A Journey with the Lucky Cat

A free short story (copyright applies CS Dunn 2015)

Maneki Niko

Tamar opened the shutters of her market stall to see the Sandmer staring at her. Tamar panicked. What had she done? Why was he looking at her like that?

He raised his big meaty fists and yelled, the words slurred with rage; he was pointing at the window, at the cat.

The cat stood, lifted one paw to its ear, sat, brought the paw down to the prayer pillow display she was sitting on.

The Sandmer yelled louder, gesticulated, his arms doing wild windmills as he strode towards her.

“Get rid of that animal! This is a food market. Animals belong in the lower town. Get it out of here! It’s a filthy beast. Get it out! Now!”

Tamar could see the cat was staring at the Sandmer. Cat’s amber eyes focused only on him. She did not blink.

Two days ago, her parents had left her in charge of the shop while they spent the season at the temple, caring for the pilgrims and maintaining the temple. It was their turn; they had donned the sacramental unbleached linen tunics of the pilgrims and walked through the melting snow drifts to prepare the temple. Next year, Tamar would take that trip; be one of the guardians.

On her first day alone, a temple cat was at her door. When a temple cat decides to visit, there’s no argument. The almost all-white cat had stood at the door until Tamar had let her in through the curtain door. She had walked up to the window, one paw raised. Tamar had smiled, and let the cat sit in the window with the temple pillows. She had put a bowl of water on the bench, and shared her food with the cat. Only temple cats were calico, with the perfect circles of black and ginger over the ears and shoulders and hindquarters.

The pilgrim path led them through the market stalls. Cat would lift her paw or give a slow wink; the pilgrim would nod and come into the shop.

“Three pece for one; five pece for two,” she said, and offered one of the traditional unbleached linen prayer pillows. “Look, touch, feel the softness, smell the sweet herbs; perfect for your journey.”

“Three pece for two,” he said.

“Four for two, and you can choose them.”

The pilgrim nodded, handed over the four pece and walked to the window. He kneeled down and bowed to cat as he placed each hand on a different pillow, and moved them slowly towards the cat, not lifting his eyes. Cat rubbed her head against the pillows, against his hands; she gave a soft mrrrow.

The pilgrim stood and left, his face bright with the blessing, his hands clutching the little pillows to his chest. A temple cat’s blessing was worth more than a pillow. To ignore the cat’s request was unthinkable.

Tamar made a profit. Every pillow she sold for more than a brone was a profit, and it took eight brones to make one pece. Business was good with cat in the window.

Still the Sandmer yelled as he stormed to the window, pulled out as many pillows as his fists could hold, threw them into the muddy street, and slammed her shutters closed.

Closed shutters meant a closed shop. He had shut her down. No pillows meant nothing to sell. It wasn’t fair. The stall was at the very edge of the food market; she was the first of the market stalls in the town.

Tamar wasn’t in the food stall area of the market. She ran out through the curtain door, but he was already marching up the hill into the centre of the town.

He passed under the huge Arinon tree, the Tree of Life, that eased the souls of pilgrims as they passed underneath.

A loud crack blasted the air. A branch fell. The Sandmer fell. Blood gushed from his head, mixing with the trampled mud of the path. His pristine white gown of office now stained in mottled green, muddy brown, messy red. He moaned, tried to stand, holding his head.

No one came to assist him. Tamar turned to look at the crowd. The people who had gathered for his shouting all turned away. They all walked away. She ran to him, helped him stand. He threw his fist at her, overbalanced, fell. Tamar assisted him to rise, holding his arms firmly. Mud and blood rubbed from his gown onto her brown tunic. She held both his hands in one of hers, tight. He wasn’t going to hit her again. She pushed the flap of loose skin back onto his scalp, pulled a clump of wool from her pocket, held it firmly to his head. His eyes spun and his head wobbled. She held both his hands behind him and pushed him towards his home.

“What have you done?” screeched the wife. “Get the healer. Go now!”

“I have a trade matter to deal with. You shall have to fetch the healer yourself,” Tamar said. She walked away.

“Curse on you – the curse of sleepless nights alone in a cold cave; of the burning thirst of the desert; of barrenness to you and your blood.”

“I have had my share of curses from this town today,” Tamar said, “and I will accept no more. The burden and the curses are your own.”

Tamar ran back to her shop. The shutters were open. The crowd moving through the market did not walk past her stall.

A pilgrim stood at the doorway of her stall, smiling as he held the cat in his arms. White cat hair covered his rough face, littered his bushy black eyebrows, drifted in distinctive patterns down his tunic.

“I believe this is for you,” he said as he lifted the cat toward her.

“She’s not my cat,” Tamar said. “She just came the other day. She likes the prayer pillows, I think.” She lifted the warm, purring cat onto her shoulder. “And because I feed her.”

“There is no higher blessing than to have the temple cat at your door, sharing heart and hearth.” Tamar touched his arm as he turned to leave.

“Would you like a pillow?” She grabbed the only remaining pillow from the window and put it near the cat’s head. Cat obliged, rubbed her face and ears on the pillow.

“I thank you, but I am not deserving of such a high gift.”

“The cat says you are.”

The pilgrim bowed to the cat, leaned his head in close. Cat put her nose to his skin.

“Blessings upon you, and your home,” he whispered, as he accepted the gift.

Was he blessing her, or the cat? The cat.

Traders shouted their wares. People gabbled, bargained, barged their way through the market. Tamar stayed where she was. She needed no more distractions today. What she needed to do was to make more pillows. She walked out and picked up the soggy messes from the street. Maybe she could salvage some of them. Great clumps of mud fell from the pillows, leaving behind the dark stain of the street. They could not be saved. She wiped them off anyway, brought them back inside.

There was wool, and hessian, but she had no more linen, used as the outer covering. What could she use that was soft to the face, soft on the hands, soft to lay the head upon? She found the offcuts of worsted wools, of canvas and heavier materials. Would those materials make pillows she could sell? No.

A bag of silk offcuts hung from the back rafter with the colourful summer shawls her mother had made before she left. Her mother loved to feel the silk against her skin. The pieces were not good enough to sell, or large enough to make things with, but surely, surely, Tamar could patch some together to cover her pillows. Tamar set to work, humming, only lifting her head as shadows passed the window. She sewed, stuffed, sewed, shaped and plumped, tossing the final products in the window. If she worked quickly, she could have maybe ten more pillows in the window by noon.

The cat claimed each new pillow as it arrived.

A pilgrim trudged past, his grey beard and hair unkempt, his tunic rumpled and worn. Cat lifted her paw. The pilgrim’s eyes widened, his feet stopped, his mouth dropped open. Tamar stood and stretched her back. She walked to the window, and slid her hand along the cat’s slinky back, holding contact until the tip of the tail slid through her fingers. The cat purred and rubbed the pillow. Tamar smiled at the pilgrim.

“Would you like a prayer pillow?”

“The cat called me, didn’t she?”

“Yes. She’s a temple cat.”

The man dropped to his knees, head bowed at the cat.

“I have no money,” he said, “but I can help you with some work . . . if there’s anything you need done.”

“What can you do?” Tamar asked, as she placed her palms backwards over her hips and stretched her back again.

“I was a tailor, once,” he said.

“Then I can certainly use some help,” she said. “I have food, if you are hungry.”

When the echo of the temple bell marked the mid of the day, bright pillows filled the window to overflowing, all the rainbow colours of the silk shining the reflection out onto the street.

Pilgrims gathered in the shade of the Tree of Life. They sang and chanted their worship. As each one completed the ritual, they wandered back to Tamar’s stall. Cat blinked at each one who stood in the glow of the colours thrown onto the dark path. Tamar offered the pillows, “One pillow, cat blessed, for two pece,” she sang to the small crowd.

Tamar, cat and pilgrim ate well that night, even buying fresh fruit fritters and warm, black rolls. The cat ate a whole river fish. The profits were good today.

“I did not think people would buy the pillows if they were not linen,” she said.

“The cat chose the pillows, so who are we to argue?”

Tamar saw the Town Messenger tacking a notice to the main board. She walked over to read it.

“The office of Sandmer is open for candidates,” the Messenger said as she came closer. “For some reason, he has left town. With his wife in the cart. She broke her leg today. Somehow, she managed to fall over the milking stool.” He laughed. “A good thing, I think. Now she can’t go around kicking the children out of her way.”

The Messenger turned to face Tamar. “Their carriage has a broken wheel, the water in their well is sour, and moths have invaded their house. The omens have gathered to farewell them,” he waved his arms around the town centre, “but there are no people from this town to see them off, are there? Did you see anyone make the effort to help them? Did you?” He turned his face to the cat, bowed deeply. The cat closed her amber eyes, giving him the return salutation. She shut her eyes again, a slow and gradual blink; when they opened, they were green. Clear, bright green.

The short day darkened with a deep orange reflection as the sun disappeared behind the mountain.