Afterwards, when Maureen’s body was slumped over the table, Geoff had thought about the cat. For some reason, it was the first thing that had popped into his head. Even before the guilt had begun to wind itself around his insides like ivy.
And now, there it was again: the black cat. It had appeared every morning since she died five days ago, its yellow eyes piercing his soul through the glass. He shivered.
Maureen had always joked that she’d come back as a black cat to haunt him if she died first and discovered that he’d been up to anything. Of course, she meant sneaking a cigarette or helping himself to an extra slice of pie. Not having an affair. Not…
It wasn’t murder, exactly. It had just happened, almost as though the universe was inviting him to start a new life with Belinda. Although, strangely, Belinda hadn’t answered his calls for days. He shook the thought that maybe she’d lost interest now that he was available.
The cat stalked back and forth, opening and closing its mouth, as if it was taunting Geoff and mouthing his secrets.
He and Maureen had been sitting down to their usual Saturday night steak. Maureen was chewing her last mouthful and had set her cutlery down. As always, Geoff had long since finished, Maureen having spent more time talking than eating. Her food must be cold by now, he remembered thinking as she’d mumbled on about some friend he had no interest in, chewing as she spoke, in that way that made him grind his teeth.
Mid-sentence she’d looked up in panic, those blue eyes that had once so enchanted him, rimmed with white. She’d tugged at her collar, her face reddening. Then she’d stood and bent her head forward, pointing frantically at her neck.
Geoff had felt the food in his stomach turn to stone, his morals battling with fantasies of starting afresh. Then he’d silently risen, picked up the plates, and walked into the kitchen. He’d heard her head crash onto the table over the clatter of plates as he loaded the dishwasher.
“…and when I came back into the room, there she was.” He’d said later to the police.
“And you hadn’t heard a sound?”
“Nothing, officer.”
“Why were you loading the dishwasher before dessert?”
“We like a break between courses.” It sounded unconvincing even to him, but they’d nodded into their notepads.
Geoff had had no appetite for cheesecake after that ordeal. He wasn’t a monster. In fact, his nausea hadn’t dissipated since.
Outside, the cat was still there. Geoff flung open the patio doors, shooing loudly. It didn’t move.
Something hung from its collar. Geoff bent down and lifted the flap, taking out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and gasped. Maureen’s writing read:
“Not this cat, you idiot. He’s ours. Feed him.”
Geoff chuckled. He’d forgotten how funny she was. His laughter dissolved into tears.
Behind the azaleas, a black panther crouched, ready to pounce.
