The howling winter wind rattled the brittle window frames of the attic apartment so loudly in their withered sills that it caused Vernelle to jolt awake from her coma-like slumber. Sitting up with an already thick hangover, she gazed toward the foot of the futon, her mind slowly thawing as she watched the tortoiseshell-colored kittens begin to stir.
She threw off the heavy blankets, stood, and staggered to her pea-green recliner, over the back of which last night’s jeans held a pack of cigarettes.
“I’ve got to stop, '' she said between her pressed lips, striking a match.
The trail of cigarette and sulfur smoke followed her from the bedroom into the cramped, awkwardly constructed living room where, after sidestepping her chaise lounge, she flicked the lock and opened the fire escape window. Immediately, the freezing air bit at her bare legs, causing her muscles to tense instinctively while goosebumps shot across her skin.
“Sheezus” she said with a clenched jaw, resenting the winter season itself. She wanted to have a conversation with it. Reason with it. Lately, it seemed that the sky had decided to be permanently grey. In the deep winter months, it was rare to be able to tell what time it was with any real sense of accuracy. Not that Vern cared to keep time with a clock anyhow, preferring the tender paw of a kitten, a rattle of a window, or her own natural inclination to wake her up in the morning.
Bracing herself against the draft of cold air, she took another hit. Aoife, the kitten who, it seemed so far, would be responding audibly to almost everything, announced himself in the bedroom. Then, he announced that he was headed into the middle room, and finally that he had arrived at the door frame that separated the two rooms.
The typically spry and mischievous kitten raised his tiny pink nose into the stream of cold air pouring in, meowing with an inquisitive inflection.
“Why yes, Aoife. It is colder than a witch’s tit!” she said, exhaling smoke through her nose, watching as her vocal pet jumped onto the chaise.
As Aoife meowed affirmatively, his expression quickly shifted from lazy to laser focus while his ears turned around and back. Vern’s foggy mind cleared for a moment, quickly realizing that, by smelling the fresh air, Aoife had determined to be part of that frozen world outside. After lowering himself into a hunting stance at the foot of the chaise, he prepared to leap.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said affectionately while stepping forward to scoop the kitten up. But her blurry mind, not accounting for the sharp edge of the dormer, led her to smack her forehead so smartingly that she reeled back and off-balance. Through tunnel vision and stars, she saw that she was knocked to the ground, lying on her back between the chair and the window.
“Wait!” she heard herself say, watching Aoife, unfazed and determined, leap from the chaise to the windowsill. She sat up dizzy while he quickly ascended the rail and hopped up to the gutter of the roof, missing with his back legs. Vern gasped in horror, leaning out to catch him if he fell. After a brief scrambling, he had disappeared.
The faint smell of burning carpet crept into her nose, causing panic greater than her pain. She ran to the kitchen, found and poured a dirty mug full of water. Dashing to douse the quarter-sized ember that her cigarette had made on the rug, she noticed that Zenna, the quiet observer, had entered the room and was sitting calmly, grooming herself while she worked.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked.
Zenna raised her chin inquisitively to observe the frazzled human, then returned to licking her paw, passing it over and between her ears.
Stepping out onto the iron plateau, the winter air freezing her lungs, she clenched her chattering jaw and steadied herself. Past the gutter, halfway up to the ridge, she saw that Aoife was trying and failing to negotiate the icy asphalt shingles— clinging where he could find a grip.
Vern yelled out to Aoife, who heard her plea through the harsh wind but responded in a defiant, determined tone. As Vern stood helpless, watching while her kitten gripped and slipped, a strong wind pushed him upside down, popping what little grip his front claws had. Tumbling in cartwheels, he howled out helplessly until finally landing with a plunk into the gutter.
“Gotcha!” She said as she grabbed the scruff of his neck.
Carefully, Vern sidled half-naked, frozen, battered and hungover back into the stale smoke-filled room with a fist full of kitty, dropping it onto the center of the living room floor. After securing the latch, she stood for a moment, looking over the roof of her next-door neighbor to the row of sturdy houses across the street. Over their roofs, further back, the horizon offered the faintest glimmer of golden sun.
She turned and walked to her jeans, pulled out the pack of cigarettes, and crumpled it in her fist. When she missed the trash, Aoife pounced on the cellophane-wrapped ball, then flicked it between his paws as if it were a pest.