Thanks to OriginalMcFishie for the prompt. I had loads of fun writing this one.
The Cat's Whiskers
Rilla woke up in fright in the middle of the night. There were scary shadows on the walls and a strange scraping sound outside. Too afraid to make a noise, Rilla dove under her bedclothes and lay there shaking. She had the strongest feeling that she wasn't alone, so she peeked out from under her blankets and saw an elderly man sitting on the end of her bed. He had long iron gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders and a full gray beard. His blue eyes twinkled at her. He had a shimmer about him and was deathly white, but he had a lovely comforting smile.
"Who, who are you?" Rilla stammered.
The man put his finger to his lips asking her to be quiet. "I'm your uncle Matthew. Marilla's brother.
"But you're dead. Mummy told me."
"Yes, but I'm keeping an eye on you all from heaven. I saw you had a nightmare and I thought I could comfort you."
"Oh? Are you cold?"
"No, I'm fine thank you. It's Rilla isn't it?"
"Yeth."
"Named after my sister."
"Yeth. Berfa Mawilla"
"Oh yes, also named after your grandmother."
"I never met her."
"I didn't meet her on earth either. She died a very long time ago."
"Did she love Mummy?"
"Oh yes she loved her terribly. It hurt more than anything to leave your Mummy when she was still so young."
"How do I know you're really Uncle Maffhew?"
"I can tell you a story about your Aunt Marilla if you like?"
"Yes pwease." Rilla was delighted. The others would be so envious.
Matthew looked down at his beautiful little brown-haired granddaughter all snuggled up in bed, her long eyelashes blinking steadily up at him. "Very well, lie down and get all comfy and I'll tell you about the time Marilla cut off the cat's whiskers."
"Oh!"
"Yes, it was a wicked thing to do, but she was very young, younger than you even. She said afterwards that she thought the whiskers were too long and they needed to be trimmed."
Rilla's eyes grew wide with astonishment, Marilla had been a naughty little girl once.
"Did they ever grow back?"
"It took a while, but poor Misty's whiskers did grow back. Marilla never touched them again. One afternoon when she was just a little girl, your Aunt Marilla crept out to the barn with our mother's sewing scissors." He told the story as Rilla looked on in amazement. They had lots of cats around the place and she had never thought to do this to any of them. Fancy Aunt Marilla ever being this wicked? As Matthew wound up the story he said "Now you go to sleep again, but give my darling Anne a big hug from me in the morning, all right?" Rilla nodded, half asleep already.
"Mummy, Mummy." Rilla ran into Anne's bedroom the next morning and launched herself into her arms.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
"I have to give you a big big hug."
"That's lovely darling, thank you."
"Oh its not from me, it's from Maffhew."
"Matthew? Matthew who?"
"Maffhew, Aunt Mawilla's bruvver."
Anne sat up straight at that. "You dreamt about Matthew last night?"
"No Mummy it wasn't a dweam, I met him. He was lovely. He told me ever such a funny storwy."
"Did he now? What did he look like?"
"He had long gway hair and a beard and ever such fwiendly eyes. But it was funny, if I looked hard I could see the picture on my wall behind him."
"Oh" said Anne faintly. "What else did he tell you?"
"He told me he wuves you, and to give you a big big hug when I woke up. So here I am."
"Goodness! Did he say anything else?"
"He told me a storwy about when Aunt Mawilla was a wittle girl."
"Did he now? What story was that?"
"About the time Aunt Mawilla cut the cat's whiskers off."
"She did?"
"Yeth, don't you remember it Mummy?"
"No, I didn't know Marilla back then. It was before I was born. Can you tell me the story?"
Rilla recounted the story in great detail to her increasingly mystified mother. When she was finished she sat up and said "I'm going to get bweakfatht now."
Anne watched her run off, completely shocked by the detailed and involved story. Had young Marilla really done what Rilla said? Time to write a letter.
Marilla was peeling apples for that night's pie when John arrived back from town. He had picked up the mail and handed the letters over to her. Marilla wiped her hands on her apron and looked them over. One from Anne, that was nice. It was always lovely to catch up with the goings on at Ingleside. Anne could be relied upon to write a good letter. "I have to finish off this pie, then I'll read the letter."
"Do you want some coffee or tea?" John enquired.
"Hmm, tea I think. Thank you."
Marilla finished off the pie and left it to rest. Then, sitting down with the tea in front of her, she opened Anne's letter. They had gotten into the habit of reading her letters out loud. There was seldom anything private in them and if there was, Anne would write it on a separate piece of paper. Mostly her letters were full of the grandchildren's news, today was no different.
Dearest and best of Marillas
We have a little mystery which occurred last night. Rilla had an odd dream. As she tells it, she woke up in the middle of the night with a nightmare. She says Matthew was sitting on the end of her bed. I was as incredulous as you will be, but she was adamant that it was he. He was rather pale, and she could almost see right through him. He told her a story about something you got up to as a child. Did you ever cut the whiskers off your cat Misty's face?
Marilla stopped still. John looked up, "Well did you?"
She stared at him looking rather pale and whispered, "Yes."
"Oh, golly. Does anyone living know?"
"I don't think so. I hadn't met Rachel yet."
"That's a terrible thing to do Marilla."
"Yes, I know. I was only four at the time. I'd forgotten all about it until this very moment."
She had crept out early one afternoon, her Mama's sewing scissors in her pocket. She was wearing her dress and her big outdoor boots. She found Misty the fluffy grey cat in the barn. He was half pet and half mouser. He had beautifully long grey whiskers, but she had always thought they looked too lengthy.
Placing the scissors next to her, she held out a little piece of cake she had brought to lure the cat to her lap and when he came sniffing, she reached out and hugged him to her chest tightly. Misty squirmed, but he was caught in her small but strong arms. It was tricky to manage, but she took up the scissors and neatly trimmed the whiskers off one side of his face. Misty took objection to the affront to his person and squirmed out of her arms. Raking her across the wrist with the claws of one paw he scampered off, though he couldn't run straight. She watched in dismay as he ran off.
Marilla looked at her wrist, blood was beading up from the scratches. For the first time she was realizing that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Holding her bleeding arm to her chest she made her way back to the house in tears. She banged the door shut after she got inside and found her Mama mopping the floor.
"What have you done Marilla?"
"Mama, it hurts, it hurts."
"Let me see, ooh that looks painful. How did you get it?"
Marilla just looked at her, tears in her eyes. She felt this day hadn't gone as she planned and she expected she might be in trouble. "I cut Misty's whiskers and he scratched me."
"Marilla!" Her Mama's voice had a warning tone. "You didn't really cut the cat's whiskers, did you? That's a very naughty thing to do. Cats need their whiskers."
Marilla stared down at her feet, feeling very guilty.
"What did you use to cut them?"
In a very small voice, so low Constance could hardly hear her, Marilla whispered "Your sewing scissors."
"My sewing scissors? Where are they now?"
"In, in, in the barnnn." Marilla was truly crying now. She was in terrible trouble and her arm hurt. "Matthew." Constance called out the door "Fetch your father. I need him here."
David appeared at the back door soon after. "What's the problem?"
"Marilla has gotten herself into a spot of bother."
David hurried in and took in the sight of his daughter with blood running down her arm. "Oh, my goodness, what happened here? What did you do darling?"
"It was Misty, he scratched me."
"Misty? The cat? Why did he scratch you?"
Marilla mumbled.
"What was that?" David looked up at Constance.
"She cut the cat's whiskers and he scratched her."
"Marilla! You didn't? You mustn't cut the cat's whiskers darling, that's very wicked. Wait, how did you cut them?"
"She used my sewing scissors." Constance replied grimly. "We better get you cleaned up and then we'll have a little chat about your behaviour little lady."
"I'll go and check the cat." David announced.
David came back carrying a confused Misty. He placed him down on the ground and they watched in dismay as he walked around in circles.
Marilla got a good talking to that morning. It was a day that was indelibly marked in her memory. She was so distraught that she never told another living being outside her family.
"So what happened?" John enquired.
"I crept out one afternoon and snipped the whiskers off one side of the cat's face with Mama's sewing scissors. The cat retaliated and I ended up with a long scratch on my arm. She rolled her dress sleeve back. The scar look very faint all these years later, but she could just make it out.
"But how could little Rilla know anything about it?" John enquired.
"I have no idea. That's the bit that doesn't make any sense."
Dearest Anne,
Rilla is right. One day when I was about four I did cut the whiskers off our cat, Misty. I don't understand how she could know?
A/N No animals were hurt in the writing of this story.
