Henry & the Cat
Part
One
The
cat had startled Henry. Startled him quite a bit.
Young
Henry was used to seeing cats while at his morning work. Cats were nothing
unusual for a St. Pancras sweep-boy, especially when working such early morning
hours. What startled Henry, was not that it was a cat. It was the cat itself,
that startled young Henry. The cat was large, the biggest Henry had ever seen
outside of a cage in the zoo. The feline’s coat flared with orange and white as
the long soft strands stood out and upright as if rippling with static
electricity. The beast almost appeared to glow with its own phosphorescence,
though Henry was unsure if that was an effect from the animal itself or the
splendid collar that around the cat’s neck. It was more a necklace of jewels
rather than a badge of ownership. A tube of fine brass with filigree windows
cut exactingly into the metal.
Inside this tube were brilliant white gemstones that fired with a
dazzling blue opalescence.
The
massive, regally adorned cat stared at Henry with eyes the vibrant yellow of copal
amber. This stare paralyzed the young street sweeper, and even the morning fog
seemed to stop swirling for just a moment. As if it too were afraid to move
while under the judgmental gaze of this remarkable feline. Henry suddenly
became aware of the silence upon the street as well, for he could hear none of
the typical morning murmurs that were the discordant harmony of a city waking
up to greet the day. Time felt frozen and Henry’s breath came slow, damp with the
fog but yet his heart beat fierce, loud, and rapid in his chest as he returned
the cat’s gaze.
This
unspoken contest of the stare seemed to linger for an indeterminable moment
until the same thing instantly distracted both Henry and the cat. It was a soft
noise that thundered in the silence surrounding them, a whir and click that
reminded young Henry of the sounds of a wind up toy or a music box. The sounds came from a small silvery
object, which resembled a tortoise except that what would be the shell was open
and upside down. It was as if it were a small, automated soup bowl, ambling out
of the shadow and fog with steady clicking steps. The cat regarded the object
as coolly and impassively as it did Henry, and Henry got the distinct
impression the feline was annoyed with both himself and the mechanical tortoise
bowl. The cat stared for a brief moment at the wind up oddity, and then looked
back over its tail, uttering a surprisingly soft yet sharp meow into the
shadows of the street beyond. It was only then that Henry began to breathe
normally again, the ferocious pounding of his heart having somehow subsided
without his noticing. Even the fog appeared to deem it safe to swirl again like
gossamer smoke in the early morning air.
The
moment of the unusual was broken, and yet it lingered. This was most evidenced
by Henry’s return to being the subject of the cat’s stony regard. While he was
almost certain he could move if he wanted to. Run fast away, back to St.
Pancras Workhouse, he wasn’t entirely certain he indeed desired to. In part he
was fascinated by the whole unusual moment while it was unfolding, and he
certainly didn’t want to run back with work unfinished, because of a cat. No
matter how daunting the feline, he would never hear the end of it. Mr. Merrick
and the other boys would razz him till he was the joke of all Somers Town no
doubt. Fueling his resolve with a deep breath, which emboldened the heart, young
Henry decided that no matter what he would not be afraid. He would finish his
morning sweeping in time for porridge with the other boys at the workhouse.
With firm resolve he stiffened his spine straight, taking up his broom and
fixed his attention back to preparing the streets of his little part of London,
so that it might great the day with a clean and inviting face.
And
that is when the man stepped from the very same shadows which the cat had
called into with its soft meow. Like a ghost he seemed to issue forth from a
shaft of dark shade too small to have hidden his presence. It was if he simply
stepped into reality, summoned by the sharp cry of the large feline. Once again
Henry’s heart thundered for unknown reasons, and the mist seemed reluctant to
churn in the morning air as a static stillness swept over the moment.
And
then that moment was gone, just like before, and the cacophony of the morning
washed over them, returning them to the river of sound.
“Ah,
Mr. Malice, there you are.” The stranger said in a voice that was soft and
comforting. Not at all what Henry might have expected. At first the young
street sweeper thought it had been him the man had been addressing, before he
realized it was the cat. The enormous feline responded with a soft series of
sounds that seemed to combine a deep purr with a singsong little chirping
sound. It struck Henry as inquisitive in tone. “Yes sir, I think we do indeed have all the samples we
require. We will be underway soon,” the man replied to the query, giving the
enormous feline’s head a friendly ruffle and scritch to the ear. “In the mean
time, won’t you introduce me to your friend?” And with those words both the man
and the cat turned their attention directly upon young Henry.
Suddenly
the terrified and bewildered young street cleaner felt all his anxiety wash
away from him much in the way a wave recedes from a shoreline, and emboldened
by this his voice found the ability to speak aloud. Without a moment of
hesitation young Henry introduced himself, and proudly noted the workhouse
where he was both employed and sheltered. He stuck out his hand to the
stranger. Not only because he wanted to earnestly shake the hand of the unusual
fellow, as a way of reassuring himself that the moment was one of tactile
reality, but also as a friendly way of helping the gentleman to his feet from where
he had knelt down to pet Mr. Malice and examine the clockwork bowl.
And
then the wave returned, crashing down upon them. However this time it was not a
wave of fear or anxiety, it was a wave of trust and words. Before he even
realized, Henry’s life story began to pour from him. He didn’t know why, but he
felt compelled to inform this man he had just met of every important moment of
his young life. He found himself weaving a picture of words which once
confessed seemed to lighten his young shoulders and brighten his eyes. Without
knowing why, he was completely certain he wanted to tell this stranger
everything. To entrust him with his life’s story.
And
so the tale flowed forth, and Henry could not remember later when or if he even
paused for breath as he rapid fired the words in a young man’s manner. He told
of his earliest memories, of his father who had been a poor musician. How his
strongest memories of the man were the way that he would sing Henry to sleep at
night and the day he had to sell the pearl buttons of his suit so that he could
pay rent. How, when his father died a tired and broken man, he returned to the
workhouse where he had been born and made his home there with the other boys.
He
spoke of the challenges and chest puffing that boys living together in such circumstances
creates. When he related this he found he laughed, seeing ridiculousness in the
endless bullying power struggles, which had always made him bitterly frustrated
before. Something else that surprised young Henry was the pride he felt when he
spoke of his work. It was true that a sweeper’s life was not an easy one, but
it was a good one when compared to many and he was grateful for that.
As
he spoke, it felt like time became quite fluid and mercurial, passing both
slowly and swiftly at different moments. When he had finally finished relating
all of the things he felt it was important to tell; he discovered that not only
had Mr. Malice and the clockwork bowl left their company, but he had completed
his whole round of sweeping while he related his story. It even seemed to
Henry, that he had done a particularly fine job this morning, as the street
seemed to shine when the fog lifted and the first golden rays of morning warmed
the bricks and pavers. It made him smile, and he placed his thumb inside his work
apron as he gave it an idiosyncratic caress, running his thumb along the secret
button he had sewn on its interior. His smile brightened just a bit more.
That
smile faded however, as Henry suddenly realized that while he had finished his
work a bit early if he did not hurry back to the workhouse now he might miss
porridge, and then have to wait till sundown’s supper to eat. That meant
bidding the fascinating stranger farewell. The stranger nodded somberly, his
smile also fading for a moment as he tipped his hat to Henry and finally spoke
again.
“Henry
Croft, It has been a great honor to have met you and hear your tale.” He said,
adding a respectful nod of his head to Henry, “I am Mr. Cat, and I collect
tales. I find yours to be one that strikes me as quite fine. Despite the dark
and difficult moments, I hear in your telling a young man who’s heart reflects
the brightness of the world around him. I admire that, and encourage it. You
carry at your breast a heart that can change the world.” And as he spoke he
arched an eyebrow so that for a moment it rose from behind the shelter of his
dark glasses with an ornery humor, and the smile returned.
"Walk
your world with strength and confidence." Mr. Cat said to young Henry.
"Remember too that one should walk with respect. You trod upon a world
built of your relations, from stardust to this very second. This second is
yours, to take and create. Shape it well."
And
then he was gone. It was as if he simply vanished in the morning crowd that now
populated the streets. Henry
hurried back to the workhouse so that he would not miss breakfast. He could not
explain it, but the encounter with Mr. Cat had invigorated him, fired his
imagination.
As
he settled onto the stool with his porridge, he gave his moment of grace and
thanks with a renewed spirit. He ate his breakfast with a measured manner,
hoping to set a good example for the younger boys who scarfed at their meals
with a ferocious swiftness. When he finished his meal he returned the bowl and
spoon to their proper place before stepping out back to the alley where the
other boys gathered.
Young
Henry stepped into the small patch of sunbeam, which broke through the maze of
Somers Town streets and glanced once again at the secret sewn inside his work
apron. A tiny pearl button, the one his father wouldn’t sell. Henry’s smile returned bold and bright
as he planned his future.
The first of
these unique avains Mr. Cat seems to use to his advantage without most around
him being aware of its presence. I call it the “Gilded Dove.” As I understand
it, the “Dove” emits a harmonic signal of some kind, which tends to produce a
calming effect on those nearby, promoting peaceful and friendly interaction in
cases where one might be moved to violence because of anger or fright. I was gifted with one whose unusual
energy had been completely spent, leaving it a small static conversation piece
to some eyes, but I find it a wonder.
