The Wind-Up Cat

A pensive striped Mechanical Cat
didn't sit in a window and bird-watch,
dream of comfy cushions to sink claws in
or a cozy lap to curl up for a nap…
She couldn't bat a ringing ball swatting
a deft darting paw, skitter on a slippery
wood floor, climb a drape or leap onto
a forbidden countertop for a saunter.
It didn't occur to her that snooping
was as fun as an empty cardboard box,
and Midnights were the purrfectest
hours to prowl in gloomful rooms.

She seldom budged from the closet
where highlights consisted of dust-motes
drifting by; a Moth's flight; being bumped
in the clutter if her child should grope for
a prize — almost never a smooth metal kitty
who sported a key and no whiskers, cold
to the touch. This dusty Wind-Up Cat rarely
ever emerged for a chance to whir, shift
small feet one by one, stretch limbs stiff
from disuse, arch a spine permanently
curved due to sitting hunched all day.
She craved her ticklish twisting turns!

What followed embarrassed the toy.
Slow grinding moves, rigid postures,
shambling gaits, the growling halting
pace… for the dull Key-Wound Cat
was clumsy: too unsvelte, too graceless.
A hunk of tin — a piece of antiquated
machinery without a brain or batteries;
not even a Computer Chip. Worthless
and thoroughly un-modern… fit for
the scrapheap according to everyone,
the girl's worst friends. Still Matilda
left the critter, partly out of laziness.

Also due to her mom's compulsive
obsessive attachment to the old ugly
plaything, for the relic had been a gift
from Martina, whose father built her
the cherished contraption. A companion.
"Ripe for recycling or dismemberment!"
a dour daughter fantasized, encountering
the creepy gadget named Catty (how original)
when reaching for some other piece of junk.
"It's time!" she intoned. "For you to be
transformed. Reborn. Reinvented."
The Wind-Up Cat inwardly cringed.

"I should get a hammer," Matty vowed,
"and be done with this stupid Retro-Pet
for good — or bad!" A wicked snort
as she wrenched the gizmo out; dropped
Tin Kitty on a worktable where the kid
tormented other disdained objects into
submission, to make them more…
interesting. Or, as her mother said,
"Monstrous." The girl hooted, lifting
a Slammer. She gripped and raised the tool,
holding Catty down. A click. "Matilda!!!
What are you doing?" Double drat.

A shocked dislocated voice — disrupting
avid concentration — caused Matty to jerk
the hand-crafted toy over the table edge.
Impact revived Catty's gears. Stiffly…
a feline unfolded and walked. Unwinding.
Buzzing. Warming. Then sprang at the girl.
Was that a nip? A scratch? Yowling…
a lackluster creature (so real to Martina
once upon a time) vaulted between adult
legs and feet. Tina protectively gathered
a beloved friend, cradling her tight…
Catty purred, quivering, home again.

"I missed you," a grown woman
whispered. The metal cat beamed.
"I'll deal with you later," a mother
hissed, and left the room. Reunited.

Lori R. Lopez is a peculiar author, poet, illustrator, and wearer of hats. Verse and stories have appeared in a variety of magazines and anthologies including The Sirens Call, Spectral Realms, Weirdbook, The Horror Zine, Space & Time, HWA Poetry Showcases, JOURN-E, Impspired, Aphelion, Altered Reality, Dead Harvest, and California Screamin' (Foreword Poem). Books include The Dark Mister Snark, Leery Lane, An Ill Wind Blows, The Witchhunt, The Fairy Fly, and Darkverse: The Shadow Hours (nominated for an Elgin Award). Some of Lori's poems have been nominated for Rhysling Awards. You can learn more about her at the website shared with two talented sons: https://www.fairyflyentertainment.com

Find more by Lori R. Lopez in the Author Index.