The Nine Deaths of Pooka

The enclosed room was not a playground but a proving ground. The desks, tables, and credenza were a gauntlet. A hop from the windowsill to the desk was the simplest of tasks. But only the strongest and most daring of the eight siblings attempted the leap of faith from the credenza to the bookcase. The drop: four feet down onto hardwood. Pooka, being the smallest, tried this jump only once. Her front paws never reached the top of the bookcase, her cheek slammed into the side of the case, and she landed on her head against the birch planks below.

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Graduating to dry food symbolized something ominous. After being weaned off their mother’s milk, the siblings began to leave home. Families with children or couples in search of a pet came and adopted the eight one by one. Pooka was the third to go. The woman with shiny red fingernails lifted Pooka into the air. She held Pooka like a mother burping a child. Over the shoulder of the woman, Pooka caught the last glimpse of her mother, slowly patrolling the hallway. Her first night away from her home, Pooka chased her own shadow in room as if playing with her siblings.

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Yarn balls and feathered cardboard mice from Petco were Pooka’s favorites, but recently sleep seemed more appealing than yarn balls. Naivety helped keep Pooka hunting the Petco mice, but curiosity and youthful vigor fade. The toys gathered in a basket in the laundry room. Pooka never learned how to take them out of the wicker basket, and she had no desire to learn.

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Pooka was led inside by the warmth. She drifted away into a slumber amid the blouses, shirts, and socks. It was the perfect spot until Pooka was violently tumbled awake by a drying cycle set by the woman with red fingernails. Pooka spun around like she was in the first loop of a roller coaster. Tangled in clothing, she went limp and waited. Good thing the woman with red fingernails noticed the slightly arrhythmic thumping sound coming from her load of whites.

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The neighborhood vagabond Charlie caught a hold of Pooka. She never understood why Charlie ran to her so determined or so vicious. Charlie smelled of the streets. He made sounds that seemed to be in time with his thighs. Pooka couldn’t get away, so she stayed with Charlie until he seemed to lose interest and jump back over the fence the way he came.

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Two months inside of Pooka, six weeks at her nipples: Her eight children reminded Pooka of her mother and her siblings. But like before, the change to solid food was ominous. The woman with red fingernails gave Pooka’s children to families and couples who wanted a pet. As each child was taken, Pooka lost more and more will. And like her encounter with Charlie, she learned to stay still and let life roll over her. With the last child gone, the woman with red fingernails was the only other life in the home.

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After a night on the town, Pooka couldn’t find her way home. With the fog of time dropping lower, obscuring her vision, Pooka felt more confused and blinded. All the streets looked the same. No amount of calling to the woman with red fingernails helped. Pooka tired to retrace her steps but eventually settled for the night in a doorway. Good thing the woman with red fingernails found her in the morning.

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Just after coming home, Pooka realized there was nowhere left to go. Too lonely to run free in the wild, too old to start over. Her breath, thick as the humid air of Florida, enveloped her browning teeth. Her belly, growing large with the slowing of her metabolism, made it hard for her to clean herself. How long has it been? Where have all the lives gone? The balance has shifted—there is less to live than has been lived.

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The right corner of the living room couch catches the sun perfectly in the afternoon. A thin film of hair covers the area where she curls up to absorb the sun. Today, her legs hurt just a little bit more, her head felt just a tad heavier. No birch floors or spin cycles. No fear or confusion. Pooka was not going to sleep; sleep is for those that have more lives to live. And she understood this.