Part Two: The Exile
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning my human packed me in the moving cage—the one she puts me in when I have to visit the cat doctor. I hate the cage. It smells of antiseptic and the doctor's office.
I don't remember much of what happened while I was there; apparently they gave me something to knock me out. By the time I fully came to my senses, I was on my way home.
My whole body felt odd and my stomach was especially sore. I looked down to see that the hair on my stomach had been shaved and a long gruesome scar now stared defiantly back at me. I didn't know what it meant, but it couldn't be good.
~*~
"Uh-oh," Nefertiti eyed my scar suspiciously. "I know what that means. You've been 'fixed'."
"What?"
"You can't have kits anymore." Nefertiti replied.
"What?" I could barely speak. I couldn't breathe; I felt the earth give way beneath me. It was as if the planet had split in two.
No more kits? Wasn't it enough that my human had deprived me of my firstborns, but now she must also take away any chance of happiness or a family? I could not understand why she would behave so cruelly towards me—what offence had I committed against her? Sure, I occasionally broke things or stayed out all night, but that did not merit such a punishment.
"H-h-how…" I could not even finish my thought. My mind was blank. It was as if a bomb had been dropped on my brain, washing out everything and everyone. I turned a bleak face back to Nefertiti, "How am I gonna tell Mac?"
Compassion flooded the black cat's features, "Just tell him. He'll understand."
I knew she was right. Mac's love for me was much deeper than anything I had known. He would not abandon me. He would continue to love me. The thing was, I didn't know if I could continue to love him.
~*~
I jumped up on the dresser. The ugly black scar still stared back at me. Every morning I went to the mirror, praying that it had all been just a nightmare. Every morning, I was sadly disappointed.
Eventually the scar on my stomach healed, but the scars on my soul never disappeared. Sometimes I would wake during the night, thinking that I heard my kits crying for me, only to find the bed cold and empty. I would cry until I fell into exhaustion again. Somehow the loss of my kittens only magnified the realization that I would never be able to have kits again. I was no longer whole. I had become as empty and useless as a cracked tea cup.
~*~
My relationship with Macavity took a drastic turn after that. I froze at his touch; I blushed in shame and filled myself with loathing. Whenever I pulled away from his caress, I saw the pain in his eyes—the pain of the realization that even if I learned not to flee from his touch, we could never have what we once had. I could not give him any more kittens; the thought filled me with a burning shame. Often I would cry for hours on end. Macavity would stand by, helplessly witnessing my misery, unable to even put a comforting paw on my shoulder—such a move would make me turn to stone and shut off completely.
During this trying time, Macavity had no one to lean on. For months I had been his only companion, the sole keeper of his soul. Now I was distant—physically and emotionally. He had to bear his pain at a distance, only adding to the overwhelming sense of hopelessness and helplessness.
Finally, he could take no more.
"You have to talk to me, Red," he said gravely, his pleading eyes full of sorrow. "Let me hold you; let me touch you. Let me help you—"
"What good would it do?" I asked sullenly, my tears only stopping momentarily. My anger flashed like lightning in a summer storm, "I am no longer a queen—I'm not whole anymore. I can't be you mate; I can't give you kittens."
"I don't care about that," he said tenderly. "All I want is you. I want us to be the way we were. I want us back."
"We can never be as we were," I said stolidly, my face crumpling into hateful, angry tears.
"Give us a chance, Red," Mac was on his knees now; he was literally begging me. "Don't give up on us just yet. I haven't given up on you; don't quit on me now."
"I can't go on like this," I announced, staring bleakly ahead with unseeing eyes.
"You don't have to," he said softly. "I can help you. We can make it through this, Red."
"Don't call me that," I snapped. He gave a weak smile, "But that's what I've always called you. That's what you are—my little Red."
"Red is dead," I said staunchly. I could see the pain and the fear in his eyes, but I continued anyways, my voice as flat and emotionless as paper, "Red died with her kits. She doesn't exist anymore."
"I don't believe that," Macavity said huskily. I turned my body away from him.
"Maybe she's just hiding," he spoke hopefully. He talked to me as one would talk to a distraught kitten, "Maybe it'll just take awhile for her to come back. I know it's been rough; it's been hard on me too. But I know my Red Queen is still there, somewhere deep inside of you."
"You don't know anything," I said hatefully. He stepped back, shocked by my sudden spitefulness. He didn't say anything; he just stared at me, his face a tumultuous mix of sadness, shock, fear, and despair. He suddenly realized that all I had said was true. Finally, he just shook his head sadly and left the room.
Mac had finally given up on me.