Black Cat

For as long as he could remember, Marcus had had an intense fear of cats. The family legend his mother loved to tell was that a black cat had walked under a ladder outside the hospital window the moment he tumbled out of her — well, you know. But family stories… who can say how reliable those are?

In theory, Marcus had nothing against cats. They could be soft and fuzzy when they chose to be, they could be fiercely independent when they felt like it, and they could defend the house against mice and suchlike home invaders. All admirable qualities Marcus thoroughly approved of — again, in theory.

But then he’d encounter a cat in his day-to-day activities and end up hyperventilating for the next ten hours.

This little quirk of character had caused Marcus — who was a remarkably tall and muscular man with a thick full beard, you may be surprised to hear — no little shame and discomfort over the years.

There was the time when he was six years old, attending the birthday party for his best friend, Henderson Henderson. All the children and parents of the whole first grade class were gathered at the Henderson home, ready with party favors and presents stacked to the tops of the windows. But just as Mr. Henderson was entering the living room carrying the enormous birthday cake — confetti cake with butter cream icing in sky blue — Mata Hari (the family calico) prowled into the room.

Marcus burst into motion, screaming and running before he even realized what he was doing. He ran smack into Mr. Henderson and the cake went flying.

“Well, at least the candles weren’t lit,” Mr. Henderson said with a smile of levity as he set to cleaning up the mess — which was nice of him to say, although Marcus noticed him waving his knife in small circles.

By some first grade logic only notionally accessible to adults, this affair earned Marcus the nickname “Confetti Boy.”

Or take the time a few years later, when Marcus attended the eighth grade dance just before graduation from middle school. With a few notable exceptions (such as Henderson Henderson dancing with no less than six girls at the same time) the boys stood on one end of the school gym and stared at the girls, while the girls stood at the other end of the gym and stringently avoided eye contact with the boys.

For a half-hour or more, Marcus tried to catch Ela Patel’s attention from across the room, mostly by singing to himself, talking to the other boys, and not looking at her. Eventually, however, he realized he’d have to take decisive action and actually cross the gym to go talk to her. It took another half-hour for him to work up the courage to go for it, but go for it he did.

Just as he took his first step, Vice Principal Rodriguez entered the gym, carrying a vat of punch (non-alcoholic, of course) between her arms. Marcus took no real notice of this and was far more concerned with avoiding eye contact with Ela while tracking exactly where she was as he crossed the gym floor.

About the time he reached the halfway point, Emily Graham burst into the gym, eager to show her classmates her new tabby, Wanda.

As soon as he spotted Wanda, Marcus ran headlong in the opposite direction — straight into the Vice Principal with her vat of punch.

“Well, at least it was non-alcoholic punch,” Vice Principal Rodriguez said as she set to cleaning up the mess — which was nice of her to say, although she stared daggers at Marcus every time she saw him for the rest of that year.

By some eighth grade logic only notionally accessible to adults, this affair also earned Marcus the nickname “Confetti Boy.”

By the time high school graduation had come around, Marcus had devised a new strategy with which to deal with his fear of cats. Instead of running away from them screaming, he would now run directly toward them, arms upraised, screaming obscenities as loudly as he could. This he did because it was a way of hiding his fear of cats — when others saw him, he would appear to simply have an overwhelming hostility to felines. Which wasn’t really a great position to be in, he had to admit to himself, but at least it was better than being revealed as a cringing coward… wasn’t it?

Most of the time this strategy worked pretty well. Marcus would spot a cat — on the street, at a friend’s house, in the tiger’s enclosure at the zoo — and go charging at it, screaming like Han Solo in the scene from the original Star Wars where he runs head-on into the squad of Stormtroopers in the Death Star. The cat would run away with obvious distress, and as soon as it was out of sight Marcus would regain his composure, grateful that his secret hadn’t been revealed to the world.

But then came the day of the high school graduation. The ceremony took place on an open field in von Dunajew Park, on an overcast day where everybody complained it would’ve been better if it was sunny, even though if it were sunny the same people would have complained it was too hot and the light was too bright.

Anyway, the ceremony went as ceremonies do. The Principal made a speech that nobody listened to. The Class President made a speech that nobody listened to. A distinguished alumna made a speech that nobody listened to. Then at last it was time for everybody to suffer through the longest and most boring part of the ceremony: the actual handing out of diplomas. This was the part where everybody lined up and waited for the Principal to say their name so they could go up, shake hands, get the diploma, and wait for the whole ceremony to be over. Marcus waited more or less placidly, although he was just as bored as the rest.

But when his name was called — wouldn’t you know it? — a black cat, clearly a stray, appeared at the edge of the field. Before he could think, he sprang into pursuit, his eyes bloody. Waving his arms and shouting about all the horrible things he was going to do to the cat’s mother, he made for the feline in full view of the student body and assembled families.

Careening full tilt at the black cat, Marcus noticed something strange and alarming about it: it wasn’t running away. All the other cats ran away. Why wasn’t this one?

Marcus thought maybe he should turn around and run. The fear building in him with every step, he came closer to the cat. Closer. Closer. Closer…

Definitely might be a good idea to turn around, Marcus, my man…

Too late!

Scratch!

With a hiss and a jump, the cat cut a deep gash in Marcus’s left cheek.

Marcus slowed to a halt, hand to his bleeding cheek. He faced the cat, which looked back up at him with an air of forbearing amusement.

As the blood dribbled down his chin and the pain brought tears to his eyes, Marcus knelt down beside the little black cat, which purred sweetly. He said, “Oh my God, you’re such a little sweetie, I adore you!”

The cat let Marcus pet her, but otherwise didn’t seem to care, which only made him adore her all the more.

With embarrassment, Marcus returned to the graduation ceremony and was lucky to receive his diploma. His shenanigans were considered the highlight of the day, although everybody agreed the graduation was still pretty boring.

With clear indifference bordering on contempt, the little black stray followed Marcus. He adopted her and named her Lola Lola. She still puts up with him to this day.

But by some high school logic only notionally accessible to adults, the graduation incident also earned Marcus the nickname “Confetti Boy.”