Certainly no one could have guessed that the details here would turn out true. What started as a sarcastic fantasy in my mind soon realized its horrid nature. It all began five years ago when I moved out to the country. I had grown tired of the unceasing business of city life and so removed myself to the shadows of the blue ridge. The street I inhabited was quiet and the house tucked neatly amidst the poplars and wild cherries. I had several neighbors who mostly kept to themselves and I followed suit; after all, peace and refuge from encroachment were my primary motivations. For awhile life went on quite leisurely; I found myself smoking away the evenings and serenading my orange tabby on the ukulele. But the simple peace would find a lurid end.
While I cherished my one feline companion who spent much time in and out of doors, his kind were hardly rare in the neighborhood; dozens of strays roamed freely. Most of them convened at an immediately neighboring house, where the tenants put out food and some small shelter from the weather. The situation proved peculiar as rarely was the same cat seen regularly save one monstrous black specimen. The beast was nearly double the size of the others and prowled the perimeter of his territory, keeping sentinel with hellish yellow eyes. Occasionally he would venture out from his realm to harass my own poor cat, but he was easy enough to shoo away. The rotating cast of strays were far more curious. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? I insouciantly entertained the mystery often enough, but always without revelation. I supposed the cats were breeding to keep their population up, but I couldn’t fathom where the rest were going. You never saw them wander far from the house and no one ever came to take them away. The obvious thought was perhaps that wild animals or neglect claimed a few, but this didn’t satisfy my curiosity.
The occupants of the house were not extraordinary at first sight; an older man and his fat wife were seen outdoors often enough, tending the mangy menagerie or returning from an outing. The backyard was mostly hidden from view by junk vehicles and other neglected items as one collects in their lifetime, but smoke would often rise through the trees accompanied by the smell of cooking meat. I spoke only with the man once, exchanging pleasantries and I never met his wife. There was a funny aura about them, but I had it down to them being simple mountain eccentrics. As time passed however, their antisocial behavior and the ever changing herd of felines cruelly stoked my suspicions.
Call it lunacy if you will, but one day I could stand it no longer. I was, like many days, on my porch smoking and watching the cats climb the frame of their primitive roost and playing on the surrounding iron corpses when I noticed that I did not recognize a one. Of course the great beast was still on his patrol but all of the others were unfamiliar. I kept watch over the next few days, letting my morbid fascination contrive nothing but the worst of my neighbors. I felt guilty for these unspoken accusations but the oddness of their relationship to these cats grew on my brain like a cancer. In the following week I saw my chance to investigate these grotesque fantasies I had conjured. I was taking in the afternoon air when I heard my neighbors arguing from their house; I couldn’t tell about what, but the spat spilled out into the yard. I kept a keen eye on the happenings, careful not to stare but nothing incriminating was heard. They both got in one of the few working autos and hastily drove off. I knew this was the chance to confirm or arrest my misgivings.
I moved off the porch and toward the poplars delineating the properties. I was still in my own yard but a nervousness crept over me as I silently debated the motive ofmy adventure. I knew going around the back of the house was my best option and the only way was right by the alert Cerberus. I snuck by the felines’ dwelling and past the demon cat without issue other than a couple deserved hisses; I was in their territory after all. The black cat followed me close but never attacked save for an evil eye cast at me.
The backyard was not impressive. There was a workbench with tools scattered about and rusted, and trash had been swept into piles but not removed. At the far end of the yard there was a crude smoker made from a garbage can; all around it were clumps of different colored fur, soggy and matted upon the ground. This only excited me further and I couldn’t resist but to check the contents of the smoker: to my own dismay and yet equal relief, the apparatus was empty. I kept exploring but found nothing else in the yard so I opted to check the house.
I tried to spy through the windows before entering but curtains blocked my view at each one. So I dared to try the back door and to my surprise, it was unlocked. It portentously creaked as it opened into a small kitchen that was decorated with many tacky cats and smelled of a sickly rot. There was a cat clock on the wall, swinging its tail with each second. The dish towels were all peppered with feline visage. There was an apron adorned similarly. Portraits of cats lined the walls and there must have been at least a dozen pairs of salt and pepper shakers all in various cat poses. Unlike the yard, the interior was kept neat excepting the foul stench that hung in the air. But even with the horrid smell, I couldn’t help but explore the place.
A door led to the living room and upon entering, I found myself filled with complete fascination accompanied by the most disgusting of horror, for here the vile aroma burned in my nostrils. Bile welled in my throat as I took in the scenery. Cats. Cats everywhere. Not living, but not simply dead either. The stuffed wretches filled every corner of the room as a poised militia of undead feline fury. The coffee table had several of the stuffed cats in military dress including one calico General that had been made into a lamp. The half living dolls lined the floor, mantle, and walls, falling into a menacing battle line. The sunken sofa had a throw blanket sewn of the small furs with matching pillows. Under the coffee table was a box of sewing equipment and glass eyes as well as a drawer filled with miniature uniforms and sabers. In the corner, next to the sewing machine I found the source of the putrid aroma: a mound of wet, rotting skins dusted over with not nearly enough preservative. Whether these people worked out of malice, love, or some other profane reverence for the creatures I could not tell, but the work itself was maddening. My heart beat heavily and a cold sweat came over me as I examined the poor devils.
Retreating back to the kitchen, I knew my patience and curiosity were running short. There were two things I knew I had to examine before leaving: the oven and the fridge. There was nothing sinister in the fridge or adjoining freezer thankfully, just the normal foodstuffs. This brought me some minuscule hope for the character of my unusual neighbors.
As I was investigating the oven however, I heard a car door slam, and then another. I carefully shut the oven and silently crept out of the back door, closing it behind me and hiding nearby so as not to disclose my presence with a frenzied retreat. I listened sharply for the front door closing when I was distracted by the buzzing box I was hiding against. It was hidden by a tarp and I hadn’t noticed it on the way in. I carefully pushed the tarp back and cracked the lid. The vile contents seared themselves into my memory; the container was full nearly to the top with vacuum-sealed packages of meat. Each one, the shape of a small intact mammal with a name scribbled on the package. There was aFluffy, Princess, and Jasper to name a few. I lost control of my body at this discovery and risked flight from the scene. I ran through the yard, past the cats, onto my porch and into the house. I slammed the door shut and locked it, panting heavily. I didn’t care whether the neighbors had heard or seen my clumsy escape, and I never cared to find out.
After a little time passed and the visions somewhat lessened, I warily stepped out onto the porch for a smoke to calm my nerves. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the house next door. I methodically puffed away, intermittently locking eyes with the villainous groundskeeper when my recent disgust was revived to the fullest. Smoke was rising from the backyard and the sick smell of roasting meat made my eyes burn. My heart pounded, my stomach dropped and I puked over the railing of my porch. When I finally gathered my wits I locked myself and my own cat inside my house, fearing a knock on the door. Thankfully it never came, but when I checked the mailbox the following morning I found an invitation addressed only to ‘Neighbor’ that read: We’ve been neighbors for several years now and we’d love to know you better. We’d love to have you and your cat for dinner tonight. —Your neighbors at The Cat House
My hands shook as I read the letter and primal instinct forced me to look toward the next door house. I know my expression must have been crazed but there they were, gently smiling and waving at me from their porch. I somehow managed a wave back with sweat running down my face. That same day I hired a moving truck, packed all my things and my cat and headed back for the city. Every time someone mentions the quiet countryside or getting away from the noisy city, all I can think about is the day I visited The Cat House.