CATZAPPED

Haunted by a murder weapon

CATZAPPED
Slate sat wearily on the curb, knees drawn up to his chin.
“It’s the only way I can seem to stop my stomach from rumbling loud enough to wake the neighborhood that’s still asleep around me,” he muttered.
It had been so long since he’d had a decent meal; he’d literally forgotten what real food tasted like!
“The food I’ve had lately just didn’t cut it, especially when I had to serve the slop three times a day in my job in the prison kitchen. But I’m out as of yesterday and tonight…tonight it will be prime rib and cognac at Steeple’s, just like the old days,” Slate thought as he licked his lips and sighed, remembering.
If Keslo hadn’t ratted, Slate would have been in the South of France with a Swiss bank account and outta cat burglarin’ for good by now. He heard by the prison grapevine that Kelso got 10-20 years. To Slate, that was just God’s punishment on a rat.
Suddenly, he looked up with a start. The bloody thing was watching him again! He shuddered and stared at it.
At his feet and about arm’s length in front of him, the ebony figure of a seated cat seemed to look right through him. He’d tried putting it in the deep pocket of his Army surplus combat coat, covering it with old newspapers from the trashcans that lined the alley he was sitting in. Finally, he resorted to setting it as far away from him as he could and hurling curses at it. Nothing helped.
“It’s been doing that irritating staring into my soul since I lifted it from the hall table at Old Man Prentice’s place last night. Too bad the old geezer caught me robbing him, though,” Slate strained forward to rub at the stain on the figure’s head.
The blood from having to use the statue to stop the old man from calling the police wouldn’t come off, no matter what he tried or how hard he rubbed it. You couldn’t actually see it, but Slate knew it was there and it was giving him the creeps.
“I’m afraid to rub too hard as it’s black jade and really rare. It has full carat emerald eyes that are also priceless, or so the papers claim. I never cease to marvel at the sheer stupidity of collectors like ole Prentice. They insist on showing off their most priceless possessions in the papers and never give a thought to proper security.”
Slate cursed again. Why does that damn thing keep watchin’ me like that? His loudly rumbling stomach distracted him only briefly this time.
When he started to reach over to cover the cat’s offending eyes with one of his tatty wool gloves, he stopped short with the hand holding the glove in mid-air. He shook his head like a wet dog in an attempt to clear it and rubbed his eyes frantically.
“That statue’s emerald eyes are pulsing and glowing with an eerie light,” Slate gasped.
The thief’s hands fell onto his knees and his head slumped forward onto them.
“I understand he was still in that position when a patrolman on his beat found him the next morning. The hospital told me that a mark resembling a cat’s eye was burned into the middle of his forehead. The doctor I also talked to there, said he didn’t know who or where he was, let alone how he got there. It seems he kept raving about a black cat all the way to Penatanguishin and the hospital for the criminally insane there.”
“The estate of Old Man Prentice went up for auction yesterday and I, Sam Kelso, got the ebony cat for a song.”
622 WORDS ON WDC 10/1/2025