The Cat Woman
Josie Braden's mother had always warned her never to buy a used car since a person who bought a previously owned vehicle invariably inherited someone else's headaches. The same could be said for men, Josie learned. Her short-lived affair with Lars Lindstrom, her boss, a married man, had ended in disaster. When Lars's passion cooled, he returned to his wife, and Josie was left alone and unemployed.
Lacking the financial resources to remain in New York, she was forced to seek shelter in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where a great-aunt lived by herself in a large Victorian house. Fortunately for Josie, Aunt Coral was delighted to help out her last surviving relative.
"You can stay with us as long as you like," the old lady assured her great-niece over the telephone. "We'll be happy to have the company."
"We?"
Josie had been under the impression the old woman lived alone.
"Yes, me and my cats."
Josie rolled her eyes. She didn't care for cats—or any other animals for that matter. Hell, she could barely tolerate people most of the time.
"Hopefully it won't be for too long," the young woman said, making an effort to sound as amiable as possible. "Just until I can find a place of my own."
After she hung up the phone, Josie packed her clothes into her second-hand luggage and put her cosmetics and personal items into a large cardboard box. She then loaded everything in the back of her rusted old station wagon and headed for I-80 West toward the Keystone State.
* * *
Josie pulled into her great-aunt's circular driveway and stared at the three-story house. From the outside, at least, it was magnificent. When she was a child, she heard rumors at family get-togethers that Coral Prescott had a fortune buried beneath her mattress, a fortune left to her by an overbearing father who had sent all suitors for his daughter's hand running for their lives. Perhaps those rumors weren't completely unfounded.
Tired by the long drive, Josie took her luggage out of her trunk and walked up to the front door. Before she could ring the bell, Coral flung the door open wide, leaned forward, embraced her great-niece and kissed her on the cheek.
"It's so nice to have family visit me," the elderly woman exclaimed. "Come in. Just leave your suitcases here in the foyer. Mrs. Grady, my housekeeper, will take them up to your room once she's had the chance to air it out."
Josie smiled—a housekeeper! Thank God! She had feared the old woman would expect her to help with the housework, and she was definitely not the Martha Stewart type.
When Coral Prescott led her guest into the house, the younger woman's senses were assaulted by the sound, sight and smell of her great-aunt's cats. There were not two or three, as Josie had assumed, but at least half a dozen that she could see from the doorway.
"I was just about to eat lunch. Won't you join me?" Coral asked, taking her great-niece by the arm and guiding her toward the living room.
"I'm not hungry," Josie replied, shying away from the cats that were stretched out on the Chippendale sofa.
"Then perhaps a cup of tea?"
The young woman declined the offer, remarking, "You certainly do have a lot of cats."
"Thirty-four," the old woman announced proudly. "No. Make that thirty-seven. Peppermint Patty had kittens last night."
Josie paled. Thirty-seven cats!
"Surely they don't all stay inside the house."
"Of course, they do. I don't let them go outside. There are far too many cars that travel this street."
Coral bent over and scooped a sleeping black cat into her arms.
"I wouldn't want any of my babies to get run over," she cried, kissing the cat on top of its head. "Mommy loves her little angels too much to risk losing them."
Josie turned away so the old woman wouldn't see the look of disgust on her face.
"Damn Lars Lindstrom!" she muttered to herself angrily. "If he hadn't left me, I wouldn't be forced to live in this menagerie with an old woman who is at least two cans short of a six-pack."
* * *
Although the meal Mrs. Grady had prepared was worthy of one of New York's four-star restaurants, Josie found dinner excruciating. Not only were there cats lying on the unoccupied chairs, the sideboard, the top of the china cabinet and the windowsill, but Coral also allowed them to walk on the table and even eat from her plate.
The board of health should see this place, Josie thought, checking each forkful of food for cat hair before putting it in her mouth.
Conversation during dinner left a lot to be desired. When she wasn't going on about her feline friends, Coral questioned her great-niece about her nonexistent love life.
"Surely an attractive woman like you must have a gentleman friend."
Outwardly Josie smiled at her great-aunt's compliment, but inwardly she cringed. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner of a 1950s sitcom.
"There was someone, but things didn't work out," she admitted, hoping the old woman would drop the subject.
No such luck!
"He doesn't know what he's lost," Coral said, as one of the cats began coughing up a hairball onto the hardwood floor. "Perhaps the two of you will get back together and work things out. Forgive me for saying so, but you're at an age when you should be married and have children."
"How come you never married?" Josie inquired, turning the tables on the old woman.
A sad smile crossed Coral's wrinkled face as she relived a bittersweet memory.
"I was in love once—head over heels in love with an engineer for the Pennsylvania Railroad. I would have married him, but my father needed me at the time. He was sick, you see. I had hoped my young man would wait, but he didn't. He married someone else and moved to Scranton."
"That's a shame."
"I can't complain, though. After all, my life hasn't been too bad. I have my house and my wonderful cats! The little darlings have brought me years of love and companionship."
When the meal was finally over, Josie escaped to the sanctuary of her bedroom—apparently the only place in the big house that was cat-free.
"How am I ever going to live like this?" she moaned.
The jilted young woman vowed that the following morning she would begin searching for a new job. She would also have to find an apartment and a roommate, for she couldn't afford to live on her own on a secretary's salary
A short while later, Josie was about to put on her nightgown and go to bed when she heard a light knock on her door.
"Are you asleep?" Coral whispered.
"No. It's only nine o'clock."
"Why don't you come downstairs and watch TV with me? There's a good movie on Turner Classics: a Tyrone Power movie."
Josie was less than enthusiastic about the invitation. The incredibly handsome and dashing Mr. Power, heartthrob of the black-and-white movies, was way before her time. Still, the prospect of going to bed at nine was not too appealing either.
"All right," she replied in desperation. "I'll be down in a minute."
When she walked into the living room, Josie had to remove two cats from a chair in order to sit down. Thankfully, she was wearing an old bathrobe, so she didn't worry about getting cat hair on it.
"You're just in time," Coral exclaimed. "The movie is about to begin."
"What movie is it?" Josie asked—not that she really cared.
"In Old Chicago. It's about the O'Leary family and the great Chicago fire. I remember my young man took me to see it at the Colonial Theater in Allentown when it was first released."
Oh great! Josie thought.
Was she to be treated with her great-aunt's walks down memory lane for the length of her stay?
"I thought Tyrone Power was the best-looking man I'd ever seen."
"Sort of the Brad Pitt of his generation?" Josie inquired, doing her best to keep all traces of sarcasm out of her voice.
"Brad who?"
"Brad Pitt. Blond. Gorgeous. If you ever saw him, I'm sure you'd remember him."
"No. Tyrone Power had dark hair. My father was blond," Coral said, once again getting that far-off look in her eyes that signaled a mental excursion to the past. "All the women in town used to gaze at him with longing in their eyes whenever he walked by. 'There goes Hannibal Prescott, the handsome widower,' they would say."
Josie turned with a start. Not the Hannibal Prescott? She had never made the connection. After all, Prescott was a fairly common name. Why hadn't her mother ever told her they were related to one of the richest men in Pennsylvania?
Probably because dear old mommy was drunk ninety percent of the time, Josie thought bitterly.
"But my father never took notice of them," the old woman droned on. "He was devoted to my mother, and after she passed away, he dedicated his life to taking care of me."
Josie paid scant attention to her great-aunt's tedious recollections. At the moment, she was occupied with a mental appraisal of the antique furnishings and oriental rugs. What a shame they were being ruined by a house full of useless, lazy cats.
As Coral continued reminiscing about her life with her father—for the moment completely forgetting about the lives of the three O'Leary boys—Josie was deciding on a tactful way of asking about Hannibal Prescott's estate.
"When he died," Coral finally concluded, "Father left me all alone in this great big house."
Here was Josie's chance.
"It must cost quite a bit of money to take care of such a large place."
"Hmph!" the old lady grunted. "I don't have to worry about that. My father was a very wealthy man, and he left everything to me."
Josie's spirits brightened considerably.
"Yes, the cats and I are quite comfortable. And after I'm gone ...."
Josie's heart stopped for a moment as she hung on to every word the old woman said.
"... there will be plenty of money left. Millions, I believe. Of course, I don't know the exact amount. I never bother with such things. I let my lawyer handle all that."
"Your lawyer?"
"Yes. He drew up my will, and he'll serve as executor after I'm gone."
There was a will, Josie thought with hope. She was Coral Prescott's only living relative. Surely, she would receive a substantial amount.
"Oh," the old woman suddenly exclaimed, as her attention was drawn back to the old movie. "I love this part! This is where Tyrone Power meets Alice Faye."
Josie feigned interest in the on-screen romance, pretending to enjoy the film as much as Coral did. Her motives in humoring her great-aunt were purely self-serving, however. She planned on kissing up to the old lady in an attempt to ensure a large inheritance. There was nothing she wouldn't do to weasel her way into Coral's good graces, even going so far as to pretend to care for the old lady's cats.
* * *
Weeks passed, and Coral began to look upon Josie as the granddaughter she never had. For hours on end the two women would watch old movies, play mahjong, browse through family photo albums or just sit and relive the past—Coral Prescott's past, that is, for Josie, who had grown up in a one-room apartment with her unmarried, alcoholic mother, had no wish to rehash painful memories.
Life in the big house in Lehigh Valley was often pure torture for Josie, but she bore the tedium stoically. She had good reason to put up with the old woman—several million reasons. Yet it wasn't her boring great-aunt that bothered Josie most; it was the cats. She couldn't abide the way they slept on the furniture and left a trail of hair behind them wherever they went. Then there was the odor of the litter boxes that seemed to permeate every room of the house. Mrs. Grady did her best to keep the place clean, but there was only one of her and thirty-seven cats—no. Juniper and Autumn both had kittens since Josie arrived, bringing the total up to forty-four.
"Oh, God help me," Josie cried in the privacy of her room. "Now I'm beginning to know their names. What next? Will I start cuddling them and kissing them on the head, too? Never!" she vowed. "If I had my way, I'd pack them all off to the ASPCA."
Mrs. Grady, on the other hand, seemed to share the old woman's fondness for the useless animals. The housekeeper would often go about her duties with the cats rubbing up against her legs, purring with contentment. Periodically, she would stop her labors, pick one up and hold it in her arms.
"You don't care much for cats, do you?" Mrs. Grady asked one day when she saw the look of distaste on Josie's face at the sight of several cats eating from Waterford Crystal cat bowls.
"What makes you say that?" Josie asked, instantly assuming an air of innocence.
"Don't worry. I won't tell Miss Prescott. I know you pretend to like the cats for her sake."
Was there a hint of accusation in the old housekeeper's words?
"I don't want to needlessly upset my great-aunt. She's been very good to me, and I've grown quite fond of her."
"I'm sure you have."
It was not what Mrs. Grady said that annoyed Josie. It was the way she said it, or had Josie only imagined the snide, insinuating tone? She decided it best to ignore Mrs. Grady. The woman was only a servant, after all.
* * *
Meanwhile, Josie's attempts at gaining her great-aunt's favor seemed to be paying off. One afternoon, approximately six months after she'd arrived in Bethlehem, she was informed that Coral's lawyer was coming to dinner.
"You'll like him; he's a wonderful person."
"I hope you don't try to fix me up with him," Josie joked.
"Goodness, no!" Coral laughed. "Mr. Lassiter is well past sixty. On top of that, he's married. Isn't that so, Mrs. Grady?"
"Yes, but that wouldn't stop some people, Miss Prescott."
Josie bristled. Did the housekeeper know of her affair with a married man? That was nonsense! How could she? Josie was certain she was just being too sensitive where Mrs. Grady was concerned.
"Mr. Lassiter isn't coming here on a social call," Coral explained. "I've decided to amend my will."
Josie kept her eyes focused on the sepia-toned photograph of young Hannibal Prescott and his wife. She didn't want her great-aunt or the housekeeper to see her flushed complexion.
"Business or pleasure," Mrs. Grady exclaimed, "I'm sure he'll be hungry. I'll make a nice beef stew for dinner."
"And for dessert?" Coral asked eagerly.
"Warm apple crisp with vanilla ice cream."
"Mmmmmm! My favorite."
Josie remained silent, not trusting her voice if she dared to speak.
* * *
Conversation during dinner covered such diverse topics as Mrs. Grady's cooking skills, Coral's ever-growing family of cats, the late Hannibal Prescott's business acumen and the local news of the Lehigh Valley. It was only after the apple crisp and ice cream were gone and Mr. Lassiter rose to leave that Coral mentioned her will.
"I trust you'll see to my request."
"I wish you'd reconsider," he said.
"I've made up my mind, Mr. Lassiter," Coral declared firmly. "I value your friendship and legal advice, but it's my money. I wish you wouldn't keep trying to tell me what to do with it."
"All right, Coral," Mr. Lassiter sighed. "I'll change your will, just as you ask."
Josie, who had been standing unobserved in the shadows, shamelessly eavesdropping, beamed from ear to ear. Despite the lawyer's meddling, she would one day soon be a very rich woman.
* * *
Months passed. Three more litters of kittens were born, and much to Josie's relief, one cat went on to that great litter box in the sky.
Coral was inconsolable.
"Oh, my poor, poor Winston."
"Shhhh," Mrs. Grady said, comforting her employer. "Winston had a long life. He had seventeen years of good health and happiness—all thanks to you."
Coral wiped her tears with a monogrammed lace handkerchief.
"I know, but I feel so bad. It's like losing one of my family."
The gardener was called to dig a hole in the backyard, a final resting place near Coral's rose bushes. As Winston was placed in the ground, Josie considered what she would do once the old woman died and she inherited the family fortune. With millions at her disposal, she certainly wouldn't remain in Pennsylvania. Maybe she'd return to New York or, better yet, move to Los Angeles, where the climate was more agreeable. She couldn't wait to leave the cat-infested house, to get dressed and not worry about whether her clothes were covered with cat hair.
But for Josie to get her hands on all that money, her great-aunt had to die first. Although she was in her nineties, Coral Prescott was in reasonably good health. She might live another five years or more. Josie didn't think she could wait that long.
Thankfully, fate was on her side. A month after Winston entered the pearly gates of Kitty Heaven, Coral Marie Prescott died peacefully in her sleep.
Mrs. Grady exhibited the same dispassionate attitude she'd shown in the face of the cat's death.
"She had a good, long life."
Josie didn't bother putting on a show of false grief in front of the housekeeper. The old woman was dead; Mrs. Grady's services would not be required much longer.
"Would you like me to phone Mr. Lassiter?" the housekeeper asked.
"Yes, and while you're at it, you can phone a nearby funeral home and make the necessary arrangements. Also, call the ASPCA or the Humane Society to come and get all these cats."
"I wouldn't do that just yet, miss."
"Oh? And why not?"
"Because I'm fairly certain Miss Prescott made arrangements for them in her will."
Josie sighed. Her aunt probably left the cats in the care of a no-kill animal shelter.
"I suppose you're right. The cats can stay here until the will is read."
The funeral was well-attended. Not only was the old woman respected for her family's name and wealth, but she was also admired for her kindness to animals. Many of the mourners who gathered at the Prescott family plot in St. Michael's Cemetery had tears in their eyes—not to mention pet hairs of various colors on their clothing.
After the service, Mr. Lassiter offered Josie his condolences.
"Whenever you're feeling up to it," he added, "you can call me at my office concerning your great-aunt's estate."
"Thank you. I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible. When do you think you'll have the time to read the will?"
"Is tomorrow afternoon too soon?"
"Tomorrow is fine."
* * *
Dressed in a chic black suit, purchased specially for the occasion, Josie sat in Mr. Lassiter's office for the reading of her great-aunt's will. She listened with bated breath as the lawyer enumerated a list of generous bequests to people who had served Coral Prescott faithfully over the years as well as to several animal-related charities.
Finally, Mr. Lassiter cleared his throat and looked up at Josie.
"And to my great-niece, Josephine Denise Braden," he read, "I leave the sum of fifty thousand dollars."
Josie was stunned. A mere fifty thousand dollars? But her great-aunt was worth millions.
"The balance of my estate," the lawyer concluded in a business-like tone, "including my home, all cash, investments and properties, both real and personal, I bequeath to my beloved cats."
"Her cats?" Josie cried, her voice involuntarily rising in indignation.
"Yes. Your great-aunt left the bulk of her fortune to her cats."
"How much?"
"Roughly forty million dollars."
Josie fell back into the chair as though the news had knocked the air out of her.
"There must be a way you can fight this. Isn't there some stipulation about people being of sound mind?"
"I assure you your great-aunt was in full control of her faculties right up until the very end."
"You call leaving forty million dollars to a bunch of cats sane behavior?"
"It was Miss Prescott's money to do with as she pleased. She wanted to be sure her cats—and any others that might come along—were well cared for after her death."
"And who is going to take care of all those animals?"
"Mrs. Grady, the housekeeper, who is to remain in the house for the rest of her life."
"Naturally!" Josie's eyes narrowed. "The loyal Mrs. Grady. I should have known."
* * *
When Josie returned to her great-aunt's house, she was livid. All the hours of watching old movies and playing mahjong had been for nothing. Coral Prescott never had any intentions of leaving her fortune to her great-niece.
"How did everything go with Mr. Lassiter?" the housekeeper asked.
"You mean you don't know?" Josie snapped.
"How would I know what was in Miss Prescott's will? Such matters were kept between her and her attorney."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that my aunt left most of her money to her cats!"
"That sounds like just the sort of thing she would do. She was always thinking of her animals."
"She left you in charge of caring for them and this house."
"What a dear, sweet thing she was to remember me like that."
"And I suppose the prospect of spending the rest of your life changing litter boxes doesn't bother you."
"Not at all. Like your great-aunt, I love cats."
"And I'm sure you let her know that every chance you got."
Mrs. Grady turned to glare at the younger woman.
"I wasn't the one trying to butter Miss Prescott up in hopes that she'd leave me her money."
"No. You didn't have to, did you? You knew just how to get to her: through those damned cats!"
* * *
Josie sat on the bed, staring at the cashier's check for fifty thousand dollars. It was more money than she'd ever had in her life, but it brought her no joy.
"Why did she leave me so little? It's an insult, a slap in the face."
Nevertheless, she folded the check in half and tucked it inside her bra for safekeeping. Then she took her luggage down from the closet shelf and began packing.
"I don't know where I'm going to go. I can't buy a house with fifty thousand dollars, not even a fixer-upper. I'll have to stay at a motel until I can find an inexpensive apartment."
Josie was furious. It wasn't fair that she had to look for a job and an apartment while those cats lived like royalty.
In addition to spouting many other old adages, her mother had often told Josie, "Don't get mad; get even."
Good advice, Mom, she thought and smiled at the prospect of sending fifty-four cats to join Winston in eternal slumber.
* * *
Josie waited until Mrs. Grady left the house to do her weekly grocery shopping. Then she let herself in the front door and walked into the kitchen. She took four dozen cans of Bumble Bee out of the pantry and doctored them with an entire bottle of rat poison.
"Here, Ivy, Misty, Oscar. Time to eat. Muffin. Peanut. Scooter. Come and get it."
She placed the forty-eight cans on the floor and waited for the cats to consume the tainted tuna. But not one of the animals drew near to the poisoned food.
"Come on and eat," Josie called again.
One of the cats walked toward the cans, sniffed the food and walked away.
"Well, if you won't take the poison, I'll have to try something else."
Josie went to the living room fireplace and picked up the brass poker. She couldn't eliminate all fifty-four cats in this manner, but she would get as many as she could.
Blossom, a Siamese who was expecting a litter of kittens, chose that moment to walk into the room.
"Here, kitty," Josie coaxed, raising the poker high above her head. "Here, kitty, kitty."
Suddenly the poker was violently wrested from her grasp.
"What the ...?" she uttered.
She turned to see Mrs. Grady standing menacingly behind her.
"What are you doing here?" Josie asked. "I saw you leave to go shopping."
"I'm here and everywhere I am needed."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Josie watched, speechless, as Mrs. Grady's features began to change. The plump housekeeper disappeared, and in her place stood a creature with the head of a cat and the body of a shapely woman, wearing an ancient Egyptian robe.
"Who are you?" Josie cried with terror.
The cat-woman imperiously declared, "I am Bast, daughter of Ra. I am the patron goddess of cats. You were going to kill Coral Prescott's beloved pets. I can't allow you to commit such a heinous act."
As the goddess spoke, cats came from all over the house to gather around her. Josie took two steps backward, wanting to bolt for the front door, but Bast, full of wrath, cornered her.
"Where do you think you're going?" the goddess's voice thundered.
"I'm leaving now. The cats will be safe. I won't try to harm them again. I promise."
"You have no regard for life. You are cruel, vicious and calculating. The world would be a far better place without you."
"You can't kill me," Josie tearfully protested.
"As a human, you behaved like a rat. Perhaps as a rat, you'll learn to be more human."
A wave of dizziness came over Josie. She lost her balance and fell, upsetting the table that held Coral's mahjong set and sending the tiles clattering to the floor. The room and its furnishing seemed to grow and loom menacingly above her. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a pathetic squeak came out.
One of the cats noticed the rodent sitting helplessly on the floor amidst the scattered mahjong tiles. It crouched down and inched toward its trembling prey. Josie panicked and darted under the couch. Other cats joined in the pursuit, and several paws stretched beneath the upholstery to torment her. One cat, Shakespeare, managed to catch Josie's tail in his sharp claws.
"Squeak!" the mouse cried in pain and burrowed further in the corner.
"No, children," Bast cautioned, once again in the guise of the unassuming Mrs. Grady. "Leave Miss Braden alone for now. Let her know what it is like to be a helpless animal and to fear for her life. It'll be a lesson she won't soon forget."
The cats obediently followed Mrs. Grady into the kitchen where she put out two dozen large saucers of warm milk.
Josie Braden remained beneath the living room sofa. Shivering with terror, she damned Lars Lindstrom for returning to his wife, cursed Great-aunt Coral for not having been more generous to her only living relative and berated herself for ever coming to the cat-infested Victorian house in Bethlehem.
Thank you for the flowers, Salem, but I'm not leaving you what remains of my supply of Godiva chocolates when I die.
