Griffin

Written for the October 2009 Quotation Inspiration Contest. Inspired by the Charles Dickens quote and well, by non-other than Griffin himself.

Griffin

The wheels of the speeding taxi created a current of air as it sped past. The gentle breeze blew and ruffled the soft, black fur. Long hairs waved on the still form like sea anemone fronds caught in an underwater storm. Another car rushed by. The black of its tyres blended with the tarmac. Too late, Jane thought, it must have gone straight over it. The shape had disappeared.

She hurried to cross the unlit street before the next car lights illuminated a gruesome mess she preferred not to see. It was still there, huddled in a crouch in the middle of the road, unmoving. She could hardly ignore it. She'd scooped it up and was on the far side pavement before she realised what she was doing. Its tiny form lay inert in her hands, but it was still alive. Its heart beat a delicate and rapid pitter-patter in the palm of her hand. Jane cuddled it tight against her chest and carried it up the stairs of the apartment block. Like a bag of feathers it weighed almost nothing.

With only one hand free it was a struggle to find the door keys in the depths of her rucksack. Balancing the tiny animal in her open palm, afraid of squashing it and hurting it more, she managed to open her front door and click on the lights. Jane threw her bag onto a kitchen stool and then, with both hands now liberated to cradle it, she held the kitten out at arms length and had a good look at what she'd just rescued from certain death by a black rubber splatting.

‘Oh my god,’ she laughed out loud. ‘You have got to be the ugliest thing I've ever seen.’ It opened its minute mouth as if to protest to her comment, but no sound came out.

‘You look like a little vampire bat.’ Jane told it. Its huge ears, like built in radar, were far too big for the miniscule face they crowned. "Black haired and blue-eyed you might be, but with a face like that I wouldn't say you were a Galway girl, not by a long chalk. In fact you look like a stone gargoyle that's fallen off a church. Shall we call you Griffin?"

She set the kitten down on the work surface where it struggled to stand. Like a new-born baby giraffe its limbs splayed out of control. After a few seconds its long back legs lost their wobbling fight and it collapsed in a crumpled heap. ‘Poor little thing,' she babbled on, 'that taxi must have really knocked the wind out of you. You’re lucky you’re not dead.’

The strange looking cat just lay there on the mottled marble surface. Its eyes followed her every movement as she went to the fridge in search of milk and something to feed it. Jane rummaged among the Tupperware containers until she found what she was looking for. Chopping a few scraps of ham into tiny morsels, she put them on an old plate then placed them next to a saucer of milk on the tiles of the kitchen floor.

She picked up the kitten again. It really was a bag of bones. ‘Let’s see if a bit of food will help to liven you up?’ She chatted away to it, but the milky blue eyes stared back, unresponsive. ‘Do you like ham?’ Its jaws stretched open as it attempted another silent mewling which she took to be mute assent. ‘Look at the size of those teeth.’ She was quite shocked at how many tiny pointed fangs were crammed into the pale pink mouth. ‘I hope you don’t bite.’ She put the kitten down next to the food and shuddered at the thought of those needle sharp incisors piercing her skin. It hunched there next to the plate, disinterested.

‘I’ll just leave you to it. I’m going to have a shower and get ready for bed.’ Griffin didn’t even look at her.


Relaxed and sleepy from the hot shower and dressed in her night time attire of pyjamas and slippers, Jane padded back into the kitchen. The plates of food were untouched. The kitten was nowhere to be seen.

‘Oh no,’ Jane was tired and wanted to go to bed. ‘Where have you gone and hidden?’ She began to search the apartment. It wasn’t behind the fridge or anywhere else in the kitchen. She went to the living room and looked under the cushions on the sofa, nothing. She couldn’t find it anywhere.

‘Where have you gone?’ She muttered under her breath as she crawled around the cold floors on her knees, looking under the cupboards. ‘Stupid cat,’ she had the strangest of sensations that she could have been talking to a ghost. ‘No doubt you’ll surface when you’re ready.’ She gave up and deciding to leave it to its own devices, she went to bed.

Sometime in the night she was roused by a soft and steady purring sounding in her ear. She opened her eyes expecting to see the cat curled up next to her, nothing. It wasn’t there. There wasn’t even a stray hair on the pillow. Must have been dreaming she thought and turned over and went back to sleep.


In the early hours of the morning, startled, she shot out of the bed in fear. Who was in the apartment? The water was running refilling the toilet tank. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom she switched the light on without going inside. There was no one there, but the water still trickled so it hadn’t been a nightmare. Jane’s hand trembled as she gave the shower curtain a quick flick. What if Jack Nicholson was hiding behind the semi-opaque flowered plastic? She sighed with relief. There was no mass murderer hiding in the bath

Maybe the toilet’s flush button had got stuck the last time she’s used it and she hadn’t noticed. Examining the shiny chrome she gave it a half press. It responded the same as always, but what was that? A faint paw-print, barely visible, was etched on the pristine white porcelain of the cistern. Could a kitten of that size flush a toilet at three in the morning? She lifted the toilet seat as a last precaution. She didn’t want it drowning in the shallow blue waters of the bowl. There was nothing there. She went back to bed with a growing sense of apprehension. Tossing and turning she lay in the dark too nervous to fall back to sleep.



Jane awoke at her usual time, heavy eyed and physically drained, from the fitful nights sleep. ‘Bloody animals,’ she thought and headed for the kitchen to make her habitual morning coffee. The plates of food she’d left for the kitten were intact. It hadn’t eaten or drank a thing. It was still no where to be seen. She sat, half dozing, sitting at the breakfast bar sipping the hot drink and thinking. She knew she hadn’t left any windows open that it would have been able to escape through. Where had the kitten disappeared to?

Something, as smooth and soft as silk, brushed against her leg. The fine hairs on her arm stood on end. She glanced down to see what it was. There was nothing there. Her skin broke out in goose bumps and she shivered. Jane began to wonder. Had she really picked it up or had it just been the soul of the little black kitten that she’d carried home with her the previous evening.


Word Count: 1266



Meet the original Griffin, now adopted and gone to a good home.

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