Domestic Animals

Constant rain slapped against the thin roof of the small house and through the unused fireplace strained the cold howl of the wind. Every so often, the sound of a car passing over the water-slicked road faded in and out, alongside the coarse footsteps of hurried factory workers desperate to return to their warm, dry homes, where they could finally try and relax by the television, and forget about their week.

All the rooms were rendered a miserable grey-blue, and the dark green wallpaper made matters worse. In this weather, her home was as comfortable as the crevices in the graveyard where she smoked cigarettes as a child. March was the worst time of the year, with this bleak, depressing half-light. She had stopped smoking a week ago, and the torture had now reached incredible heights. She slipped some vodka into her decaffeinated coffee. Countdown was on in the living room, and the irritating tense music fitted with the wait for her husband to get home.

Suddenly, there was a sharp clatter, which made her spill coffee and vodka over the kitchen surface. The cat shot past her, the cat-flap still crackling. He was completely drenched, and in his mouth hung the limp body of a mauled blackbird. Mud, feathers and blood were now strewn all over the kitchen floor. She leapt back and let out a shriek, and the remainder of her drink spilled over her blouse and the linoleum. She rushed to shut the door to the kitchen, breathless and shaken. Coming from the living room, she could hear the sound of the cat torturing the bird, shrill chirps ululating through the hallway and under the kitchen door every few seconds. Slumping down in one of the worn chairs, back against the door, she waited for her husband to get home.

Twenty five minutes later, the front door whooshed open, and she let out a sigh of relief. All the while, she had listened to the cat in the living room tear apart the bird, its cries for help quietening and becoming less frequent.

“The cat’s caught a bird and I can’t go into the living room!” She continued to shout at her husband before he even had the chance to witness the catastrophe.

“You’re shitting me! He’s done it again! I’m sick of this, I’m going to make sure it’s the last fucking time that the cat drags another bloody animal into this house!” Her husband growled and, heart beating frantically, ear pressed against the kitchen door, she realised that she should have disposed of the blackbird this time, but remained in the sanctuary of her kitchen while the terrible noises worsened in the background.

* * *

Blood and feathers were now strewn over the living room carpet. The injured blackbird lay in front of the television, lit up by the blue glare of the quiz show and the darkening, rainy day light.

In the centre of the room was the limp, injured cat. Small trickles of blood were now dripping from his innocent teeth, and his glassy green eyes would soon be devoid of warmth and life.

"Look what you've done..." The cat had kept her company for the past four years.

"Oh for fuck sake, what did you expect?" He took a swig out of the bottle of cheap blended whisky on the mantelpiece.

He began to realise the severity of the situation. “Come on, I loved that cat too, you know that’s true. I don’t know what came over me, the stress overpowered me, please..." He paused and gathered his thoughts. His wife kept staring at the cat, and he wondered if anything he was saying to her was registering at all. Inhaling, he started over. "Between the half dead bird and those fucking shrieks, your screams, work, the sound of the television, the rain, everything, I saw red, and at that moment I booted him. I was so pissed off... I didn't realise what I was doing until it was too late. I’ll take him to the vet. He’ll be fine! I’ll ask the doctor about pills.” He sat down on the sofa, and in his trembling hands and quivering mouth, tried to light a cigarette without much success. The cat made a horrifying groan.

The woman looked at the dying pet again and then at this intruder, the one she had called her husband.

“I’m pregnant...”