the guardian (2)

Christine was outside, watching five or six of the neighborhood kids at play. The cat sat at her heels.

“Hey, look at the cat,” one of the kids said.

“I don’t want to look at no cat,” another said.

“Well, he’s Christine’s cat, and I bet he’s nice,” said a third. One by one the kids drifted to where Christine stood on the sidewalk.

“Is he black all over?” a girl with a missing front tooth asked.
Christine shook her head. “His tummy is all white.”
“I want to see,” said a bigger boy.
“I bet he doesn’t want you to. I bet he won’t let you pick him up,” a small boy in a too-big shirt piped in.
“Maybe not,” Big Boy allowed, “but I still want to see.”

“Don’t touch him,” Christine sai. “He’s mean.”
Big Boy squatted before the cat and poked a dirty finger in its ear. “Kitty, kitty, do you have any titty?”

Some of the kids giggled. The cat looked at the boy with flat green eyes.
“What an ugly cat,” the boy said. He straightened up. “Do you know what they say about ugly black cats?”

“He’s not ugly!” Christine said, hotly.

The boy ignored her. “Black cats are witches’ familiars.”

“What’s a familiar?” asked a girl. “An assistant,” Big Boy explained. “The witch sends it out to spy on people, and to bring back something that belongs to a person, say hair or nail clippings, that she can use to make spells. Like make all your hair fall out in a clump.”

“Ooh, scary.”

The boy now had an audience. “Does he go out at night, hey, girl?” he asked Christine. “Does he come back smelling all funny and looking all tired?”

“No,” said Christine. “No.”

“Where did he come from, Christine?” the gap-toothed girl asked.
“He is my mother’s cat.”
“Does that make your mother a witch?” the girl asked again.

“I heard her mother is strange. Talked to birds and sang to plants and all that,” the small boy said, plucking at his too-big shirt.
And she sang to me too, thought Christine. Now she could feel tears starting.

“My mother’s not a witch!” she cried.

“How would you know?” snickered Big Boy. “She’s not from around here. My mother says she likes to fool around with leaves and roots. If your mother’s a witch, then you’re a witch too.”

Christine was angry. “Take that back! My mother is a bot—botanist and I’m not a witch!”

The cat, unnoticed, was now standing alertly, its ears flat against its head, its eyes glittering. It was looking keenly at Christine.

“Witch! Witch!” Big Boy started to chant. The others took it up. “Christine’s a witch! Witch! Witch!”

Christine suddenly rushed at the capering boy, hitting his chest with one balled-up fist. “I said take it back, take it back, you jerk!”

The boy stopped chanting. He took a menacing step towards Christine. “Be careful who you’re calling a jerk, pig-face.”

Christine stood her ground. “Be careful who you’re calling a witch and a pig-face.”

“I’ll call you a witch and a pig-face and a turd anytime I want to.”

Then he pushed Christine roughly. The girl sat down hard on the sidewalk, her teeth clicking. She bit her tongue and tasted blood.

And then the cat launched itself on the bigger boy’s back, spitting and growling. The boy gave out a startled, pained yelp and tried to shake the cat loose.

Marshmallow held on, his claws deep in the shoulders of the bully. He was puffed up and he looked wild. The other kids stayed a respectful distance away from the prancing boy, now screaming for his mother.

Miss Rose came out the front door to see what the commotion is all about. She saw a burly boy, waving his arms wildly and screaming incoherently about the devil. There was something black on his back. She saw Christine stand up. She said, calmly and without emotion, “That’s enough, Marshmallow.”

The black thing unlatched from the boy’s back, dropped to the ground, and walked towards the house. Miss Rose stepped aside to let the cat pass. She thought it might be the sun, but the cat’s eyes looked too bright, too green.

The children scattered. Christine’s shoulders slumped. Miss Rose waited by the door until the child came nearer, then enfolded her in a soft hug.

“I want my mom,” Christine said in a small, hurt voice.