A Cat in Florence

Chapter 16
[Go to beginning]

When I arrived at the train station the first thing I thought of were Jenny’s bags. I went to the lockers and looked in my ticket envelop for the small plastic locker key. Not there. I dug through my pockets. Not there, but it could be in the pants I’d packed. No it couldn’t. I was wearing the pants in which I’d arrived. It had to be in one of these pockets. It wasn’t.

I stood there thinking what to do next. I didn’t even remember the locker number. What could I tell the person who managed the lockers? Who did manage the lockers?

The hell with it. Jenny wasn’t ever going to need the things in her luggage. She was now just a cat in Florence.

I boarded the train, showed the porter my ticket, was shown to my compartment, and sat on the bunk with a sigh, holding my head in my hands. Good god, what a terrible trip!

A few minutes into the trip the porter brought me a menu for the evening meal and asked if I wanted anything. I asked for a bottle of beer, and then quickly changed the order to two beers. The porter looked around the compartment briefly and said, “Due persona, Signore?

“No,” I said. “Uno. The two beers are for me.”

“Si, Signore. Due bira.” He looked around briefly, no doubt wondering why I had a compartment for two. Let him wonder. He’d never believe me if I told him.

I opened my suitcase to get out my pajamas and robe. I’d jammed everything in helter-skelter and when I started pulling things out two shoes fell out. They were the loafers I thought I’d left, one in the woman’s house, and the other in the trash outside the hotel.
What the hell?

I  picked up up the shoes and stared at them. They looked okay, not like they’d been in a dumpster. Looking closer, I saw that one had what looked like claw marks all along one side, from heel to toe. Three marks, one deeper than the others. I dropped the shoes beside the bunk and fell back with just my feet hanging over the side of the bunk. I didn’t have the energy, physical or emotional to ponder how the hell these shoes had reappeared in my luggage.

I’d been about to fall asleep when the porter returned with my two beers and a bag of nuts. I finished the beers one right after the other and ate the nuts in big handfuls. Then I fell back on the bunk again and almost immediately felt myself drifting off on the rumble of the train wheels.

And there she was, Jenny. Just as I remembered her; standing besides the Ponte Vecchio, her green eyes following me as I approached, tossing her auburn hair, smiling that seductive smile she had. I was so relieved. I rushed to embrace her, but she kept moving away from me, not walking, but just seeming to be further and further away. And then the bridge started falling into the Arno River brick by brick, faster and faster, until the bridge was cascading into the river and Jenny, calling out to me, disappeared into the river with the bricks, until all that remained was her scream.

I woke to the scream of the train whistle and sat bolt upright, hitting my hit on the top bunk. I sat on the edge of the bunk and rubbed my head. I had to pee.

I got up and shuffled to the door, opened it and started to step out into the corridor. Then I realized that I was barefoot, and I remembered what the floor of the train toilet was like. I left the door ajar and went back and pushed my feet into the shoes, and then went out and down the corridor towards the toilet.

When I got to the toilet I stood and looked up at the door handle; up and up at the door handle. Had I fallen? I looked down and saw that I was on all fours. But all the four feet I was standing on were paws. One paw hurt and I picked it up and looked at it, and then sat on my haunches and licked it. Then I turned my head sharply and began licking the fur on my back. Once I started with the licking it became hypnotic and I licked my other paw and ran it over my face, licked it again, and ran it over my face again, and then did it a few more times until I was satisfied. Then I peed next to the door to the toilet, turned and started to scratch with my back feet. There was nothing around to bury the urine with, but I did it by force of habit.

What?! What the hell?! I’m not a fucking cat. What am I doing. Panic gripped me so hard it squeezed the breath out of me. I arched my back and hissed. Spun in a circle swatting at my tail. My tail?!

I tried to slow my breathing. Calm down, I told myself. You’re still dreaming. I closed my eyes and tried to wait it out. Then I heard footsteps. I opened my eyes. The porter was coming down the corridor. I watched him approach. He saw me and stopped dead, narrowing his eyes. I heard him hiss, “Un gatto!”

I stood and hissed back, “I’m not a fucking cat!”

The porter started towards me, moving slowly, calling me a ‘kitty,’ and making a clicking sound with his tongue against his palate, “Tchk, tchk, tchk.”

I watched him approach, putting my ears back and widening my eyes. When he got within a few feet, he lunged at me, but I was ready. I scooted between his legs and raced down the corridor towards my compartment. The porter, swearing under his breath chased after me, but I left him behind quickly and reached my compartment. But I couldn’t turn the door handle. I leaped up at the handle several times, but it was hopeless. I had to find someplace to hide until I woke up from this stupid dream.
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A Cat in Florence

Chapter 14
[Go to beginning]

The light streaming through the window made it seem as if the room were a movie set illuminated by klieg lights. I sat up rubbing my eyes, and then sat on the edge of the bed and held my head in my hands. “Jenny?” I called. There was no answer.

I leaned over and looked under the bed. Nothing but dust motes. I shuffled to the bathroom. She wasn’t there. “Jenny!” Suddenly I felt panic. What had I done? What had I said?

I turned and went to the open window. As I leaned on the sill a few tufts of cat fur wafted slowly up, glowing red in the late morning light. “Oh my god,” I said. "Oh my god.”

A Cat in Florence

Chapter 12
[Go to beginning]

You can’t sneak into a room hoping that your cat won’t sense your entry, your presence. I mean, forget about it.

There was no sign of Jenny when I entered the room. The window was still open, the way I’d left it, and the curtain was swaying gently in the breeze.

I had one arm out of my shirt when Jenny appeared from under the bed and stretched casually. “Where have you been?” she said.

“Uh, just walking.”

“Until two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, heading for the bathroom.

I closed the door behind me as I entered the bathroom and heard Jenny say, “Hey!”

“Give me a minute,” I said.

I used the toilet, quickly stripped, and got in the shower. I scrubbed everywhere very vigorously, including places where scrubbing vigorously was a bit uncomfortable. I worked quickly.

After I got through and dried off, I rubbed some of the complimentary moisturizing lotion on here and there, especially there. I stood at the sink and combed my hair, and then just stood there staring at my face staring back at me, guilt written all over it.

When I opened the door, Jenny was sitting in front of it with her tail wrapped around her haunches staring at the wall. “Sorry to take so long, but I felt all sweaty and grimy, and needed a quick shower.” Too much explaining, I thought.

Jenny didn’t say anything, and I started towards the bed. As I did I saw her pad into the bathroom and head right for my clothes, which lay crumbled on the floor where I’d left them. “Oh, no,” I whispered, involuntarily.

A Cat in Florence

Chapter 11
[Go to beginning]

We didn’t talk much on the way back to the hotel after dinner. I was more than a little drunk, and Jenny was put out with me because, as she put it, I’d been “boorish.”

“And why is that,” I slurred.

“About the rabbit,” she said.

“What about it?”

“When I remarked that I thought it was overdone, you said something like, ‘You want it to hop up on the table so you can leap on it,’ or some smart ass remark like that.”

I tried to pet her head, but she pulled away.

When we got to our room Jenny curled up under the bed.

I used the bathroom, washed my face, and then went to the window and opened it to let in some fresh air. I stood looking down into the courtyard.

I turned, said I was going for a walk to clear my head, and started for the door. Jenny didn’t say anything.

I left the hotel and went back to the alley where I’d seen the woman that morning. It was a dark, narrow alley that led between tall buildings to the courtyard. I stood at the entrance to the courtyard and looked around. It was just a little past sunset and the pastel colors on the buildings; robin’s egg blue, pink, lavender, gold, took on a magical glow.

Lights were coming on in the windows, and as I looked around I noticed a woman silhouetted in a doorway about a hundred meters across the courtyard. I strained to make out if it was her; the woman I’d seen this morning. I couldn’t tell. So I walk across the courtyard towards her. She stood, leaning against the door frame, watching me approach.

When I was within a few meters I was able to make out her long, black hair, and see that her shoulders were bare. I couldn’t quite make out her features. I’m sure I was staring.

I heard her say, very softly, “Buona sera. Una bella serata, no?”

I stepped closer. I said, “Uh.”

She smiled, and I stood open-mouthed, in some sort of trance. She was even more beautiful than I remembered; large, brown eyes, set far apart, slightly slanted, a generous mouth defined by a full sensuous lower lip, high cheek bones.

“You are so beautiful,” I said, awestruck.

“Si,” she said, moving her head slightly, so that a ray of light moved across her face and flecks of gold glittered in her eyes.

She stood away from the stone door casing and reached her hand out to me. 

Her movements were slow and measured, her look vulpine.

I took her hand and she pulled me to her.

She took my face in her two hands and moved her face to mine, looking into my eyes the whole time. Her mouth on my mouth was warm and tasted of grapes, and blackberries, and... And tuna?

She drew me into her house.

A Cat in Florence

We took the night train from Vienna to Florence. Jenny wanted to see the frescoes by Domenico Ghirlandaio at the church of Santa Maria Novella. According to Jenny’s grandfather, Jenny was related to Ghirlandaio, whose real surname was Bigordi, the same as Jenny’s grandfather, Vincenzo.

We left the Sudbhanhof at 1945 Thursday, right on time. This was Austria still, not Italy. We put our things in the compartments below the beds in the sleeper car we’d booked. A waiter in full livery; white shirt, black bow tie, vest, came in to ask if we wanted anything and we ordered a light meal, which we had with a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino that I’d purchased in the Vienna International Center commissary. Both Jenny and I worked at an international agency at the Center. We had met about a year before on a group ski trip, started dating, and eventually moved into a small flat together.

I can’t imagine why Jenny wanted to be with me. She was ten years younger, at least as smart, and gorgeous, with green, slightly slanted eyes, lush, auburn hair, and a lithe figure. As for me, well according to my friends, my best feature was a good sense of humor. Jenny said she found me “interesting.” Of course she found her work on algae growth due to agricultural runoff interesting, as well, so maybe “interesting’ could mean anything.

We had a sleeper compartment, consisting of bunk-type beds, a sink -- the toilet was down the corridor -- and very little legroom. Jenny loved it. She liked to snuggle and I couldn’t escape as I did at the flat when she was just too warm next to me.

After we ate we settled into our bunks to read. Before long Jenny scooted in next to me. I put my arm around her shoulder and kept reading, but Jenny started stroking the inside of my thigh and my book suddenly seemed a lot less interesting.

We made love and fell asleep, woke, made love again, shuffled down the car to the loo, and then crawled into our bunks to get some sleep before we arrived in Florence. I was only dimly conscious of Jenny crawling in next to me and snuggling the curve of her warm body against my back. The clickety-clack and swaying of the train was soporific, to say nothing of the bottle of wine we’d finished off. I slept like the dead.

When I woke up, Jenny had turned into a cat. Literally. A cat. How do I know that this cat purring besides me was Jenny? That’s what I’m about to tell you.

Chapter 2

Published on Amazon Italia

My writing is now published on Amazon's Italian affiliate, Amazon.it.