Trophies

The boy eyed the kitty eagerly through the screen window. Kitty had another trophy. Maybe it was a mouse or an egg. Once it had been a snake. The boy never knew what it might be, and he never ceased to be amazed at the things Kitty managed to find, steal, or kill. Whatever it was, it would soon belong to the boy. Day after day he tiptoed past his father, snoring on the couch, deftly skipping over empty bottles and overfull ashtrays, and slipped outside to confront Kitty. Sometimes Kitty led the boy into and through the woods out back, bouncing from ground to tree to ground, round and round, back and forth, til the boy’s face pulsed red and his heart rattled madly in his chest. Sometimes he ran under the house and the boy tried to follow, crawling through bugs and dirt and insulation and pipes. Sometimes Kitty hid; in the house or outside, in boxes and closets and under beds or in rabbit holes and hollow logs and overhead, lurking in the branches. And sometimes Kitty fought, hissing and spitting and popping, brandishing his razor claws and needle teeth fiercely, unafraid and defiant. When Kitty fought, the boy did too. In the end the boy always won. He kept all the trophies, lined up in a row on the windowsill of his bedroom. His mother probably would have made him throw them away, but his father didn’t care. The only times his father even came in the room were when the boy was in trouble, and he never stuck around after the beating.

Kitty slunk out of view. The boy followed, scurrying out the wide-open front door, pausing on the partially finished porch to scan for Kitty. Spotting Kitty underneath the old car, the boy moved to intercept. Kitty darted out from under the car lightly, but whatever he’d found snagged between the ground and the tire, yanking him backward. Kitty changed directions and raced back at the boy, cutting between his legs just ahead of his chubby hands, dragging his prize behind him. It jingled! Eyes sparkling, the boy gave chase silently.

Kitty headed for the woods, but again his trophy slowed him and the boy cut him off. Kitty sped back toward the house, zigzagging, dust clouds swirling behind him, hopping oddly off balance. The boy pounced, landing whisker lengths behind Kitty, hands straining to hold onto a tail or leg or ear, but instead grasping only fur. Kitty pulled his tail down and his back legs up, spun around, and launched off the boy’s head, sailing through the doorway into the house. The boy wiped dust out of his eyes and scrambled into the house after Kitty, who had veered down the hall toward the boy’s room. Toward the trophies…

Frantically the boy raced down the hall to protect his stolen loot. He grabbed the doorjamb and pulled himself around into his room, rolling quickly to his feet, trapping Kitty in the corner. Kitty feinted left then right and finally went left for real, sliding across the floor, under the bed, and out the door. The boy followed Kitty back down the hall and around the corner. The boy flew into the living room, reaching for the trophy, which looked like some kind of necklace. His fingers stretched and he surged forward as Kitty dropped his prize and the boy crashed into his father, awake and angry, the boy’s fingers clutching the prize guiltily: His father’s dog tags…

Kitty trotted lazily into the boy’s room and jumped up on the windowsill, howls and smacks and crashes cascading almost musically behind him. He picked up the first trophy in his mouth and slunk outside, eyes darting left and right, whiskers twitching, as he quickly hid his recovered property under the house before disappearing back inside, only to reappear moments later with another trophy. His mouth stretched wide around a large acorn, Kitty seemed to grin as the symphony inside reached a crescendo.