“The Story Behind The Kitten – Part 2″

Sorry everyone, I got very busy and didn’t have a chance to finish this for all of you. Thank you for your comments.

* * * *

The one person who was not aware his household had acquired another member was Peter. He hardly spent time there, preferring to sleep with one of his mistresses or at a friend’s after a night of gambling.

(now the conclusion of our tale…)

It was at his mistress’s that Peter received a message one morning. A Captain Gregory had word of the Stanislow fleet and would like the chance to speak with Peter. Say at 10 in the morning?

Well, Peter had a habit of rising late, and so he had to rush to make the meeting. When he arrived home he found Gregory waiting. The other man was tall and well built, young for his position too. Gregory was kneeling and doing something at his feet. As Peter entered the other man laughed loudly. Peter noticed then a small cat at Gregory’s feet. And he noticed too, his wife Rowena on the balcony at the top of the stairs.

Her smile turned into a frown at seeing him. Peter wondered suddenly what his wife and the handsome captain had been talking about before he had arrived.

“Yours?” Peter asked the Captain.

“No, your wife’s.” Gregory nodded upward and smiled.

“You have word of our ships?” Peter asked, cutting to the matter right off.

If Gregory thought Peter rude he did not show it.

“Yes. Ten days ago we came across a man floating in the sea. He was more dead than alive. He claimed to be off one of your ships and was washed overboard during a terrible storm. He also claimed he saw your fleet go down. All of your ships.”

“Where is he?” Peter asked, shocked. He sat down on a nearby chair. “I need to hear this from him.”

“He died not long after. We gave him a sailor’s burial at sea. God rest his soul.” Gregory crossed himself. “You have my condolences over the loss of your men.”

“Men can be replaced,” Peter said bitterly. “But all that cargo…”

Gregory gave him a look but held his tongue. Clearly he knew which he valued more.

“Good day to you then,” he said.

Peter muttered unfelt thanks and just sat there as the other man quietly left.

“Ruined,” Peter said. “I am ruined.”

As he had said, men can always be replaced but the loss of all his cargo meant that the money he had expected to reap from its sale would not be there. And Peter was a man who needed that money. Needed it badly. He had many debts and some were to men who would not take “I do not have it” for an answer.

“We must see to the families.” Rowena said from above.

“To hell with the families!” Peter yelled. “Do you not understand woman? I am ruined.”

“We have the house, the furnishings and the property. We can sell it all.” Rowena shrugged. “It’s only a house, Peter. What is important are the people.”

Peter just shook his head, “Stupid woman…”

Just then Peter felt a tug at his pants and he looked down to discover the cat was at his feet. It looked up and gave a soft meow then batted at his pants leg again.

Rage at his situation boiled up in Peter and it had a ready target there. He leapt to his feet and kicked at the cat. Somehow he missed and he watched as the cat took off up the stairs. It stopped at the top and gave him a glare, then turned and ignored him.

“I’ll kill you vermin!” Peter yelled and charged up the stairs.

Half way up, he got a surprise. Standing there was Rowena, glaring down at him. Every other time he had let anger take charge, she had not stood up to his wrath. This time though, there she was, standing at the top of the stairs as if to bar his way. She did take one step back as he reached the top, but stopped at that one step.

“Get out of my way!” Peter yelled and pulled his hand back to strike her.

Then as he stepped forward he felt something under his feet. He tripped and lost balance, his two feet getting tangled. He spun and stepped back. He gave another yell this time of surprise and as he did his foot slipped off the stair behind him. He tettered for just a moment, arms waving, about to fall and in that moment noticed what had tripped him.

The cat!

It was a tall staircase, and one of marble, hard and cold. When Peter reached the bottom, he was dead, neck broken from the fall.

The Authorities were called that day. Witnesses were interviewed and investigations were done. And in the end, it was ruled an accident.

(And one many whispered well deserved.)

Now strange thing, three days later as Peter was being laid to rest and Rowena was wearing widow’s black, there appeared on the horizon a fleet of ships coming into port. The Stanislow Fleet! Gregory’s washed up sailor had been wrong. Damaged by the storm they had been, and even a few men lost to the storm, but the ships were there with cargo safe and dry.

Rowena might be a widow, but she was a very Rich widow now.

(And the men who do not take “My husband is dead” for a answer, did pay Rowena a call. She paid them and told them she doubted the House of Stanislow would need their services again.)

And what of Rowena, you might ask?

Some say the handsome Captain Gregory come to call not long after his first visit. Others say it was some other man who captured the heart of fair Rowena. All do agree she lived out her life prosperous and happy to a fine old age, wife and eventually mother.

And the cat?

No one really knows, but legend has it that whenever there is a women of Rowena’s line, who misfortune comes heavy to hearth, heart and home, then sometimes, sometimes, help comes to her on soft padding feet…”

* * * *

“Oh, very nice!” My friend exclaimed. “Well worth the money!”

We all laughed. The old gypsy woman shuffled her cards then put them away.

“If it was only that easy,” I said to her.

She just smiled, patting me on the arm.

Thanking her for her entertainment, my friends and I left her small stall. Outside we discovered it had clouded up, and as we stood there small drops of rain started to fall. Everyone was closing up around the market with the coming ran. We ran for the subway since we hadn’t brought umbrellas.

We were still talking about the old gypsy’s story when we got back to the apartment, wet from the rain. I went and grabbed the towels while everyone started pulling off wet clothes.

(I bet all you guys would have liked to be the fly on the wall then. heehee! A room full of  girls and me, all half naked!)

I was sitting on the couch drying my hair when I heard the strangest thing. I thought I heard a soft meow. Now at first I thought it was just the story since no one in our building has a cat, but the one of my other friends stopped and looked around. We all grew quiet listening to the apartment and the rain outside on the windows.

Then it came again. This time with a scratch, scratch.

I turned and there in the window, wet and soaked, sat a small black cat. It scratched at the closed window and gave a soft meow. Everyone was grinning and quiet as I stood up. Walking over to the window I knelt down. The little cat, almost a kitten, looked at me with big green eyes clearly seeking shelter from the rain inside.

What could I do?

I pushed the window up a bit, and into the apartment the cat hopped. I pushed the window closed then sat in the big chair we have next to the window. The cat stood there on the floor, first shaking one paw, then the other, like cats do when they get wet while all around the apartment my friends whispered, looking first at the cat, and then at me.

Suddenly the cat jumped up into my lap, laid down on the towel there and began to purr like she was a long lost friend.

That was many months ago, and true to the gypsy’s words since my small furry visitor has shown up, things have gotten better. And I’ve made many new friends, especially on Live Jasmin that I can talk to.

As for the gypsy, we went back to the market a few days later to find that she was no longer there. We asked but no one knew where she had gone to.

And one more thing, when I told my mother this story, she said the strangest thing. She said my great-great grandfather had married a sailor’s daughter. I had always thought our family was from the mountains of Northern Romania, I told her.

She said, no, daughter, some of your relatives were sailors many years ago when Bucharest was young and her men went to sea for trade.

Imagine that…