Freedom the Cat
Story by Allison Quaid. Illustrations by Louise van Wyck.
A woman named Luanne lived in a log cabin with red dahlias planted out front. The home was encircled by tall pine trees. Flocks of ravens nested within the trees. Luanne was bone-thin and had wispy blonde hair.
One day in her kitchen, as she rolled pie dough, flour speckled across the counter, she heard a raven caw in the distance. Its caws grew louder. As she went to lay a dough lattice on a meat pie, the raven’s wing hit her window. Startled, the lattice slid from her hands onto the floor. The raven flew up to the gutter. As its claws grasped the metal gutter, it shrieked, “Beware. Take cover while you can!”
Luanne cringed and felt the cabin groan. It seemed to contract on all sides and grow smaller. She hunched over so as not to hit her head on the kitchen ceiling. The raven flew away.
All afternoon, Luanne sat on the wooden stool in the kitchen, staring at the doorknob, rolling pin at the ready. The pie remained uncooked and spoiled.
The sun lowered below the dark clouds, and Luanne threw the pie into a garbage bin full of uneaten pies. She got out a tiny straw broom from the closet and began her nightly routine of dusting every corner.
The light of the full moon shone through the kitchen window. Luanne moved to the window to see the backyard. A large orange cat dozed peacefully on the picnic bench. That was her grandmother’s favorite place to sit.
Curious, she stepped outside. She scanned the trees for eyes and listened for ravens. Then she sat down next to the cat. Without hesitation, the apricot-colored cat crawled into her bony arms and leaned against her. It warmed her thin chest. She stroked it. It opened its eyes, blue and still as a pond. Everything became quiet. For the first time in a long time, she lowered her solider-tight shoulders. Her breathing slowed.
She ran her fingers over its soft fur and around its plump body. She thought the cat might be hungry. She fetched a bowl of milk. It lapped up every drop before returning to her lap.
“Are you lost?” she asked the cat.
“Not at all,” said the cat, “My name is Freedom. I have come because your heart is great. But your fear is greater.”
Luanne frowned, “I have reason to be scared. I live in a dangerous place.”
The cat purred, “Fear won’t protect you; it will only weaken you.”
“You’re wrong,” she answered, “fear has kept me safe.”
She placed the cat back on the bench and returned to her home. She locked the door and fell asleep.
When Luanne woke the next day, she went in search of cherries to make a new pie. She pondered over the cat’s strange words. I could use some freedom, she thought as she strode back up the path to the house. Her basket was brimming with ripe, red fruits. She saw Freedom sprawled on its back, paws in the air, playing with an imaginary fly.
Luanne smiled and put the basket down. Freedom came toward her and pushed its head against her arm. While she stroked his neck, she hummed a lullaby; the one her grandmother had taught her about three mice who held hands and danced around the maypole. Her grandmother had also taught her how to make pies. The trees swayed in the light wind, singing their own melodious song.
Freedom melted into Luanne’s touch. She heard the planks of the house make a creaking noise. The cabin expanded ever so slightly upward as if alive. Luanne felt they were growing roots.
She shook her head. “This world is a mysterious place,” she whispered to Freedom, “and the good news is that we will have cherry pie today.”
Picking up the basket of sweet fruit, she went into the house and got out the flour, sugar and salt, and cut a thick slab of butter into the frying pan.
A large black cloud moved towards the house, blocking the sunlight from the window. “I need to hide,” she thought. Scores of ravens dived down from the trees toward her cabin, screeching, “Beware, take cover!” over and over again. She stuck her fingers in her ears to block their hideous voices.
She looked out the window. Freedom yawned.
Luanne shouted, “Quick – cat, hide under the house. You can’t stay there – you’ll be hurt!”
Freedom licked its paws and paid no attention to her or the birds. The cat closed its eyes and yawned, preparing for the most peaceful sleep of its nine lives.
Luanne, however, was shaking with fright.
“I better save myself,” she thought as she ran into the broom closet. As she pressed herself into the small space, she wondered, Why isn’t Freedom afraid?
Each raucous cry of the birds shrank the house further. Until the roof seemed to close down so far that she was forced to lay on the cold floor of the closet to keep from bumping her head against the ceiling.
She closed her eyes. The cabin had once been grand and filled with light. She once had been plump and joyful. But after her husband and son had died in a war, the house had shrunk. With each visit of the ominous birds she grew thinner, and the house smaller.
As day bled into night, Luanne imagined dying a horrible death alone. The house groaned and shrunk even more. She stayed with her face pinned against the cold tile floor. As trapped as she felt, she also felt safe. “Maybe because I’m so small, no one will ever find me,” she thought. As she heard noises outside, she panicked she was going to be attacked and blacked-out.
Luanne had a dream. She was a child again. Skipping along a forest path, she held her grandmother’s hand. A short distance down the path, an enormous monster jumped out the bushes. It ripped the branches from a cherry tree. It threw them into its mouth and gobbled them up. Then the monster threw handfuls of dirt into its mouth. It pulled whatever green roots it could get its hands on and threw that into its mouth. Luanne screamed. She pulled her grandmother’s arm away. Her grandmother stood firm. Then, the grandmother took a step towards the monster. The monster was only a few feet away, the heat of his breathe stifling. She pleaded with her grandmother to run. Her grandmother took another step towards the monster. With each step, the monster got smaller and smaller. Luanne and her grandmother grew bigger and bigger. The old woman squeezed her hand, “You’re safe now.”
In the morning Luanne was awakened by the sound of Freedom meowing. The wooden ceiling of the broom closet was only inches above her nose. She closed her eyes and imagined her grandmother at her side. “I am safe now,” she said to herself. When she opened her eyes, the ceiling had lifted. She sat up.
She walked outside. Freedom was licking his paws on the picnic bench. The cat opened its blue eyes and gazed into hers.
A raven dived down from the treetop. For the first time Luanne did not shake in fright. Instead, she kept her eyes on Freedom.
The raven shrieked louder. But to Luanne’s ear, its voice had softened. She ignored it and focused on Freedom. Fifty more ravens appeared. She continued to stroke the cat. She noticed Freedom had the same blue eyes as her grandmother.
Every day for the next month, the same thing happened. While Freedom and Luanne sat at the picnic bench, the ravens would fly around their feet, never harming her, only screeching. One afternoon, only one appeared.
The raven flew onto the picnic beach and said, “Beware. Take cover where you can!”
“I am safe here,” whispered Luanne, knowing in her heart it was true. She continued to stroke the cat. She repeated her sentence, her voice growing stronger, until she said out loud, “I am safe here, I am safe here.”
As Luanne’s words grew more confident, a flash of blue lightning struck the bird. Instantly, it turned it into a clay statue. Luanne picked up the clay bird and planted it in the garden among the red dahlias. She gave it back to the earth, thanking it for its service. Brushing soil from her fingers, she looked at the house. It seemed to have grown back to its grand size.
She went inside, throwing all the doors and windows open. She cut a piece of the cherry pie that was cooling on the windowsill and called to Freedom.
The cat strutted inside, and they shared a a piece of pie.