The Cat’s Paw
by Julia Rajagopalan
Kim knew it was wrong from the start. She and Hannah were wandering around the farmer's market after brunch, trying to sober up, when they saw the black tent. It stood out amongst the pretty pastel tables of crafts and baked goods like a gangrenous toe on a healthy foot. They stumbled over and giggled when they pushed back the entrance’s gauzy curtain. As they entered, a chill breeze ruffled Kim’s hair. She shivered and looked around for a fan. Instead, she saw shelves of taxidermied predator birds, vintage mannequins, creepy doll heads, crystals, books, and assorted pieces of odd junk.
“What the hell,” Hannah said.
“Have you ever seen this place?” Kim whispered. It seemed like a place you should whisper. Like if you spoke too loudly, you’d draw the attention of a ghost or a witch.
“Welcome,” a woman said in a raspy voice. She was dressed in black, with bright purple streaks in her dark hair, and looked very much like a witch.
“Just browsing,” Hannah said.
“Your place is fantastic!” Kim said, glancing at her friend. Hannah gave her a dirty look that said, ‘Let's get the hell out of here.’ But Kim gave her a look back that said, ‘Let’s check this out.’ They had been friends a long time.
“Where do you get your things?” Kim asked, unsure what to call the motley assortment of goods.
“They come from all over the world,” the woman said, her hand sweeping in a mysterious and slightly over-dramatic gesture. Her black nail polish glistened in the dim light of the skull-shaped lamp on the counter.
“Like where?”
“We have crystals from the Mojave desert and artifacts from ancient cultures.”
“Ancient cultures? Which ones?”
“Mesopotamia, Aztec, Ancient Egypt.”
“Egypt? What do you have from Egypt?” Kim loved Egypt and, as a child, had even attempted to learn hieroglyphics, though it hadn’t gone well.
“Let me show you.” The woman led them to a corner and gestured to a shelf. “This is an authentic cat’s paw from the mummy of an Egyptian cat.” The paw was wrapped in tiny swaths of yellow gauze. The end, where it had been severed from the rest of the cat, was sealed with red wax.
“That does not sound legal,” Hannah said.
“It’s fine,” the witch said.
“Then it’s not real.”
“Oh, it’s real, all right.”
“How much?” Kim asked, touching the paw gently. The paper felt dry, and she could feel the solid bones under the fleshy muscle of the mummified paw. She felt a little bad that the paw had been removed from the rest of the mummy, but she wasn’t the one who had done it, so it wasn’t her fault.
“$400.”
“Yikes,” Kim pulled her fingers back. She doubted she had that much available on her credit card.
“Let’s go,” Hannah said, pulling her arm. “There’s no way that’s real, and if it is, it’s super illegal.” They started to walk away when the witch called after them.
“Half off. Special price, just for you.”
“Sold!” Kim said.
“Oh god,” Hannah said.
“I’ll ring you up,” the witch said.
***
Back at home, Kim placed the paw on her Egyptian shelf next to a little statue of the goddess Bastet and her books on Egypt. She fell asleep that night, browsing online for cases to hold her new artifact.
Kim woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of scratching at her back door. She rolled over to ignore it, but the scratching continued getting louder and more insistent. So she got up, thinking there was an opossum or raccoon again. Something had gone through her trash a few weeks ago, leaving a colossal mess. She walked groggily down the hallway of her little house and went to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. She flipped on the light, hoping to scare the animal away.
Instead of a raccoon, Kim saw a small feline figure sitting on the mat outside the door. Kim bent over and peered at the little black creature. She gasped as she stared into the large glowing yellow eyes of a black cat. Its fur was patchy and mottled as if the animal had mange or psoriasis, and it had enormous ears and strange eyes. Its tail twitched as it sat, and Kim realized it was missing its front right paw.
“No way,” Kim said, crouching down to look at the cat through the door. It tilted its head at her and hissed a spitting, angry sound. It leaped at the glass, smashing against it with a loud thunk. Kim screamed and fell backward on her ass. The cat hissed again and then ran off into the darkness. Heart pounding, Kim scooted away from the door. The cat was gone, but her heart still raced, and she waited for it to slow. Then, with shaking hands, she checked the locks on the door. She left the light on, hoping it would scare the cat away, and went back to bed, pulling her sheets up to her chin. She didn’t sleep till dawn.
Kim woke late that morning, glad it was a Sunday and she didn’t have to work. She tiptoed to the back door to look out at the porch and was relieved to see that no strange cat lurked on the wooden planks. Instead, lying in a bloody puddle on the doormat was a small sparrow, its throat ripped out and its little wing hanging off its body by a bloody sinew. Kim shrieked, a half-scream she didn’t know she was capable of, and ran from the room.
When she told Hannah about the bird, her friend was utterly underwhelmed. “Well, that’s normal cat behavior. It means they like you." Her friend's voice came out of her phone’s little speaker as Kim stood in her kitchen, gathering plastic bags to clean up the bird.
“But I don’t have a cat,” Kim protested.
“Yeah, but you have a crazy mummified cat paw.”
“Does that mean I have the three-legged mummy cat that goes with it?”
“You probably just had a bad dream. You’re probably just feeling guilty.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Kim said, though she didn’t quite believe it.
Kim cleaned up the poor little bird, then took the paw and rode her bike to the farmers’ market. She hoped to return the cursed thing or even give it back. She parked her bike and looked for the black tent but couldn’t find it among the crowd of stands and tables. About where the tent had been, she saw a table selling lotion.
“Do you know the tent that was here yesterday?” Kim asked the woman behind the table.
“Sorry, I don’t know. I just got a one-day spot,” the woman said. Kim bought a muffin from another stand and left the market, her errand unsuccessful. The sky darkened behind tumbling gray clouds on her ride back home, and it was misting by the time she parked her bike in her garage next to her car. Kim went inside and placed the paw back on its spot on the shelf. It rocked a little back and forth as if ready to play, then settled into a resting place. Outside, it was raining steadily, and Kim decided it was a perfect day to take an afternoon nap.
Taking off her jacket, she walked into the bedroom and tossed the coat on a chair in the corner. As she turned toward the bed, she was met with the coppery smell of blood mixed with the musty smell of animal fur. She looked around until her gaze fell on her bed. A furry, gray lump lay in a bloody pool on her cute turquoise pillowcase. An enormous rat lay on the pillow, its throat ripped out, oozing blood and other fluids. Its long, wormy tail hung limply across the fabric like a pink parasite. Kim gagged, running to the bathroom to empty her stomach into the toilet. How had the cat gotten into the house? What the hell did it want? What had she done?
Kim took the pillow off the bed, balancing the dead rat on top of it, and went outside. Rain poured down on her as she set the pillow on the ground and opened the trash bin. She tossed the whole thing in, pillow and all, and then ran back inside and locked the door. She bitterly laughed as she did it because it was obvious locks wouldn’t stop a mummy cat. Kim went back into her room, stripped her bed, and took the sheets and blankets down to the laundry room in the basement. She jammed everything into the washing machine and turned it on hot, adding half a jug of bleach to the mix, colors be damned. She glanced around, and every dark corner seemed to hold a rat, a shadow, or a murderous cat, and she shook in fear and revulsion.
When she finished, Kim ran upstairs, grabbed the cat's paw, and ran out into the rain. She set the cat’s paw on the patio table and stood looking around.
“I’m sorry!” Kim screamed into the rain. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any harm. You can have it back.” Rain streamed down her face, mingled with her tears. Her stomach churned acid bile, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Kim ran inside and locked the door behind her, but it didn’t give her a feeling of safety or security. She sat on the couch, grabbed a blanket, and covered herself with it, watching as the rain poured on the paw. Eventually, the sun set, but Kim still sat, waiting. Finally, her fear-filled adrenaline wore off, and Kim dozed, the pattering of the rain lulling her to sleep.
When she awoke, it was fully dark, the light of the moon giving an eerie, plaid glow. The lights in the house were off, and she sat in lonely darkness. By the light of the moon, she could see that the paw was gone, the table empty, but she wasn’t sure if the cat had taken it back or if one of the raccoons had eaten it.
Kim thought she would feel better once the thing was gone, but she still felt sick. Something was wrong, like when she knew she had left the stove on or when she could feel someone glaring at her. Kim felt danger boiling over just outside her perception. She needed to get out of the house, so she got up, grabbed her phone and purse, and hurried out to the car. She pressed the garage door button as she hurried outside. It had stopped raining, but the air was damp and humid. Kim waited in the darkness as the garage door slowly raised, taking longer than she remembered it ever taking. Unwilling to wait, she bent over to slip under the door. The loud grinding of the motor grated to a stop, and she froze. A rustling came from the corner of the garage, and she grabbed the car door handle, expecting it to open automatically, but the keys were buried too deeply in her purse. Kim scrambled frantically around in her large bag, trying to find them. When the noise stopped, she slowly turned. Two glowing yellow eyes gleamed from the shadows, their jaundiced glare illuminating the darkness. Her purse dropped, and her keys flopped onto the cement floor, and Kim screamed.
The last thing she saw was a mass of mottled fur and claws as it pounced at her face.
Julia Rajagopalan is a writer of speculative fiction who lives just outside of Detroit, Michigan, with her husband and their grumpy dog.
In 2024, her short story “Ancestor Worship” was featured in the anthology Write, Wrong or Otherwise, and she has published flash fiction pieces in places like Vermillion, Every Day Fiction, 365 Tomorrows, and Flash Phantoms.
This year, she has several short stories forthcoming, including “The Drycleaner,” which will appear in the next issue of Worker’s Write!, and “Banquet of the Future,” in NUNUM’s annual anthology, Opolis.
For a full list of her publications, check out her website: juliarajagopalan.com