Monday's Child: Prologue

The tendril of summer was quietly withering away and Amber sat listening to its quiet, dying sounds. She had opened the window only a little, so that it was just a sliver, allowing the night air to breathe softly in and out. She took a deep breath of muggy August air and thought about yellow. Though it seemed peculiar to her parents, Amber always thought of yellow when she thought of August. After asking around town and consulting the wisdom of fellow Sunday parishioners, her mother concluded that Amber had some form of synesthesia. Synesthesia. It was a long word that Amber hated the sound of. Synesthesia. It wouldn’t roll off her tongue the right way, so she spit it out and forgot it. Synesthesia. Amber had difficulty forgetting.
     The curtains danced like the ethereal skirt of some spirit as the wind brushed past them to fill the room. The Chartreux sprang haughtily onto the bed beside Amber, kneading his claws into the patchwork quilt. His fur, the color of the ocean under a storm of black clouds, had blended into the shadows easily and his presence surprised her. She reached out a hand to pat his head, but he snapped at her—a seemingly vicious, yet empty threat.
     “Self space, my dear,” he purred, moving away and then gracefully collapsing at the end of the bed.
     “I’m sorry,” she replied, leaning back and lying her head down on the pillow. Her feet dangled off the side of the bed so that she could give him room.
     “Are you excited for tomorrow?” He asked, not because he was interested, but for the sake of making conversation.
     “Why should I be?”
     “Because the old lady’s taking you to the beach. Not often one gets to go to the beach. Not every day, that is. I’d be excited.”
     “Would you?”
     “I’d be excited to go to a graveyard,” he abruptly licked his paw and then set it back down, satisfied. “I’d give anything for a change of pace. Being an indoor cat is overrated. It’s difficult for one to keep one’s figure.”
     “Yes, well, I’m not an indoor cat,” Amber said, “I can go to the beach whenever I want.”
     “Do you think I’m fat?” His copper eyes and silver ears were aimed at her.
     “No,” she replied hesitantly, “but you’ve got quite a bit of fur.”
     “Yes, yes I suppose. I didn’t shed much this year. Not as much as usual. That’s got to be it. Thank you, you’re a doll.” He blinked contentedly.
     She gazed up at the porcelain ceiling, noticing the blemishes and scars on its face that separated it from any other ceiling. A voice sang to her in some strange tongue, faint and distant.
     “Did you hear that?” She inquired, knowing that if anyone could hear it, certainly the cat would.
     “What? That owl outside who has it in for that mouse? The old lady whispering in her sleep downstairs? The grasshopper who got into the kitchen cabinet, scurrying around like a chicken with its head cut off? What? I hear a lot of stuff. Be specific.”
     “Do you hear any singing?”
     He perked up a bit, his ears twitching back and forth like radars, his saucer-like pupils narrowing slightly. His body remained very still for a moment. Then he settled down once more into a pool of blue-grey fur.
     “Nada,” he replied, “You’re just hearing stuff again. Always hearing stuff. Anyway…I’m suddenly in the mood for chicken. We got any chicken?”
     “I don’t think so. And even if we did, you know Aunt Elmira wouldn’t let you have any. She doesn’t like you eating people food.”
     “And when did people claim food? You can’t do that, you know. Food is food. It’s for everyone. Not just people. Don’t make me organize a political party and move to fight all this, because I will—first food, and then we’ll start a movement to gain equal rights for animals to sit wherever they want: all furniture and countertops included  and…” he flopped onto his back, stretching out his paws and yawning, “Oh, who am I kidding. Maybe I’ll just take a nap instead…or maybe have some chicken. Do we have any chicken?”      
     Amber got up and shuffled around, making the clean sheets of the bed crunch and crinkle; she pulled only a single sheet over herself and stretched out her feet, bumping the cat in the process. He made a noise that was somewhere between a cough and a groan, and promptly got to his feet, jumping to the floor. His front paws were first to land (cautiously) and his large body waggled and bounced as the rest of him followed, making a large thud on the hardwood floor. Amber’s face was to the window, so she only heard his pattering paws until he got to the hallway where they disappeared as soon as they stepped onto the sound-absorbing carpet.