The Teacher

by Colin Palmer 

'Twas not the night before Christmas, but they would come to wish it was.

It was the week before Halloween, and what I had was three boys hell bent on trouble. When are three boys together ever any different? 

This was trouble of another kind though, the sort of trouble nobody wanted or would have wished upon a perfect stranger, let alone their most evil enemy. This, was the worst kind of trouble, way beyond their young, teenage imaginations, and mayhaps it came from that before unknown evil enemy. None of them would ever find out the source, well not before it was too late anyway. Perhaps one or two, or all, would live on to share the lesson, a painful lesson born of experience and life. And death.

My name? Well, I'm Teacher. And The Teacher. Why the hell would a family call their cat Teacher? Doesn't matter much. I only answer when there's food involved as the end reward anyway. What kind of teacher am I, you ask? Dear reader, the devilish kind, of course.

Halloween. Almost, as I said. And I'm a cat, told you that already too. A black cat. Old and wise enough to know what was in store for me over the coming days, as if the daily reminders from the older boy upstairs weren't enough. 

You ever seen a Maine Coon cat? A black Maine Coon? We're pretty rare in that colour, and as a breed, very casual and laid back too. Some would even call us lazy. We ain't. You're going to have to trust me on that. What we are is smart. Very, very smart. And calculating. You won't have to trust me on that one because you'll get to witness it yourself.

Do you see me going up and rubbing against the legs of that boy I mentioned?  'Course not. No way. It'd be a waste of time, and the best I can hope for is to not be kicked out of the way. 

The girl, yeah, and her mom and dad too. They're fine. Great really, especially the girl because she always gives me food. Always. I let her pat me too. Nobody else. Just her, but never for long because I don't want her to ever believe I actually like physical contact, because I don't. Most Maine Coons don't.

Oh, probably should tell you we're the largest breed of domestic cat in the world. I'm guessin' some of you didn't know that. Me, I'm bigger than most. And black, so I look the closest thing to a real panther that you're ever gonna see. Especially at night.

It used to give me a thrill to jump around out front of the house at night when someone was walking past, and sometimes I'd just saunter, you know, all casual like. It was a blast, but since that old man from up the street nearly blew his ticker, they've taken to locking me inside when darkness comes. Spoilsports!

Halloween though, that's different. Halloween and I have a part to play together. You could say I was made for Halloween being big and black.  

Last year was the indignity of walking along with the little girl, me by her side on a leash and collar. Disgusting, but the treats were fine, and I did manage to frighten a few Mammas when they first opened the door to our trick or treating.

That boy, though. I heard him and his two sick mates, and they had a different idea for me this year. An idea that I wasn't planning to have anything to do with as they would find out. 

My name is not The Teacher for nothing.

There's a disused warehouse just up the road, see. Not one of them huge buildings with the gigantic roller doors, flat glass and tin walls, but a single level brick structure that was much longer than a normal house. It started off as some engineering firm manufacturing aluminium products.  When that failed, a bunch of car repair experts took it over. You know, they could do everything, body, paint, mechanics, a real one-stop-shop. Trouble was, not enough people stopped, so the experts had to. That building has sat there ever since, partly hidden by the setback from the road and the chain mail fence overgrown with vines.

The boys, three friends, were going to go on a spree. First up, ambushing little kids on Halloween and stealing their candy. They'd knocked up costumes of a sort so that nobody'd recognize them. 

The icing on the cake? They convinced several of the school cheerleaders to meet up with them at the old warehouse where they'd share the treats, some purloined beer, a bonfire, and all the Halloween theme setting they could conjure up in their testosterone addled brains. Which just happened to include one very big, black, cat. Me.

I knew what was going to happen. They'd have me tied up with that horrible collar and leash on again, probably secured to some fence post while they danced around to that excuse for sound they call music all the while tossing down sugar loaded candy and guzzling beer until the liquid courage made them feel brave enough to try their luck with one of the girls. 

Those girls, sure, one or some or all of them would come pet me and "ooh, aah" all over me, completely unaware of what the boys had in store for them, and if they were aware, they deserved whatever titles got branded on their rumps. If they let it happen, then they deserved whatever they got.

What none of 'em took into account, though, was me. All their banter and childish sniggering, but they completely forget about me.

All that day I watched the boys in their whispered conversations, their continual shoulder bumping and high fives, their conspiratorial nods and winks whenever the lady or man was around, and I'm watching and wondering how they couldn't see how stupid they looked. Surely if a cat could see it, other people can too? 

The day dragged a little, and I slept knowing this was one of the rare occasions I'd see the outside at night. I missed the night, it's just not the same behind closed doors. You could say I was excited, about as excited as we Maine Coons get anyway, not that it was obvious to anybody.

The lady and the man took the little girl with them, she cloaked in some kind of witches outfit, her longing eyes as she looked at me almost made me go and hide. But I was The Teacher, I wasn't going anywhere. Suddenly the boy was there, as soon as the front door had closed, he grabbed me and ran out the back, across the yard, and over the back fence, only joggling me a little because I was that big, he had to use both arms to carry me. He'd scaled several more fences before deciding we were far enough away from the man and lady in the street not to be seen. 

We went through a yard. Tammy the tabby's it was—even in this lowlight it was easily recognizable—and out to the street, down two more houses, then into the dimly lit driveway of the old warehouse.

Sure enough, the two other boys were there, plying at constructing what looked like a pathetic attempt at a bonfire. They laughed when the saw the boy entering with me in his arms. They cheered, and I wondered if they hadn't started on the beer already. 

Then I saw that dreadful leash. Idiots had woven it through the wire and not even bothered looping it around a pole. The boy carried me straight there, sliding that god-awful collar over my head and ears and simply dumped me on the ground. 

It had begun.

I lay down and watched as the sun gradually slipped below the roofline of the warehouse and sliding me into a welcome darkness. Some garish decorations were plastered on the walls of the warehouse itself, and the incandescent ones amongst them began to throw off a muted glow, greens and pinks and one of bright blue, an octopus of all things. 

The boys threw on their costumes and whooped and hollered out through the gate, and I was left in peace. I glanced around the empty yard at amateur bonfire and immature decorations and purred a little.

I voiced a soft 'mowrr' and heard several replies, some from inside the warehouse, and some from surrounding yards. The troops were gathering. I lay my head down again, and waited.

Sleep had almost taken me when they came back, not that anybody could have slept through their raucous return. The gate flung back with a violent crash into the fence. Reverberations travelled along and down into my collar. I remained relaxed and feigned sleep as I listened to their self-congratulatory remarks. Their hunt had been a success. 

The sound of girl's voices also came to me. The arrival was complete. 

One boy immediately went to the boom box and slapped on some 'music' while another grabbed tepid beer from a carton. The boy had two girls, one under each arm as they laughed their way to the bonfire. He released his arms and flung off the silly costume he had on before theatrically drawing a cigarette lighter from his pocket. There was another three girls as well, so the five of them with the three guys let loose a hell of a cheer when the bonfire almost immediately sprang into flames. The dancing, the drinking, the cheering, the swearing, the laughter, all of it really began. 

I watched and waited.

One of the girls saw me first. Against the fence on the periphery of the firelight, I'd stood up and stretched, ready to start my own celebrations. She let out a scream so loud it was heard over the strains of the boombox and all other conversations floured in laughter. A boy was at her aid immediately, soothing her and pointing out that I was just a cat. Ha, me, just a cat. Idiot! I looked at him as he encouraged the girl to approach, then all the girls were "oohing" and "ahhing" and even "oh my godding".  The sneaky bugger encouraging the girl forward had his hand on her ass. Maybe that was exclamations had come and not from the sight of me. Suddenly, the boy was there, leaping in front and blocking their approach to me.

He waved his arms and warned them to get away. In his best spooky voice, he described me as the devil incarnate, even glanced at me as he said it, and I could see the alcohol gleam in his eyes. He told them I was not a real cat but the spawn of some monster and that the only way to free my soul was to do as they had always done.  To release me from my curse, I had to burn.

I'd known this was coming, of course, they had planned this out so meticulously except for one small, minor detail. They'd done it in front of me.  Brashness of youth or simple plain stupidity. It didn't matter. The lesson they would learn would be one learnt the hard way.

The boy whirled and leapt at me. I remained the cool, predictable cat, just like always. I let him grab me. Powered by youth, alcohol and adrenaline he yanked the leash loose from the fence and held me above his head. His arms trembled beneath my considerable bulk as I observed the others. My only real concern was the drunken fool might drop me.

Excitement reflected from the eyes of the boys, all feeling brilliant in their scheme, but only a couple of the girls shared any similar signs. Perhaps the three girls who now looked afraid hadn't drank as many beers. Maybe they simply had more commonsense. Whatever. They were backing away together now, arms linked, toward the gate. I hastened them by hissing in their direction. They turned and ran.

The boy's strength had waned and he dropped me back against his chest. I saw in his foggy gaze confusion at my hissing. That had not been predictable. He squinted and made up his mind to act, throwing me onto the fire and ceasing my curse forever, or so he thought.

The "meeowoorrrr" I let loose was straight from my substantial chest and I planted a no less substantial paw full of claws straight into his right eyeball. He screamed, a satisfying volume, and dropped me. His eye trailing from the socket amidst a shower of blood.  

I wandered off in the direction the three girls had disappeared. The screaming, unabated, was joined by the two girls and at least one of the other boys. I don't know if they were screaming at the vision of his bobbing eye or the silent invasion I had brought upon them. Either was equally satisfying. 

I reached the gate, and the damn leash got caught on a loose wire. I simply shrugged my head out through the collar and glanced back at the scene in the yard.

Cats. Everywhere. Slinking excitedly over and through the fence, out through broken windows, cracks and under the eaves of the warehouse. Hundreds and hundreds of cats. 

Five writhing, seething lumps on the ground were already covered in balls of fur, screeching, screaming, clawing and tearing. Tammy the tabby was there, her normally docile face set in a blood spattered cat scream as she dove in for more.  I couldn't tell any longer which sounds were coming from who, lumps or cats.

I walked back to the house, ignoring the surprised and sometimes stifled screams of late trick-or-treaters that caught sight of me wandering past.  Into the house I went, satisfied the pet flap was unlocked for a change, satisfied overall at a job well done. The little girl was near the kitchen table. I rubbed up against her legs. She reached down and scratched gently at one of my ears as I passed, then I jumped onto the seatback of the sofa to stretch out and began to wash off any errant blood spots on my camouflaging black fur. 

It was going to be a long, surprisingly delicious night.