The One and Only Life

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 5 minViews 2

The heat sears Misty from the inside. It isnt the first time, but only fifteen days ago she discovers a patch of lowlying grass, already wilted and brushed by the first shy frost. Misty devours every bit she can find, gnawing down to the roots in the hard earth. The relief is immediate, and she almost forgets how badly she felt before. And now it returns

That grass is gone, and even if it werent, it would no longer help. Still, the herb could at least dull the relentless, burning heat that smolders deep in her stomach.

Who says a cat has nine lives? She has only onea small, unnoticeable, yet warm life that wraps its waves around anyone she truly loves. That life cannot be reborn, but she can give it away if she wishes.

Misty clings with every paw to her tiny life, refusing to let it slip away into eternity. She begins to watch the streets for other people who have already lost theirs. They look just like anyone elsewalking, talking, eating, sleepingbut something that anchored them to this world has vanished, dissolving into the void. With that loss, another life ends, and the bereaved become the Others. They have lost children, lovers, parents, or the loyalty of a best friend. Disillusioned with life, with faith, with everything they once trusted, they simply go on as empty shellsautomata, mindless bodies that only speak and eat. Humans hardly notice them, but cats do, and they steer clear. The Others have no place for cats.

Now Misty seeks them out herself. She slips into a bustling London square near the Tottenham Court Road bus stop and finds a spot where she can blend into the crowd. Around her are warm, lively people with their own worries and joys. Misty watches for a long time, almost ready to give up, when a sudden chill brushes her overheated spirit.

A woman appearsyoung, pretty, unremarkable in the throng, yet Misty feels her. The woman carries a hollow, icy vacuum within, a ringing emptiness and a lingering despair. Misty leaps, driven by an unexpected surge of cold, and darts toward the womans feet.

Blythe doesnt understand how the cat appeared, a bright flash at her ankles, shrieking in a sharp, creaky voice while holding her gaze with big, beautiful eyes. She leans down, intending just to pat the animal, but Misty wraps her front paws around Blythes wrist and climbs up, stopping at her shoulder. Pressing her head into the shoulderblade hollow and digging her claws into the coat, she refuses to let go.

The Others find it easier to take a cat with them than to chase it away. Blythe cant resist; she has no strength left. Neither does Mistyif Blythe wanted, she could have brushed the cat aside without effort. Two exhausted souls have found each other.

That night, with no resistance, Misty slips under Blythes blanket. She doesnt know what to do, so she follows instinct, inch by inch, settling on the cold body. Her own heat drives herMisty must act quickly.

On the fourth night, Blythe awakens to a whisper of a child she lost at birth, a voice withdrawing.

Ill wait for you, Mum but not now. Im glad you let me go, the phantom sighs.

Blythe forgets what it feels like to be covered in sweat, to feel fear, regret, pityany feeling at all. Misty, lying on her stomach, watches Blythe in the dark, her eyes flickering like tiny lanterns.

Lord, youre scorching, Blythe mutters, running her hands over the cat. What a hard, hot belly. She winces. Misty sighs, a thin, hoarse sound, anger and disappointment simmering. She is about to surrender her life when Blythe suddenly jerks, squeezing the already aching belly. The torment becomes inevitable.

Neither anothers life nor her own can be saved; theres no strength left to hold on.

Who said a cat has nine lives? She has only one, which she may give away if needed. Blythe, however, does not need Mistys life.

A few more hours might have saved her.

A veterinarian rushes to calm a sobbing woman who burst into the clinic in the dead of night with a cat, interrupting her quiet night shift.

The fever will pass, Ill keep an eye on her and youll be able to take her home. Stop screaming You made it in time!

A cat does not have nine lives. She has only one, which she can offer if she wishes. And if you, too, wish, you can return that life the very same life she once shared with you.

All’s Fair in the Fight for the Family Fortune The entire family had gathered together, though the real reason—as usual—was financial, thinly disguised as a family dinner. Lydia, daughter of Granny Thelma and mother to Katie and Arthur, fiddled with her mother’s old handkerchiefs—the same ones Granny used to hide her savings. Granny was no longer able to manage her own affairs; she remembered nothing and recognised no one, but Lydia, by force of habit, continued tucking her pension into those same cloths. “Oh, look,” Lydia lamented, turning to the family, “they’ve gone missing again. Ten thousand, at least. I couldn’t have made a mistake—I counted it myself! Where have they gone? Mum, do you remember how much there was?” Granny Thelma turned—not to her daughter, but to the portrait of her late husband. “Oh, Pete… how lovely,” she murmured, gazing at granddaughter Jenny. “And you, dear, leave my sweets for the guests… Where’s Artie? At school?” Lydia rolled up the thousand-pound notes. Her mother certainly couldn’t remember how much there was. But Lydia was certain—someone was stealing them. An unthinkable idea, because only family ever came around, but somebody had to be nicking them! And from an old lady, too… Arthur arrived, just as Granny had been asking after him. “What’s this, a wake?” he joked, tossing his car keys aside. Lydia, his mother, choked out: “Arthur, it’s awful! The money! Granny’s money’s missing again. I’ve been putting her pension in this cabinet for months. Someone’s taking it!” Arthur looked around the room with suspicion—his mum trusted everyone, Arthur trusted no one. “Money disappearing, eh?” he squinted, “I bet I know right where it’s going!” He strode to the hall, grabbed Katie’s striped tote bag, and before Katie could blink, unzipped it and dumped the contents onto the old plastic tablecloth. Out tumbled lipstick, keys, mirror—and money. Wads of crumpled notes—five grand in five-hundreds. “Look!” Arthur exclaimed, holding up a note. “I dropped her bag just now, reached to pick it up—and out spilled these! And don’t these look familiar?” Auntie Gail, who’d been munching salad without blinking, immediately choked on her mouthful. If you looked closely at each note, you could see a faint blue ballpoint pen line. “Remember last month, when Mum was counting the money and Ivan scribbled on it by mistake?” Arthur went on. “These are those five-hundred notes from Granny’s pension!” All eyes turned on Katie. Frozen until then, she flinched. “Arthur, what are you doing?” “Me? Nothing! I told you—the bag fell as I passed, and there they were! Very familiar money, too!” Katie realised it was pointless to challenge him; she had to defend herself. “It wasn’t me!” she cried, knocking the table as she shot to her feet. Even Granny turned at the commotion. “Who’s making a ruckus?” asked Granny Thelma. “Where are my slippers?” Everyone’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Katie, darling,” Lydia stood, “how could you? Why? You have a job, I help you out… How could you steal from your own grandmother?” “Mum, it wasn’t me! I didn’t take anything!” “Who else?” Arthur pressed, “You’re the only one always around, caring for Granny, as you keep saying. No one else has access. Mum would never do it. That leaves you.” Katie backed away as if they might hit her. “I swear I never touched a thing!” She glanced at her mother, hoping for belief, but Lydia looked at her as though she were a monster. “You’re lying,” Lydia whispered. “How could you…” “I love Granny!” Katie cried, tears spilling over. “I only came to help her! I swear I didn’t take the money!” But all the evidence was stacked against her. The money had come from her bag. No other suspects. “That’s that,” Arthur declared, “Sad, Katie. Really sad. You could’ve just asked. But stealing from a helpless old lady… No one expected that from you.” That night, they kicked Katie out, and her life was turned upside-down. No one understood, no one wanted to listen. Even Lydia, regretful later, begged the family to be kinder, but… “Don’t let her back, Lydia,” hissed Auntie Gail on the phone. “She’s a disgrace! Granny may not remember, but what if she knew what Katie’s become…” Lydia obeyed. She barely spoke to her daughter. When Katie rang, Lydia gave only clipped answers: busy, later, not now. Katie tried to fight back. She called her relatives from different numbers, but as soon as they caught on, they hung up. Katie launched her own investigation, which quickly fizzled; nobody would talk or let her near Granny again. Eventually, she managed to get Lydia to meet. “Mum, please,” Katie begged, “I know it sounds like an excuse, but I swear—I didn’t do it! Why won’t you believe me?” It was hardest on Lydia; after all, Katie was her daughter. “Katie… it pains me too. But the money was with you. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. If I’d been the only one to find out, maybe we could forget it, but the rest of the family won’t. It’s hard for me too. Granny did so much for you.” “But I’m not guilty! Maybe it fell in there before, from another bag? Maybe someone else…” “Enough!” Lydia snapped. “You’re my daughter and I want to believe you, but the facts! The facts say you’re a thief!” With that, Lydia left Katie freezing in the cold. Katie didn’t even get to say goodbye to Granny. But she waited until the dust settled, until everyone left, then tried Granny’s flat, hoping her mother would be there. Lydia, though cold, would sometimes talk. Maybe now? But Arthur answered the door. He was tall—she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Maybe, she thought, that was all for the best. “Arthur,” she pleaded. “Please, can we talk? Once. Just once.” “Oh, Katie. Still hoping to clear your little name? Too late,” her brother said. “Best just confess. Maybe you’ll be forgiven.” But Katie wouldn’t apologise for something she hadn’t done. “No. I need the truth. Maybe you made a mistake? What if the money fell from another bag? A pocket? Think—” Suddenly, Arthur’s eyes went cold. “Mistake? Katie, are you really that naïve?” He leaned closer. “Of course I know you didn’t steal it. I planted it in your bag myself.” She reeled. “What?” It was all she could manage. “You heard.” “Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do that?” To get rid of the competition. “In the race for the inheritance, sis, all’s fair. Granny wasn’t going to last more than a year, tops—you saw it. That flat? It was already signed to Mum so there wouldn’t be probate problems. Then came the issue: Mum’s sentimental, you know. She wanted to give it to you.” Katie was still lost. “But why?” “Because, darling Katie,” said Arthur with a sneer, “you came by every evening. Fed Granny, cleaned her flat, read little books she couldn’t even understand—a perfect granddaughter. Mum saw that and melted. She thought you deserved it all. And I didn’t? Am I not a grandson? Don’t I deserve something too? So I decided to compete.” “I never did it for the flat!” Katie shouted, more pained by the confession than anything else. “I did it for Granny! I loved her!” He snorted. “Oh spare me, Katie. We’re all human. You wanted to play the good girl, the devoted granddaughter, and scoop everything up. But I outplayed you. One-nil.” When Katie couldn’t answer, he finished it off. “So now,” Arthur concluded, “you’re the thief. Mum will never turn on me; I’m the good son. You’re the black sheep. And the flat is mine—who’d let you through that door now without a scene?” “You’re a real piece of work,” Katie spat. “Guilty as charged. Bye, sis. Inheritance secured.” He opened the front door. Katie didn’t move. A flat really would have helped—renting was dear and she’d never afford to buy. But she truly had loved Granny. She remembered Granny Thelma, even in confusion, once stroking her cheek and saying: “Thank you for coming, love. You’re just like my Pete.” And now, the only way to set her name straight would be to prove Arthur lied—but how? She couldn’t. Leaving the house, Katie knew that in a year, no one would remember she’d never been a bad person. They’d only remember one thing: Katie stole money from her dying grandmother. Arthur had already won, and he was celebrating.