I had been living in Ruth’s house for two weeks. It was early evening. I was curled up on the couch, reading the newspaper. It was October, and chilly. I had closed all the windows and turned on the heat. I was content.
I had begun to distinguish between aloneness and loneliness. In Ruth’s house I was alone; the phantom cats and NPR were company enough. But I wasn’t lonely, and I realized only by this how lonely I had been before.
Now I had the familiar sense of being watched. I put down the newspaper. There was a white cat sitting in the armchair. It was very thin, with green eyes and a rather haughty manner. We stared at each other. It seemed to be considering me, judging me.
“Well, come on, then,” it said. I was quite startled to hear it speak. It rose, stretched, jumped to the floor and stood looking at me expectantly. When I didn’t get up instantly it turned its back and marched off toward the bedroom. I hesitated, then followed it.
The closet stood open. I had hung a few dresses and skirts next to Ruth’s; these had been pushed aside and the back of the closet was now another doorway. I couldn’t think how I had failed to notice this door. The white cat stalked through it.
There were stairs, which led down. The house was built on a concrete slab; these stairs had no business being here. There was hardly any light, and I felt my way with my hands touching the walls and my feet seeking each step before advancing. The walls and the steps seemed to be made of earth. Sound was deadened. I had no idea if the white cat was still with me. I went down and down. ? Finally there were no more stairs. I was in a hallway which led to a door. The white cat sat in front of the door with its tail twitching.
“There you are. You’re very slow.” It nudged open the door and disappeared through it. I followed.
The room was big and low-ceilinged. It smelled of earth and unbathed flesh, meat, baby powder, damp wood, old sweaters. The room was full of things, in no order at all, and cats were everywhere. The cats were playing, napping, eating, yawning, fighting, and they were doing all this in the midst of shoes, hats, dresses, books, dead plants, papers, a typewriter, a few small lamps with chewed cords, underwear, knickknacks, a footstool, a child’s rocking chair, suitcases, combs, a toothbrush ? all of the things which had been missing from Ruth’s house were here. Some of the cats wore pieces of costume jewelry I remembered seeing on Ruth.
They all ignored me, or pretended to ignore me. The white cat was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered why I’d been brought down here. The disorder was oppressive. I felt large; at first I thought I was the only thing in the room over two feet tall.
“Hello, Beatrice.” Her voice came from a dark corner. I took a step forward and stopped. It was Ruth’s voice. But where was she?
