If he weren't in the right place at the right time, he might had not seen it. Seen his little sister standing before her window seat seemingly frozen, the Spring sun from outside making her a silhoutte. Even then, it was quite obvious that something was a bit off in Clarissa Morganstern's form which was usually all-mighty and sharp.
Jonathan crept into the room quietly, edging sideways so he could get a glimpse of the red haired girl's face. And when he did, he held his breath. Clary was crying, tears steadily streaming down as she stared out the window, although not paticularily at anything, stuck between running out her room or looking down at the dead cat curled beneath her.
Mrs. Mrs's ears were bent back, her eyes slanted shut and her front paws stretching down to tuck up her back feet. The gold brown cat curled up under a shaft of sunlight from the rain-streaked window. But like Clary's form, Jonathan's sensitive mind easily picked up the strangeness of the cat's not breathing, the stillness of death catching another gift from life, sealing the gift in its very last moments.
Jonathan had remembered the first apperance of the cat in his life, beginning with Clary soaked head to toe in the entry way of their house, the fragile old cat balled up in her arms like a old coat. "Its alive." She'd said quietly. "I'm keeping her."
"Do you want me to help dry her?" Jonathan had offered, but Clary just shook her head before padding up the stairs to her room, closing the door to the world as she normally did. Accept, this time, with a guest in her corridors.
She'd soon named the cat Mrs, where she'd insert snappy nicknames after that. Mrs didn't like many people—or anyone really other than Clary. Clary would often take falcon feathers and wave them tauntingly above the old cat's head, trying to coax the old girl to bat at it a few times, or Jonathan would catch the petite girl looking peaceful on the floor with the old cat curled up in the sunlight. Jonathan, seeing how much Clary treasured this cat would often try to feed the manged tabby a handful of kibble or stroke her fur. She'd always refused with a low grow or a hiss, raising on her haunches to yowl at him before darting off somewhere In the house, which was strange considering animals were quite fond of him.
He really knew this cat was tearing Clary's walls down brick by boring brick when the fiery haired girl clicked open the door of her room with a smile on her face, going down the hall with scratches all down her arms where she proceeded to the bathroom to rinse off the scratches, cleansing the bacteria of Mrs claws away. He wondered, then, if the cat loved her as much as she loved it.
Now, he knew for sure. Never, not ever, would he think he'd see his sister cry again after the incident. But here she was, tears streaming down her face—the most emotion she'd shown in years, years she'd spent in counseling that had led to no such progress as this. But this cat, Mrs, that she had for about 6 months had broken down every last wall.
Jonathan had no idea what to say. He stood beside his sister who would not look down at the corpse of her beloved pet, staring into the afternoon as if she'd watch the sun go down before moving. It was one of those rare spring days where it rained while it was sunny, and a rainbow striped across the country-side of the fairchild home.
Finally, he spoke. "Clary." Quietly. Too loud and she might clam up. "I'm sorry." He reached over wrapping a arm around her stiff shoulders and dragging her to his side, and let silence clear the room once more. "You know, you done more for Mrs then she probably could have ever hoped for. Instead of dying out in a damp cold place long ago, she lived a life of luxury in the sun with her master. Curled up in the sun she died in the place she would be stroked by her master until they both hummed with her purrs. How can you be sad?"
Clary didn't say anything, so he turned her to face him. Her eyes still leaked tears and her face twitched with remorse written all over before twitching back to that cold face she'd given everyone. He realized, then, that the last of her walls was not yet broken down. One left stood paper thin, crumbling with every second that went by.
She held up a closed fist to him, and he stared at it for a moment before unfolding her fingers to see what was clenched there. A small metal tube with a key chain. He frowned, picking it up and pressing the small button on the side. A red dot hit a patch of quilt. "A laser?"
She nodded, looking down at the laser, too. "Simon gave it me."
"Simon?" He waited for a moment, and then the 'aha' came. Simon was a penpal of Clary's from New York that she often wrote to. Of course, she didn't mention the fact that the part of Florida she lived in was not accessible to him, or the part about being a shadow hunter.
Clary nodded. "He has a cat too. He says they like them." She sighed, "He sent one to me because I told him I couldn't get one." She wiped on of her drenched cheeks with a sleeve. Jonathan frowned, set the laser down and grabbed Clary's wrist to step back with her. "Did you go out to get this when..."
Clary nodded. "Yeah."
"You think this is your fault, don't you?" He asked although it seemed more like a demand. Clary looked away. "Of course it is. I should've been here to spend our last moments together—I wasn't there for her-"
"Clary." He looked at her, trying to get her eye. "Mrs loved you. You know that? And you loved her too. You bestowed all of your love to her, and she returned it, right? There was nothing more you could do, my little shadow hunter." He said a bit sadly at the end, calling her by the nickname their mother used when they were young. "You both did your best. And you both succeeded." Clary dragged her eyes down to the cat, curled up on the quilt, uttering the few last words; "I-I love you." And Jonathan watched with his own eyes his sister's last wall shatter into a dozen shards. He hadn't broken her walls. No, that old mean cat did with a love bump to the girl's heart which sent Clary to her knee's with her body wracking with sobs. More tears came, dotting the cat's fur as it's master planted a few kisses on her head, stroking her fur and sobbing uncontrollably. Jonathan sooned followed her to the ground, gathering her up in his arms with a sad smile on his face as she cried. I thought I lost you. He thought, breathing out into her hair stirring the red fiery curls there and rubbing her back in a comforting way. I didn't know if you were there anymore after that, Clarrissa.
The door opened and Jonathan looked up, Clary still oblivious to Luke Garoway standing in the thrershold of her sacred forbidden place to him—her room. "Oh? Did the old furball die?" Luke managed out a smug look even at the sight of his step-daughter crying and a dead cat laid upon the window seat. He didn't notice the way Clary's nails bit into her older brother's back upon Luke's sentence. "Oh well, we can always buy you a new one. A nicer one too, that ugly thing belonged on the streets-"
"Thats enough!" Barked Jonathan, his green eyes icy cold. "You get out of this room and get out of my house before I make you." He vowed, and Luke was startled. The teenaged boy hadn't stood up for much, but with his now silently crying sister on his shoulder he seemed to be asserting his shadow hunter-ness in a surprisingly dominant way that left Luke surprised. He quickly recovered, giving a grin before turning away. "You know, I am your legal guirdian Jonathan Garoway, Clarissa Garoway." He chided knowing how they hated having his last name, and held up his left hand that had a ring sparkling on the finger next to his pinky. "Don't forget it." He slammed the door to the room, leaving a crying little sister with her protective brother. Never again would he let him hurt her.