Catalyst Cat

Winston Churchill had one and so does Stephen Fry.  It was reading an interview with Stephen Fry that provided Eliza with a pet name for her depression. Black Dog.
Before Black Dog, Eliza had an important job, people depended on her, and it wasn’t hyperbole to say lives depended on how she did her job. That was a lifetime ago.
Eliza’s daughter arrived home early from university clutching a tatty cardboard box. Beth had always been a girl who would take any lame duck under her wing, in this case, it was a little ball of flea ridden stripy fur; the tiniest kitten she had ever seen.
Beth simply had to bring her! “Nobody wanted her, whatever would become of her?”  As usual, Beth had a plan. “Please keep her mum ‘til I move out of halls and into a flat in September, then I’ll take Maud back”
Eliza looked at the scrawny creature cowering in the corner of the cardboard box, so alone, so lonely. “I’ll keep her until then, you pay the vets bills! And go and get something for those fleas right now. Maud? Really?” The deal was sealed.
When Maud was too young to venture out, Eliza carried her around the garden, introducing butterflies and bees, tickling her nose with wispy grass and flowers. Maud became a bundle of trouble, never letting Eliza rest; no more days in bed hiding away. Stalking Eliza’s toes underneath the duvet was Maud’s favourite game. For an animal no bigger than the size of a decent piece of dust, she could jump onto any food bearing table.
“More trouble than a baby” became Eliza’s mantra. At least when you put a baby down for a nap, it stays there, not suddenly appearing on the back of the sofa making her spill her coffee. But those moments where a price happily paid for waking to a purring piece of flea free fluff tapping her nose, or snuggling up on a rainy day.
Black Dog was still around, hiding, whilst Eliza and Maud played and snuggled.  Unexpectedly, he would arrive snarling, making Eliza hide away, not answer the telephone or the door. But not for long, for that tiny meow was louder than Black Dog’s bark. Most days at least.
The psychiatrist told Eliza she had succumbed to stress at work because she had a perfectionist, controlling personality. Her workload had grown beyond belief, and she broke, just like a bone subjected to too much pressure. That fracture let in anxiety and depression, so ending her career. Eliza turned into a pathetic wreck, unable to make a simple decision, becoming as much of a cowering creature in the box of her home as Maud had been.
September came and went, Beth couldn’t find a student flat that allowed cats. Fully vaccinated now, Maud had started to venture out alone. The black bats of night where flying around the garden when Maud jumped onto the window sill. Thinking she had caught a mouse, Eliza opened the window carefully, it wasn’t the blood of a small rodent, but Maud’s blood around her mouth.
Eliza cradled Maud in a towel. “Been hit by a car” the vet said “Miracle she survived, never mind get herself home, she is too stressed for surgery tonight, we will operate in the morning.”
So Eliza carried her little bundle, not flea ridden, not cowering, just sedated, home. Settling Maud onto the softest pillow, Eliza laid awake by her all night.
Black Dog was happy. He liked sleepless nights. He crept out of the shadows, malevolently sneaking close, emitting feelings of worthlessness and doubt.  The evil cur didn’t slink away when dawn broke, but remained by Eliza’s side, preaching it was her fault the cat would die, Beth would hate her. Black Dog does his best work when tiredness and stress are around; he feeds on sadness, making it as dark as himself.
Black Dog had underestimated Maud; she was like Eliza used to be, tell her not to do something - that’s a dare for sure. Maud dared survive surgery, her lower jaw wired together, she dared to recover. Nursing this little life back to health woke something up in Eliza, something she had not lost, but misplaced when she broke. Black Dog told her she couldn’t mend, Eliza accepted the dare. Maud was more than a cat to her, not a substitute child as her mother said, but a catalyst. A catalyst cat.
Eliza knew that a pet was for life, Black Dog was no exception, but she knew him now, and would keep him chained. When he got loose, she wouldn’t go cowardly into that corner, but she would hold her catalyst cat close, and say “Heel Black Dog, I am leader of this pack.”