Sheila’s Cat

No, the crowning insult was that damned cat staring at him with its all-knowing green eyes. Who but Sheila would have thought of having a guard cat – and a damned nasty one at that?

Wriggling every now and then to keep his circulation going, Charlie Brubaker tried not to pay any attention to the guttural sounds emanating from Sheila’s cat as it watched him stirring in place.

How long had it been since Sheila had left the cabin, he wondered? And where had she gone?

Waking up in the uncomfortable position he was in, Charlie had no idea why Sheila had done this to him. And he tried not to think of what other plans she might have for him when she returned finally.

This whole damn weekend had been Sheila’s idea. He was the first to admit that spending time in a remote cabin would never have entered his mind in his lifetime, if he hadn’t met Sheila in Stacey’s Bar.

He was also the first to admit that girls didn’t usually pick him up in a bar either, particularly not any that were as stacked as Sheila was. His luck usually ran to hookers that he couldn’t afford, or castoffs that no one else wanted.

It wasn’t that he was the bottom of the barrel himself, it’s just that his self-esteem had hit an all-time low since his wife Stella had run off with her fitness instructor. Not only had she filed for divorce on the grounds he was incapable of performing his connubial duties, she was also expecting alimony.

When Sheila had strolled up to the bar in a red dress so tight that Charlie could barely breathe looking at her, he almost choked as he tried to down the drink he was holding, his third gin fizz of the night. Sputtering, and wiping his dripping chin, his face turned as red as Sheila’s dress as she went into her impression of Mae West.

"What’s the matter, big boy? Cat got your tongue? Ain’t ya never seen a lady before?"

Coughing out a reply, Charlie had said he had, but not so much of one.

Sheila had tilted her head back and laughed so loud the bartender thought the mirror behind him would shatter.

Tearing his eyes away from her face, Charlie noticed the oversized bag she was carrying. While she laughed, it shook too, but not in rhythm to her laughter. Staring at it he and everyone around him were surprised to see a sleek black cat pop its head out of the bag and glare at them disdainfully.

"Oops. Simon says I’m overdoing it again. Don’t you, Simon?," she said, her laughter turned off as suddenly as it had started. She continued to coo as she stroked the cat’s head, the cat lowering itself back to the bottom of the bag.

"Wanna come up and see me sometime, big boy?," continued Sheila in her Mae West way.

"And where would that be?," replied Charlie.

"Me to know and you to find out, big boy," she chided, chucking him under the chin as she made for the door.

Once she was gone, Charlie reviewed in his mind what had happened over the last few minutes. Downing one more gin fizz for the road before calling it a night, he decided to come back again tomorrow night, just on the off chance the lady in red would make him another offer too good to resist.

Charlie had returned the next night and the night after that, but the lady in red seemed to be playing hard to get. Just when he had decided she was a figment of his gin-fizzed imagination, she steamrolled through the doors again still dressed in red, and still doing her Mae West impression.

"So, big boy, whaddya say? Ready to come up to my place – for a weekend you won’t forget?"

"A weekend? Sure. Where to?," replied Charlie, not really caring as long as they were going somewhere together.

"Don’t worry your little head, big boy. Leave the where to me."

Following her out the door, and admittedly feeling a bit like a trained puppy as he did, he shook off the last vestiges of reluctance as he spied the vehicle that awaited him at the curb.

"Hop in, big boy," she cooed, opening the passenger door of the Hummer for him.

Mentally calculating the cost of such a vehicle, Charlie slid inside and determined to enjoy his good fortune while it lasted.

The ride, as far as Charlie was concerned, was surprisingly comfortable for what was originally a military vehicle and he soon found himself dropping off to sleep. He awoke briefly to the change in sounds as Sheila drove them away from the city and up into the mountains.

Charlie didn’t wake fully until they had stopped finally. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

"Where are we?," he asked, looking around for anything familiar.

"Like I said before, big boy. That’s for me to know and you to find out."

"But a cabin? Don’t you believe in apartments?"

"You got something against cabins, big boy? When I said for you come up, I wasn’t kidding. And as for seeing me, you’re gonna see more of me that anyone has a right too," Sheila laughed.

Grabbing her bag, with her ever-present cat inside, Sheila led the way onto the cabin porch, unlocking the door with a flourish and ushering Charlie inside before closing and locking it again. She placed the bag on the afghan-covered double bed that took up most of the cabin’s main room, her cat quickly getting out of it and stretching before making itself to home.

"Nice place you have here," said Charlie, for lack of anything better to say.

"You fellas sure aren’t very imaginative. You all say the same thing."

"We do?"

"Trust me, big boy, you do."

"Want some coffee? It won’t take a minute."

"I’d rather make a pit stop, if you don’t mind. I may not know where we are, but my bladder seems to think it’s been a long drive and it’s time to empty it."

"The bathroom’s over there, big boy. Nothing fancy, but it does the trick."

While Charlie was in the tiny bathroom taking care of business, he could hear Sheila through the door humming to herself as she made the coffee in the kitchenette the cabin just had room for. She handed him a cup as he came back into the main room.

Two wicker chairs and a small table were the only other furniture in the room, Sheila pointing to one of the chairs while she took the other. Charlie took a sip of the scalding black coffee, wrinkling his nose as he tried to get even a bit of it past his tastebuds before setting the cup on the table.

"My own special blend," she said, laughing as she watched him try to disguise his

dislike of it.

"It’s different I’ll give it that," said Charlie, making another attempt at finishing even half of it.

"It grows on you," she said, her smile even broader.

Charlie had barely gotten the second attempt down and the cup back on the table when his head began to spin and he could feel himself blacking out.

Remembering now, Charlie couldn’t believe how gullible he had been.

Mentally kicking himself, he almost didn’t hear the sound of Sheila’s footsteps on the porch because of the cat’s reaction to his mistress’s return.

"Did you miss me, Simon, my pretty boy? What about you, big boy, did you miss me too?"

"More than you know," replied Charlie truthfully.

He watched as she ruffled the cat’s fur, then ducked as she attempted to pat his head as if he were her pet too.

"Touchy this morning, are we? You weren’t last night; no, you weren’t touchy at all."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh just a little humour. I did promise you more of me than anyone has a right to see and I did deliver. Too bad you were in no condition to see it. But Simon must have told you all about it while you were spending quality time together."

"I don’t understand cat," replied Charlie.

"Too bad. I’m sure Simon could have told you lots of things, now couldn’t you Simon? Oh well, I guess its up to me to give you the good news."

"Did you know that serial killing is almost exclusively the domain of you men? No? I thought not. I’ve decided to change that. Can you guess just how many men I’ve invited up to see me sometime?"

"Too many," managed Charlie, afraid to hear what the count actually was.

"Oh heck no, big boy. Compared to the pros, why I’m just starting. Just think, when this is all over you’re going to be famous. You won’t be around to enjoy it, of

course, but that can’t be helped. Now just relax, big boy; I promise not to make it too painful for you."

Charlie tensed as Sheila approached him, in her left hand an extremely sharp filleting knife glistening in the early morning light from the cabin window. He had no idea where she’d been hiding it until now, but knowing what she planned to do with it, where it had been was a moot point now.

Charlie screamed futilely as the blade cut into his tender flesh again and again, Sheila’s cat joining him until he finally stopped.

"So I lied, big boy," laughed Sheila, as Charlie’s lifeless body slumped against his restraints. "So sue me."

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