block the view of the officers.

“There’s been an incident with the tenant that lives in the basement, Mr. Steven Andrews. Do you know him?”

“Uhh …” Paul stammered. What do you say? Then he realized, of course he knew him. How could he say he didn’t know that a man lived downstairs. “Yes, Mr. Andrews. I know him. He’s a plumber. Apparently very good at it, he’s always busy. Even as a general handyman, he’s quite good at a lot of things.” Officer Gibbons was beginning to raise an eyebrow as Paul continued to blurt everything he knew about Steven Andrews.

Officer Kennedy took off his hat and held it in front of him: “I’m afraid I have some bad news, sir. Mr. Andrews passed. He didn’t show up for work, and they asked us to do a wellness check. We found him deceased.”

Oh no! Paul’s mind was racing. Of course he took today off! Home alone! No alibi! He’s wearing gloves and a mask … there’s a hole in the backyard. Paul’s body went into action for him – it stopped breathing and passed out, dropping in the doorway in a lump.

WHEN HE WOKE, Paul was on his own couch. There was a paramedic standing over him. “You OK, sir?” they asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said slowly, trying to clear the fog from his brain. He looked around the room. Officer Kennedy was sitting in a chair across from him, hat in his lap and a smile on his face.

“Don’t worry sir, it happens to everyone. Death is a hard thing to handle.”

“Yeah,” said Paul slowly.

“It appears Mr. Andrews died last weekend. Massive coronary. We wondered how you didn’t smell the body, but now that we see how immaculate you keep your place, it’s not surprising you couldn’t smell it over the cleaning products.”

The paramedic stepped in at that point: “You may want to reconsider that. The amount of chemicals may be what’s causing you to faint.”

Paul nodded slowly from where he lay. Dead for almost a week? The smell was a dead body in the basement apartment? “What about the cats?” he said out loud.

“Oh, did Mr. Andrews have cats?” the officer asked.

“Huh? Oh no,” Paul said, “I just thought … Are my cats still here? Right. Yeah, I just remembered I locked them in a room while I cleaned,” Paul said and sat up.

“You’re taking better care of those cats than you are yourself,” said the paramedic as he began dismantling the equipment hooked to Paul.

“Can I get you to put that in writing?”

Day 5

HANNAH GOT HOME just before midnight. She dropped her luggage as soon as she got in the door. Paul and the three cats were on the couch and all four heads turned to look at her. “Hey sweetie!” said Paul. 

“Wow!” said Hannah, her mouth dropped. “The place is immaculate! Did you do this for me?”

“Of course sweetie!” said Paul, getting up. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well you certainly did! Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Nope,” said Paul. “Oh wait, Mr. Andrews had a fatal heart attack,” Paul lowered his head, “and we own a shovel now …”