I remember going to church; the congestion, nausea, and blinding effects of incense are all too familiar to me. At an early age, I learned that the modern version of holy bread and wine are just stale saltines and Walmart-brand grape juice. There were a thousand ways to disappoint my Christian mother; refusing communion was the least of her worries. 

I was sixteen when she found my birth control, but I didn’t stop hearing about it until I turned twenty-six. The only reason she quit lecturing me was because she passed away that same year. 

I remember her funeral vividly. Her casket was a dark mahogany wood with seamless black grain, heavy with gold latches, and a deep red velvet interior. I remember the funeral home smelling heavily of sage. It felt like a Sunday service, with prayers and tears, but for me it was different. It was almost like I was sleeping, but I couldn’t tell if the nightmare had ended or just begun. 

When the hospital called, I was shocked. My mom and I never really “talked.” I picked up one time when she called, and she asked how I was doing at the office. I told her I got a raise. What she didn’t know was that I was clipping my bra up in the back seat of Marco’s car. I’ve slept with a Brady, a Lucas, a Jax, and there’s a voicemail for each one to prove it. It was something different every time: checking to see if I “did my laundry” for the week, telling me to pray before I sleep, and one time to ask if I stole her pantyhose for my “inappropriate behaviour.” My mother was just as good a Christian as she was at guilt tripping. 

It felt foreign sitting down with a lawyer for the first time about her will. My boss had sent me home earlier in the day. He thought I should take some time to myself. So, I went home and sat on my living room floor, blank-faced and empty until the doorbell rang. 

The lawyer walked in with two boxes, his briefcase hanging off his arm. He placed everything down next to my kitchen table, and I think I told him to take a seat. One box was noticeably stuffed with religious junk. I leaned over and picked up a copy of the King James Bible sitting at the very top, flipping through the pages and gingerly trying not to smudge the writing in the margins. The book reeked like a wet newspaper, but I couldn’t help myself. I hadn’t seen her writing in a long time.  

The lawyer had started reading a few lines regarding my share of her will, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. Flipping through her bible was like flipping through channels on the TV; everything was black and white, and I didn’t know what I was looking for exactly. My ears felt like they had been stuffed with corks and I felt my eyes burn. It had been the first time I cried since my mother passed away. It was the first time I felt like she was really gone. 

I looked up to see the lawyer watching me. I took in every detail of his face, from his five-o-clock shadow, to the way his mouth opened just a sliver. I imagined that he had a long day in the office, the way that he had a single button undone, and how he sighed as if he meant to continue. I imagined that was my invitation.

I leaned in and couldn’t help but notice how devilishly handsome he was through my tears. I felt myself relax as he wiped them dry. I thought I’d find him pulling away. I was pleasantly surprised to find him pushing against me instead. His dark curly hair was matted, and he had a dimple when he smirked. The entire world could have erupted then, and I wouldn’t have known. I was absorbed in lust. I could see his tan skin peeking through the white collared shirt he wore. There was nothing more I wanted at that moment than to strip him down and let him take me. I felt my body squirm with excitement underneath my dress as a passionate hand squeezed my right ass cheek. 

It slipped my mind that there was a second box that lay on my kitchen floor. I hadn’t noticed it had been emptied. 

We made our way noisily around the table, crashing into the couch, and stumbling into my bedroom. The lights were dimmed, and my fall candles were lit. It was accidental ambiance at its finest. I pulled him close, loosening his tie. His hands travelled gently over my tits, tracing along my waist and around my hips. I felt him slip off my underwear, brushing over me strategically. I threw my head back in ecstasy, draping my hair over my shoulder as I moaned into his ear. 

I adjusted myself, inviting him to lay on top of me, but as I sat up, I saw a second set of glowing eyes staring back at me through the dark.

The lawyer let out a cry. Without thinking, I jumped for the light switch and found him running around, arching his back, trying to free himself. It took me a second to realize what I was looking at. The big ball of fur clawing at the lawyer was a cat. My mother’s fat, Siamese cat. I rushed over and pried her off with immense difficulty.

“I’m so sorry,” I explained. “I have no idea how she got–” 

“No-no Kate, I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve been doing my job. If I had been, then you would’ve known that your mother left you with Maggie.”

He ran out after that, swearing at himself under his breath. He cursed the cat and his testosterone, telling me to reach him “via email” if I had any more questions about the will. I stood dumbfounded behind my door, still holding Maggie. I managed to blink and reassess the situation. Nothing had ever stopped me from having sex before. It didn’t matter how many times my mom signed me up for church camp. All it took was my mother’s cat to cock-block me in seconds. 

That was the first of many incidents. 

Since Maggie’s unwanted arrival, a slew of men had come in and out of my apartment. The record time to beat was fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes, Maggie was able to perform every circus trick imaginable. She walked the spinal cord of one guy like a tightrope, making sure she dug her claws in deep for balance. She was able to spit hairballs like fire into the shoes of unexpecting victims, and she could hiss louder than any ringmaster known to man. One guy even offered to exorcise her “free of charge” if I flashed him. Needless to say, I haven’t heard from any of them since. 

I decided it was best to confine Maggie the next time I brought someone home. What I didn’t know was that the final act was yet to come. Maggie had somehow unlocked her cage and found her way back into my room without notice. That night Maggie did not stop me from having sex, but she did watch me the entire way through. I had never faked a climax so quickly before.

I couldn’t tell if it was post-traumatic stress, or if Maggie had truly won, but I had officially lost my sexual interest. 

The trees had begun to blossom downtown and I was feeling a thousand things. My nails were down to stubs and I couldn’t seem to sit still; I was itching for some good sex. I had been chaste for weeks, but my habits were crawling just beneath the surface waiting for me to crack. Feelings of withdrawal lurked in the back of my head. They were suffocating me, eating me alive. The paranoia was fervid laying in an empty room, in a lonely apartment. 

I could hear Maggie slithering along the hallway floor one night, haunting me well into my sleep. I dreamt of a godly Tahitian man with his hands on my waist. My back was turned to him, but I could hear his voice. It was smooth like silk. When I turned my head, I shrieked inaudibly, waking with a gasp.

Maggie stood over my chest kneading my blanket like she was digging for my chastity. The sound of her belled collar pierced my ears. I picked her up and put her on the floor, stepping around her and into the bathroom. Oddly enough, waking to this cat brought the sudden urge to visit my mother’s grave. 

I had put on a simple black dress and dug through my closet finding a deep red, velvet blazer. It was soft to the touch and ironically reminded me of my mom’s casket. Looking at myself in the elevator mirror, I remembered a memory of her scolding me before service. She had told me the short red dress I wore was inappropriate, especially on Easter.

As I headed down to the flower shop outside, I could feel the heat rising in my body. My hands were icy but not from the air, and I could feel the rush of adrenaline taking over.

I had intended to buy flowers to put over my mother’s grave, but instead I found myself gripping tightly around a bouquet of unclipped roses. My hand was stinging, but it was nowhere near the sting I felt welling in my eyes. My anger bubbled like hot sugar hardening against guilt and resentment. But with a deep breath of reality, I remembered she was dead. My blood ran thick, pooling in the creases of my palm as I stood thinking she’s dead. I slowly walked to the opposite side of the store buying time to compose myself. When I reached the checkout counter, I was surprised to find a young man turn around. I was still in a daze when he began to speak.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you need any help with that?”

He was smiling lightly at me and I found myself beginning to smile back. The way he laughed when I didn’t reply seemed the furthest thing from cocky. Instead, he crouched down behind the counter and my eyes began to follow his movements. He got up and came around the counter, joining me on the other side. I watched him clean the small cuts on my palm and wrap a bandage around my hand. He looked up at me and I noticed the light brown colour of his eyes catch in the sun. I bit my lip at the thought of those eyes watching my naked body. My emotions were flushed away by desire and greed. I could hear him speaking, but I was too entranced by the movement of his curved lips. I almost ignored him again, but I caught his last words just in time.

“Maybe I can come over tonight and make sure you’re taken care of,” he said.

“You should definitely come,” I replied deviously.

He reached his hand out for my good one, gently shook it and said, “My name’s Mattie. It’s very nice to meet you.” 

We exchanged numbers before I went home. The entire way back, I felt like I was forgetting something. I kept repeating his name over and over, trying to trigger my memory. Mattie. Mattie. It was gnawing at the back of my head.

The minute I got home, it was there, staring right back at me. Maggie.

I wasn’t sure how I forgot about my mother’s demon cat, but I couldn’t get her out of my head for the next six hours. I tried my best to conceal any evidence of Maggie’s existence. My mouth was salivating at the thought of being nude again. I needed this for myself and for my sanity. I hid her bowls and toys in my closet to keep her occupied through the night. For the most part, it worked. 

Mattie showed up at my door that evening in an olive-green V-neck. I couldn’t help but notice how toned he was through his shirt. The excitement was building inside of me. He was about to speak as I moved aside to let him in, but realizing that I was wearing a horrible pair of granny panties, I quickly excused myself from his company and rushed to my bedroom to change into a racy thong. I was hoping he would get the chance to take them off. My mind was running at full speed and I couldn’t differentiate my nerves from my adrenaline high.

Seeing Mattie again made me feel airy and light, but he also made me forget about the cat a second time. I jumped and almost screamed when I found Maggie laying on her back in the living room, legs in the air. 

At first, I thought I killed the cat. 

I stepped around the couch cautiously and sat down beside Mattie. He was hunched over on his knees caressing her chest, laughing as Maggie purred flirtatiously. I was speechless. 

It took me a second to realize what I was looking at. I had never seen Maggie so serene in my life; all the more when it came to the men that I brought home. Mattie motioned for me to join him. I reached out my unbandaged hand, brushing his slightly. A flush of colour burnt my cheeks, so I turned my head away before he could notice. I felt Maggie’s cotton-like fur between my fingers as if it were new. Her eyes blinked at me once and a fresh wave of relief overtook me. I looked over at Mattie, then back at the cat. Maggie let out a satisfied meow.

Mattie had brought over two giant bags filled with fresh fruit, homemade capellini, and all the ingredients he needed to make his Nonna’s famous sauce. We spent most of the night laughing and cooking and swirling fruit in melted chocolate. It had gotten late but neither of us had noticed. The sky was a decadent midnight blue by the time the food was all gone. 

I thought briefly about sex and how humbled it was in comparison to this new-found ecstasy. 

Maggie was sleeping on the couch when I said goodnight to Matt and closed the door. I sat down next to her and turned on the T.V.  

Flipping through the channels, I found myself fixated on the original adaptation of Carrie by Stephen King. The movie had just about ended by the time I paused to watch. My mother never liked the way Margaret White prayed in the film. That might’ve been the only thing we agreed on about religion. I felt painfully connected to Carrie who sat on the floor stone-faced as Margaret died. The movie was quick to wrap up and the credits began to roll over the screen.

I thought about church and learning about forgiveness. My mind lingered there for a while. 

My phone dinged and I looked down to see Mattie’s name. 

I turned the T.V. off and scooped Maggie up, smiling to myself as I remembered the way Mattie held her in his arms, teasing how he was only here for the cat. It had been the first time I truly appreciated my mom’s decision to leave Maggie with me. 

It was the first time I felt like she was still here.