The
Messenger

A short story in verse
by Laura Stamps

Here in the Southeast, once
again, she enters the rainy
season, a time when the sky
remains bright and cornflower
blue, yet November leaves
rain from the trees in fiery
shades and hues. That
evening the temperature dips
below freezing, the trees
slowly unraveling, the night
cloaked in a shawl of silence,
too cold for the strumming
of crickets and tree frogs.

The next morning Savannah
Monroe opens the front door to
dash out on the porch, grab the
newspaper, and duck back into
the house before the brisk air
saturates her robe. Instead she
finds a calico kitten rolling with
the paper, tackling it as if it were
a football, gnawing the rubber
band. "Hi, Sweetie," Savannah
says, slowly kneeling, forgetting
the icy breeze. "Who do you
belong to?" The kitten jumps
to its feet, meows loudly,
and runs to Savannah, flopping
across her slippers. As she
strokes its matted fur, she
estimates the kitten to be six
weeks old, probably part of
a feral colony living in the over-
grown lot down the street. "I'll
bet you're hungry," she says,
feeling the kitten's ribs poking
through its caramel and ivory
coat. Suddenly a low growl
escalates behind Savannah as
Thoth, her Maine coon, discovers
the reason for the open door
and chilly breeze swimming
throughout the living room.
Before she can stop him, Thoth
lurches for the kitten, which
scurries like a white mouse
beneath Savannah's robe and
into the house. Hearing the
howling, Horus bounds down
the stairs and helps Thoth
corner the hissing kitten under
the kitchen table. Savannah
slams the door and rushes over.
"Move back, boys," she says to
Thoth and Horus, gently pulling
the cats aside so she might
crawl under the table to rescue
the shivering kitten. "Let's
clean you up a bit," she says
to the kitten once it nestles
in her arms. She walks to the
sink and turns on the faucet.
Warm water streams over
the kitten cupped in her hand
like a grapefruit. Its trembling
begins to subside as Savannah
gently lathers an organic flea
shampoo around its eyes and
ears, working down to its shoe-
string tail. Only six inches in
length, the kitten stands on
the counter nibbling a piece
of kibble while Savannah fluffs
its wet fur with a dishtowel.
Lifting its tail, she determines
the kitten to be male. Turning
him around, she finds no sign
of fleas, but one eye winks
red and crusty. Savannah
mixes a lukewarm solution of
goldenseal tea and washes both
eyes, a trick she learned from
her best friend, Ravena Riley,
a veteran of feral cat rescue.
"When I get a chance I'll call
Ravena," she muses. "Maybe
she can find a home for you."

She carries the kitten to the bath-
room with a bowl of cat milk,
not trusting him alone in the
house with Horus and Thoth
while she showers and dresses
for work. Afterwards, the kitten
follows Savannah to her office,
where he immediately dives into
the open pocket of an unfinished
handbag. "Oh, no you don't!"
she exclaims, laughing, as she
picks up an empty ribbon spool
to distract him. Savannah's
Magickal Handbags specializes
in expensive, magickally charmed,
handmade purses. She started
the company ten years ago
by accident, when she couldn't
find an attractive yet functional
handbag for her job as the
personal assistant to a fashion
designer in Atlanta. Frustrated,
she created her own, which
caused an uproar the first
day she brought it to work and
generated several orders from
coworkers and friends. Within
a year she'd fattened her savings
account and gathered a long list
of retail and wholesale handbag
clients. She quit her job and
moved to the mountains of
eastern North Carolina, a part
of the country she'd always
longed to explore. For the first
time Savannah felt as though
she were living her dream.
Sales increased every year along
with the prices of her handbags.
And then she met Greer at
a tradeshow, the publicist
for a national chain of designer
boutiques. Their marriage only
lasted three years, long enough
for Savannah to realize the
quiet man, who made her laugh
with his offbeat humor, had
always been a very depressed,
angry person. She left when
she finally understood his hidden
chameleon nature, that his irate
moods were no fault of hers,
no matter how verbally abusive
Greer became, no matter how
often he accused her. Now she's
thirty-five, divorced, and back
in South Carolina, the place
where she met Ravena for the
first time. She can still remember
when her handbags sold at craft
fairs throughout the Southeast
rather than in upscale boutiques,
department stores, and gift
shops as they do now. Ravena's
booth had been next to hers at
a craft show nine years ago in
Columbia, and Savannah had
marveled at Ravena's sales savvy.
That had been one of Savannah's
first craft fairs, and she felt as
green as the grass beneath her
booth. Ravena had offered lots
of tips to increase sales, which
worked and made the show
a profitable one for Savannah.
They also discovered they were
both Wiccans, sisters in the
Craft, and have remained best
friends ever since. In fact
Ravena had been the one who
suggested Savannah move to
South Carolina after her divorce,
a chance to rebuild her life on
friendly ground. And last month
Savannah arrived with Horus
and Thoth, rented a house in
Irmo, only a mile down the road
from Ravena, and began mending
her shaken self-esteem, trying
to climb out of the emotional
hole scratched into her psyche
by an abusive marriage. "So
the last thing I need is another
man in my life," she whispers,
laying aside her work long enough
to find the kitten sleeping peace-
fully in a pile of fabric scraps.
A smile lights Savannah's face,
and she quietly laughs, saying,
"Even if he is a cutie like you."

But she can't ignore the feeling
that this kitten entered her life
for a reason. "That's silly,"
she mutters. Too distracted to
continue stitching a row of antique
lace on a new handbag, she walks
into the living room to her altar.
Horus and Thoth sit by the sliding
glass door, twittering at leaves
raining from oak and elm trees,
their tails waggling as if each one
were a sparrow or jay they might
chase. Savannah opens the
magickal box where her Wiccan
tarot deck rests next to a statue
of her Patron Goddess, Bast,
the Egyptian Cat Goddess, her
serene feline face watching and
waiting. She returns to her office
and places the deck on the work-
table. But before she can cast
a sacred circle to begin a reading,
the doorbell rings. There she
finds Ravena standing on the
front porch, the warming breeze
fanning her long blonde hair into
a flaxen cloak, three tiny braids
threaded throughout, each laced
with ribbons and rune charms,
a basket of cat toys looped over
her arm. "They predict the high
today will be eighty," Ravena
says, shaking her head. "Must
be South Carolina!" She steps
through the door, handing the
basket to Savannah. "These
are for your new kitten," Ravena
says, winking. "How did you
know?" Savannah gasps. "I'm
a Witch, remember?" Ravena
replies, laughing. "Seriously,
I saw it in the tarot cards this
morning." At that moment the
kitten wheels out of Savannah's
office, dancing like a Samhain
cat, and darts under the sofa.
"And I can see the cards were
right as usual," Ravena says,
plopping down on an overstuffed
chair, while Savannah deposits
the basket on the coffee table
and extracts the kitten from
beneath the sofa. "Anyway,
I'm glad you're here, since I
can't possibly keep this kitten,"
Savannah says, setting him
next to the basket, which he
plunges into, wrestling with a
catnip mouse. "I was hoping
you could find a home for him,"
she continues. Ravena ignores
Savannah's comment and lifts
the kitten, laying him in her lap,
where he begins to purr loudly.
"What do Thoth and Horus think
of this little fellow?" Ravena
asks. Savannah shrugs and
stretches out on the sofa.
"You know cats," she replies.
"They're never happy about a
newcomer." Ravena scratches
the kitten's chin, and he closes
his eyes in ecstasy, his snowy
throat rumbling. "You should
name him Re, after the Egyptian
Sun God," Ravena muses, "for
his ivory fur and the Light he
brings into this house." Savannah
groans. "The last thing I need
is a new man in my life," she
replies. "You know that better
than anyone." Ravena grins,
her jade eyes twinkling. "Yes,"
she says, "but we all need
Messengers of Light from
the Goddess and the Fey."
Savannah moans and waves
her hands in surrender. "Okay,
I give up," she concedes. "What
did the cards say?" Ravena lifts
the kitten and kisses his rosy
nose. "Do not turn away this
Messenger of Light," Ravena
whispers. "He could be a faery
of good fortune in disguise."

Copyright 2007 by Laura Stamps