The Cat with the Key
By J. L. Thurston
Note from the author: I would absolutely love to claim this entire story as my creation. I do love this tale tremendously. But I was inspired to write this after reading a writing prompt on Pintrest that actually originated from a Tumblr post that was highlighted on Ladnow.com. The exact link actually does not exist, as it is quite old. I wrote this story because it is an idea that deserves to be written.
IT WAS A RAINY DAY IN BARTONSHIRE, as were most days, when Jane Alaric declared her wish to marry. Such a thing would not be so extraordinary, save for the fact that Jane was nearly thirty and was still considered the most beautiful woman any man had ever seen. She had been propositioned by dukes and lords, haughty heirs and desperate commoners alike. In Jane’s opinion, her beauty was the least interesting thing in her life, but it seemed to be all anyone cared for.
Her bloodline was a mystery, and rumors were abounding. Some said her father was the king’s sorcerer and he had purchased Jane from the Fae in exchange for his soul. Others say Jane had no family. She had simply grown from the ground in the form of a flower. Under the light of a full moon, an angel plucked the flower and it became a woman.
In the city of Allensville, they feared her. She was chased away and accused of witchcraft. She was absolved by the Cardinal of Elderbast. In all places, women seethed behind her back and glared at their husbands whenever Jane was near. It had been ten years since she had quietly settled in the village of Bartonshire. She found solace in the sleepy seaside town where there were fewer men to chase her.
Yes, beauty was something Jane had little time or patience for. It had cost much. But the life of a shut-in was not a joyful one. Her loneliness was so deep, and so bitter, and so profound that the previous summer no flowers grew in any of her gardens. Mother nature herself was demanding she find a companion.
It was a worrisome thought. Every man she’d ever met only wanted her for her beauty, and no man was worthy to learn her many secrets. It would be difficult to find a man who would protect them.
So it was on a rainy, cold, blustering day in March, that Jane announced that she would take her door key and tie it around the neck of a cat. The man who could get the key and unlock her front door would be the man she would marry.
The heavens opened, and all of Bartonshire was beneath a downpour for two solid days. No cat was seen. The third morning arrived with clear skies and Marcus the butcher spotted a glossy black cat bearing a gold key on a chain. It was just before dawn, and the cat disappeared down an alley before he could get a closer look. That night, Adam Hoss caught sight of the feline as he docked his fishing boat.
It was the fourth day that the chase began in earnest.
Stephen Warfer gathered five of his closest drinking buddies and they scoured the streets for hours. Twice they spotted the cat. The first time, the beast was sunbathing on the roof of the tannery, and by the time Stephen and his friends drew near it was long gone. The second sighting was on the wide cobblestones of Arbor Street. The gang of men drew exceedingly close as the cat stared with wise green eyes. Then, in a flash, the cat darted off, sending the men stumbling after it.
Stephen Warfer’s group was not the only band of men to rally together. And the women of Bartonshire had their fun, as well. Lucy Hoss set fox traps all over her property in the hopes of tossing the captured cat into the sea. Several other women spent the next few days tying false keys around any feline they could get their hands on. The fifth day found Bartonshire littered with key-toting kitties. The trick worked to make fools of dozens of men, as each cat was caught and each key was forced upon Jane’s front door.
Twelve years ago, Rufus had been thrown from his father’s horse, shattering his leg. The bones grew back as knotted as an oak branch.
Andrew Barge refused to chase the cat. Instead he belted serenades outside Jane’s darkened kitchen window, to the dismay of his young fiancé. Simon Dore spent every last penny he had on roses that slowly died on Jane’s steps. Efforts stooped low as Bart Thomas attempted to bribe the locksmith into opening Jane’s door. When the locksmith refused, he sat at her door for hours with his own ill-fashioned pick.
All the while, through the chasing, hollering, and scheming, as the men taunted each other’s efforts in the taverns and awoke with newfound fervor, there was one man who quietly laughed at them from the comfort of his home.
The afternoon of that legendary first day, mere hours after Jane announced her desire to marry, Rufus the painter and potter was sipping tea by his window when he spotted glittering eyes through a heavy curtain of rain. The black cat with the gold key had taken shelter under an overhanging eave of his shed. He chuckled to himself, as he thought of the game Jane had put upon the town and continued to sip his tea.
Twelve years ago, Rufus had been thrown from his father’s horse, shattering his leg. The bones grew back as knotted as an oak branch. Thus, he was not a man to go chasing after four legged critters. But as the night grew chill, and the rain refused to let up, Rufus could not help but feel sorry for the cat who had taken shelter on his property.
Before bed, he warmed a saucer of milk and limped to his front door. Clicking his tongue at the cat, he set the saucer down on his porch and went back inside. He was not surprised to find it empty the next day. Nor was he surprised to find glittering eyes looking at him in the darkness that following night. Evenings passed this way. One dry night, he sat on his porch as the cat lapped up the milk and chewed on the fish bones.
“I have to admit,” Rufus said, listening to the purr of the cat. “I felt sorry for you that first night. With every hungry man chasing you down. But I’ve heard them talk. You have them all spinning on their heads, don’t you, kitty?”
The cat blinked up at him placidly. Rufus laughed.
“Oh, yes. You aren’t one to be captured. Not in a million years.”
After a moment, the cat slinked forward and leapt into Rufus’ lap. In a soft ball of purrs, the cat settled in. Automatically, Rufus stroked her sleek black fur. The key made soft tones against the chain around her neck. He smiled, knowing that any man in town would give anything to be in his shoes at that moment. An absolute first.
Rufus stroked her, and he eyed the key. He could quite easily remove it and win the game he hadn’t been playing. According to Jane, he’d be able to marry her. But the poor woman wouldn’t want a man such as him. Broken, teetering on the brink of poverty. He only had a home because his parents left it to him. He only had coin because his hands picked up where his legs failed him.
Still…
Rufus removed the chain from the cat’s neck. The cat leapt from his lap. Just as her paws touched the wood planks of the porch, she was no longer a cat. Jane stood before him, as naked as the moon, grinning from ear to ear.
Gasping, spluttering, heart hammering, Rufus was led inside his own home so that Jane could share with him the first of her many secrets.
They were wed on a flowering spring day in April. They had three children who grew up beautiful and strong. Jane was lovely until the day she died, but she was so much more than that. She gave her secrets to her children, and her legacy continues in her bloodline. But, more importantly, she did not die lonely and bitter. She died with a full heart, asleep in the arms of her lover, who died that same night, holding in his arms the embodiment of his happiness.
