I am a cat, with four legs and a long tail. A black one. So true that the sky is blue and despite what people think, I don't bring bad luck, I attract it. My life has always been surrounded by unfortunate events. But I have not always been a cat. I used to be a stool, a broom, a teapot, and if I remember correctly, a boy who used to wander in the woods, trying to do as little as possible.
Yes, I know, I was lazy. In my defense, I hated going to school; sitting in a chair for more than 4 hours was torture and on top of that, I was easily distracted. Sitting at my desk, I used to look out of the classroom window and watch the birds coming and going, flying free, doing whatever they pleased. While I was still there, bored, learning the letters of the alphabet and numbers, again. I hated the teacher, who enjoyed reprimanding me for not paying attention and did it the only way he knew how, by hitting us with a stick on our hands. His eyes sparkled with pleasure when he did it.
I used to live in Shadowbrook, a small town, hidden among hills and dense woods, which gave it an air of mystery and abandonment. Hundreds of uneven cobblestones adorned the tangle of streets that wound around the stone and wooden-roofed houses, decorated with religious symbols carved above their doors and windows. I loved to sneak between them and make my way to the village square, the favorite place for the whispering of the ladies who came to fetch water from the old stone well, wearing long, wide, ankle-length skirts, their tight-fitting bodices and their head scarves sewn on their heads.
In front of the square, the church stands with its bell tower and large wooden doors, solemn and watchful over the village. But the most imposing building was the mayor's house, a two-story structure made of stone, wood, and a thick metal door. It was home to Cornelius, a stern and authoritarian man who ruled with an iron fist.
Most of the time, I detoured on my way to school. I loved to enjoy the freedom to roam. But I had to be very cautious, otherwise, if I was caught wandering in the early hours, I was immediately forced to do any kind of chores. Tasks such as chopping wood, herding sheep, plowing the land, mucking out stables, or worse, serving in the church. For most people a sacred precinct of majestic serenity, for me, a dull, dark, musty-smelling place, permeated with stinking oil lamps and candle wax. It was terrible to listen to the tortuous gospels, psalms, and proverbs, and if I fell asleep, I was made to climb a wobbly, creaking wooden scaffolding to clean the huge stained glass windows of the temple or to clean the three hundred and fifty candelabras hanging from the unreachable ceiling, or just anything else the priest could think of.
Though religiosity and superstition were pouring like sweat into every inhabitant of Shadowbrook, it had been a long time since they had burned witches. Everyone was on the lookout, keeping an eye on each other, especially the mayor, whose inquisitive attitude made even the newly arrived priest shudder. I didn't really know why this need to set fire to everything seemed sickening. And the excited public rushed to pile in to enjoy the depraved scene.
I always wondered about them, the witches. If they really were witches, why couldn't they escape the bindings and get out of being burned at the stake? Probably because they were just ordinary people. So I never believed they existed. Until one evening, wandering through the forest, and to my surprise, I came across three of them.
I had fallen asleep high up in a tree, you know, avoiding being found. But a nagging chattering woke me up. Incomprehensible words drew my attention to a group of hideous women. All three wore provocative dresses, revealing more than the norm. Nothing like what the women in the village used to wear, wrapped in fabric from head to toe. These, on the other hand, and I am sure, would have earned a month's punishment in church from the priest. Each one of them had a huge mole somewhere on their face, and I got a good look at them since I slipped behind some bushes, where I could get a better look at them. They were sitting on the ground, holding hands, with their eyes closed. I craned my neck to see a little more of the daring cleavage of one of them. The cracking of a branch under my feet gave away my presence. I wanted to flee immediately when they all turned their piercing, malicious gazes on me, but my body instantly went numb when one of them uttered a strange word,
"Petrificus," blurted the most hideous one, pointing her long gnarled finger; I fell backward like a log instantly.
"But what have we here?" asked the shortest and most obese of them, as her body swayed from side to side as she approached my paralyzed body.
"Haven't you heard that curiosity kills the cat, little one?" warned the slimmest and tallest of the three, with a Machiavellian grin.
My eyes bounce from side to side, terrified.
"I think we need a servant at home, girls," the lanky one spoke again, as she turned her gaze towards the other two.
"And this one looks rather strong," was the last I heard that afternoon.
I must confess that the witches were terrible to me. When they needed something, poof, they turned me into it. A stool for Agatha, the most obese; my poor wooden legs creaked under her weight. A broom when they required me to clean the whole dingy cottage where they lived; with a snap of their fingers, they immediately had me moving about the rooms, sweeping up the dust. Their demands were constant and exhausting. However, from time to time I would retaliate in some way. I would speed up my swinging, raising a cloud of dust that would arouse Griselda's allergies, the lanky one. I was rarely turned into a big kettle and I loved to turn up the volume of my whistles when I boiled the water inside me, which hurt the delicate ears of Brunilda, the most horrifying one.
Although I had no eyes, most of the time, I could hear the strange spells and curses they practiced. Most peculiar, however, was hearing the familiar voices of the people who frequented the witches. The low, gruff tone of Tom, the village blacksmith, with his sleep problems.
"I can't close my eyes for hours," he said.
Henrienta's shrill voice and her love problems, trying to win over that idiot Erick.
"I do the impossible but he still doesn't notice me", said the unhappy woman.
The funny guttural pronunciation of Johan, the baker, and his overweight problems.
"Is seemink dat even de vater makes me to get fat, yes? Is true. Evryting make me poof up like balloon. Big problem!", he commented amusingly.
The remedies and concoctions they offered as a solution were never free, and worse, their effects were not long-lasting. And for some reason, unknown to me, their victims came back delighted to keep spending their money on more cures and charms.
How did I become a cat? It was a very funny experience. It happened late at night. I was sweeping the kitchen and Agatha had got up, in a lousy mood, by the way.
"Stop dusting," she shouted at me, "I'm going to make myself a cup of tea," she said.
All was very quiet, Agatha was ruminating over her cup of tea when suddenly we both heard a little squeak. If I had had a body, I would have fallen over on my back and bent over with laughter as I witnessed the scene the obese witch had made. I discovered that she had an irrational fear of mice. She screamed hysterically, making such a racket that if possible, perhaps even the inhabitants of Shadowbrook would have woken up despite how far away we were.
Immediately, Griselda and Brunilda were awakened by Agatha's scandal and rushed in to see what was going on.
"What the hell are you doing standing on the table?" questioned Griselda in surprise.
Agatha was shaking me back and forth, banging my bristles against the floor, over and over again.
"A mouse! A mouse!" the neurotic woman kept shouting.
Brunilda rolled her eyes
"By Beelzebub's horns!" expressed Griselda obstinately, "Bring that broom over here," she said wrenching me from Agatha's sausage fingers.
She set me down and conjured up some strange words. I felt my rigid body begin to mould into something more flexible, wood became flesh and bone, and bristles spread across my whole body in the form of fur. My eyes adjusted to the light from the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. There was a large black cauldron bubbling over the fireplace. Cobwebs hung from every corner, and a thin layer of dust covered everything. My nose wrinkled as I smelled the reeking fragrances and scents wafting through the kitchen. Jars full of herbs and spices were piled on a shelf.
Suddenly it dawned on me.
"I've got eyes and a nose!" I exclaimed happily, squeezing my eyes together, trying to see my nose, wiggling my whiskers from side to side.
Agatha, her patience wearing thin, turned to me, furious. "Stop slacking off! Go and catch those vermin," she ordered.
"Yes, ma'am," I answered at once.
"I can speak!", realizing the obvious.
"Go!" all three shouted in unison. I jumped up and ran after the beasts that struck terror into Agatha's soul if such a being could be said to have any. However, the terrible creatures turned out to be tiny little mice.
From that day on, they never changed my form again. Being a cat was not all bad. During the day, I spent most of my time lazing around, especially when the hateful witches weren't around. I also discovered that my long tail was useful for grabbing things, it was like having a third arm. Also, I could jump very high, and I always, always landed on my four legs no matter where I dropped from.
Living with the three women, I discovered that the rumors about witches were true; they tended to be lonely, spiteful, vain, malevolent, manipulative, distrustful, even of each other, and undoubtedly cruel. Over time, though, I began to see another side to them that I didn't know. One afternoon, I had hidden under Agatha's bed. Asleep, she tossed and turned restlessly, creaking the wood of the bed, I was about to flee, thinking I might be crushed to death, when, intrigued, I heard her cry out, "I'm not a monster!" and at other times, between sobs, she begged, "Please don't burn my house!" I was dumbfounded.
I also learned Griselda's secret when I accidentally asked about a strange scar on her side while she was cooking a strange potion. She gave me a withering look. "It's a birthmark," she scorned, "and I nearly lost my life for it," she concluded, threatening me with a knife. I vanished immediately.
Even Brunilda, the most intimidating and hideous of the three, had a terrible past. She treasured in her room a worn-out rag doll. She used to sleep with it and curse the witch hunters in her sleep.
Eventually, I got used to living with them and their eccentric moods. Usually in the daytime, I had to be careful not to get in the way of any of the three. In the evenings, everything was different. As long as the witches didn't go about their business, casting spells, incantations, or summoning demons, which they occasionally did at night. But mostly they slept, they said, to preserve their beauty, which I particularly did not see where they hid it, with their increasingly hunched figures, their cadaverous skin, their long hooked noses, and their bushy, furrowed eyebrows, not to mention their noticeable moles. Anyway, those moments were good times for me to sneak out and do my own thing.
One night, I plucked up my courage and decided to flee their abode and head for Shadowbrook. For a moment I imagined being free to return home, to see all those familiar places where I used to wander; the square, the old well, the imposing church, the old stone houses, and their ever-smoking chimneys, filling the air with the distinctive smell of burning wood. Initially, I wanted to stay, but I was disappointed to discover that it was still the same old boring and superstitious place, nothing had changed. Wherever I passed, people fled from me, filled with dread, making the sign of the cross or pointing an amulet at me. I was saddened to learn that my father was still getting drunk at night until he lost his senses. On the other hand, I thought there would be people looking for me in anguish at my absence, but there were not. Everyone in the village was still busy with their own problems and had simply forgotten me. With a crestfallen head, I decided to return to the witches.
On the way back, I couldn't help overhearing a lady scolding a little boy.
"Don't go too far, it's already dark," she warned the kid, "remember what happened to lazy Jacob, the same forest swallowed him up."
I contented myself with the thought that at least I was remembered as a legend.
I wandered through the shadows of the houses hurrying my pace, thinking about my future, when I heard a sweet voice.
"Hello, little one. Are you lost?" a long-haired girl asked me. Her big blue eyes sparkled in the light of the lamp she held.
"Are you hungry?" she said, offering me a piece of dried meat.
I wanted to run away but her charming smile and my stomach roaring like a millstone convinced me to stay. Her loving attitude and gentle caresses delighted me. My body curled every time she ran her hand down my back. And when she lifted me into her arms, I would melt and purr to the rhythm of her cooing.
I decided to go back every night to visit the beautiful maiden and before dawn, I would return to the witches' lair. Everything was going wonderfully. Once, I made the terrible mistake of talking back to her when she asked if I was hungry.
"Can you talk?" she exclaimed, surprised but not frightened.
Fascinated, she listened attentively to my whole story up to the present day. To my surprise, she stared into my eyes, piercing my soul.
"Don't worry, I will see to it that you return to your original form".
I couldn't imagine how, but it turned out that the angelic creature I had met was actually a ruthless witch hunter hired by the mayor. And without realizing it, she followed me to the witches' abode.
The day was beginning, the three witches were preparing their favorite breakfast: frogs' legs and toad's eyes soup. It didn't taste half bad, by the way. I watched on from my hiding place. Even though I was sleepy, I shuddered every time they raised their voices as they plotted what they would do that day. The door came down with a loud crash. I ducked, deeper into my hiding place. In front of me, the violent battle began. Colored bolts of lightning came and went, shattering the shelves and junk Griselda was hoarding. Curses and chants echoed off the musty walls of the house. With no more to tell, gaping and paws on my head, I watched as the huntress continued to repel the spells cast by the witches, gaining ground.
Finally, we dug in at the back of the den.
Badly wounded, Griselda shouted
"Cat, go get the healing potion!"
I ran, dodging the slayer's lightning bolts and daggers. I leaped over the potion rack. Each potion had its name written in clear letters. I was anxious. I hurriedly sniffed the vials. But, the letters danced before my eyes. The words made no sense. I should have paid more attention to my lessons at school; I chided myself. Desperately, I used my tail and threw the potions one by one towards the slayer. They burst into clouds of color one after another. Griselda's fingers closed around a vial, saving it from shattering. After a spell, the three witches disappeared behind a great cloud of purple smoke.
There was a heavy weight in my heart after witnessing what had happened. Not that I am on the witches' side, but in my opinion, they were as human as anyone else. Death was not the punishment I had in mind for them. In the face of the exhausting battle, I didn't have time to think about how I would become human again, now that the witches were gone.
I continued to watch the huntress. Her face relaxed after making sure the house was empty. Her steely temper returned to the sweet face of the girl I had known. Her light blue eyes fixed on me.
"I know you have been under the spell of the witches," she said in her sweet voice, "All this time you have been a victim of them. But no more, I have brought the cure for your misfortune".
She knelt and stretched out her hands to me.
"Come, I will deliver you from this curse," she assured me.
She seemed honest in her proposal and I had indeed been a victim of the witches. Why shouldn't I believe this beautiful maiden who fought against the dark arts? For a moment I rejoiced at the thought of being human again, although I particularly liked being a cat. I felt again the warmth of her arms and her sweet caresses. Unfortunately, a metallic taste reached my mouth as I felt the cold steel piercing my body.
"Requiescat in pace," was the last thing I heard her say before my eyes closed.
When I woke up, a terrible darkness enveloped me, I immediately discovered that I was completely covered in dirt, I panicked and desperately dug my way to the surface with the help of my four legs. Finally, the cold night air filled my lungs. I shook the clods from my body and ears. I was alive. I ran looking for the witches' dwelling. It was a pile of ashes when I arrived.
Nowhere to go, I decided to leave Shadowbrook. I never saw the witches again. Time slipped away, before my long quest to become a human again, the world was bigger than I imagined. Fast machines replaced horses. Night and day became one as the electric light bulb appeared. Technological advances continued. Mythological beings and superstitions became a thing of the past. People stopped believing in witches and got busy making money while they could.
One ordinary afternoon, I was grooming myself sitting on the front steps of a small 5-storey building in an English province. A bearded guy was smoking a stinky cigarette next to me. Suddenly, two vehicles collided in the street in front of us, smashing into each other.
"Holy cow!" I said in surprise.
"This weed is really spicy, bro," the dude commented, "I just heard you talk."
I rolled my eyes. Here we go again, I said to myself.
