Nevermore

I don’t think I ever considered myself a violent person. I cared for animals and others around me. My parents called me their good little girl. In school I took honors and advanced placement. I was the smart girl, known for my brains and good grades. There was one thing I always wanted; I was never able to have a cat. Mom was allergic and couldn’t be in the same room as them.

In middle school, I was introduced to Edgar Allan Poe, through the poem “Annabel Lee.” When my mom got sick, she said screw it and got me a cat; on the logic that she couldn’t get any sicker. She told me to choose a name that meant something to me. I could have named him after the black cat in one of Poe’s short stories, but I didn’t want the thought of what happened to Pluto[1] to follow him[2]. So, I named him Nevermore, after “The Raven.”

A few months went by, it seemed as if my mom was getting better but then things took a turn. She had to be hospitalized. Bullies in school got smarter, started spreading rumors and attacked anyone they could. My friends started believing the rumors spread about me, abandoning me. My only solace was my cat. My beautiful black cat. He was a kitten when Mom had given him to me, so he had gotten bigger over the months, and with that size came loving cuddles at night. He was a warm bundle of love, purring from his place on my legs.

I became dependent upon my cat, having him with me as much as possible. School continued, and I graduated summa cum laude. I got into college and time flew by. My mother held strong for the first two years, but then passed. Her death affected me deeply, sending me into a state of depression. Nevermore helped in more ways than imaginable. While my father drowned in hospital and morgue bills, I drowned in college debt.

Finishing college helped me get a good job as a creative manager at a small-town business. The business was close to my apartment, making it easy to visit Nevermore during the day.

One day Nevermore managed to get out of the apartment. I looked everywhere, with no success. Weeks went by and I became more and more upset. His blanket and litter box were outside, as I hoped it would lead him home. In the middle of the workday, I got a call from the vet’s office telling me they found him, but he was seriously hurt. My boss saw my look of extreme happiness; she told me to go.

Rushing to the vet, I burst through the doors. The women working there smiled when they saw me.

“The doctor is this way. Though I should warn you, Nevermore was pretty hurt in his weeks away from home,” one told me. She looked a bit worried.

Going into the room, the vet greeted me, but all I could focus on was my beloved cat. He looked pretty rough with scratches all over his body, but the worst injury was his right eye, it was missing[3].

“He needs to stay with us overnight to make sure that he is ok, but tomorrow he can go home with you. However, you will need to keep an eye on him; make sure he doesn’t get out again and so we know he is healing.”

Agreeing with the vet, I went back to work and told my boss the news. She consented to let me work from home until Nevermore was healed. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Crawling into bed I noticed something odd, my window was open, but the bottom portion was damaged from the outside. It was as if someone had broken the window, but why? And why hadn’t I noticed it before? I called the landlord and told him about the window, but he was not as worried as I.

“I’ll send someone over in the morning to fix it, but do not report it to the police. It was probably some kids running wild. They do not need a police record over something so small.”

Against his advice, I wrote down what I saw with the window and documented it, just in case it happened again. The window was fixed, and everything went back to normal[4].

The next few days, I worked from home with Nevermore, keeping watch over him. Making sure he kept safe, away from the window that was broken. All the while, I kept getting strange messages on my window. One stated, “I did this to your pet,” and another “I’ll do this again.” They frightened me; making me realize that what happened to Nevermore was done purposefully. What I did not understand why would someone do this to us? But all that mattered was that Nevermore was safe.

A few more weeks passed; with each day, Nevermore got stronger and better. With his eye missing, every day I got more scared of him[5]. I got scared of the missing eye, scared his end could be something like the end of Pluto, something of which I would never wish upon my beloved pet. So, scared I would sleep on my bed petrified that something might happen to him, to me. The fear consumed my every waking hour, almost stopping me from leaving the house. My work with the business suffered; I was due back any day and yet I could not focus. I still loved Nevermore, but I was scared of him and for him. I knew not which I should logically be: afraid for my cat or for myself? Surely, I would have had upset someone in my past. But who could be this cruel?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, rapping at my front door. I could not think of who would be coming to see me at this time of night. Opening the door, I see a lunchbox. It was my lunchbox; Mom had given it to me as a Christmas present the year before she died. It had disappeared earlier this year and I didn’t think anything of it. It was blue and whitish, and on the top, it held a name in cursive: Edgar Allan Poe. Upon looking at the top of the box I see two years, I realized that they mark the birth year and death of Poe. Closer inspection made me realize that it really was my Edgar Allan Poe lunchbox. It was littered with references to “The Raven,” “The Black Cat,” “The Tell-Tale Heart,” and “The Pit and the Pendulum.” The sides showcased excerpts from “The Raven,” and “The Tell-Tale Heart.” It said “Quoth the raven ‘Nevermore,’” and even sported a fake signature from Poe. Upon opening it I saw a picture of me at night with Nevermore curled up on my feet. Apparently, this picture was from last night. “You’re next, unless you get rid of the cat.” This last message appeared in the night, I happened upon it this morning when I woke up. It was on my dining room table.

I looked over to where Nevermore was curled up on my couch and burst out crying. I could never do such a thing to him, not even when he terrified me. But what to do? How could I save both of us from this terror? Looking at the box I knew the way to finish this, but I needed to get a knife. I also needed to speak with my mother, at her grave.

“Nevermore come here! We’re going on a little trip to visit Grandma!” I called to him. Nevermore came to me; I put him in his carrier with a few toys. I put all the notes and pictures of my window for the police, in plain sight on my table and picked up his carrier. I left my phone on the table as well. Grabbing my keys, I locked the door and went down to my car.

Driving to the cemetery took no time and finding mother’s grave took less. I took a trowel out of my purse and made a small hole, big enough for Nevermore. Taking him out of the carrier I said my final goodbyes and stabbed him in his heart. I placed him gently into the hole and covered him up. I then grabbed the lunchbox and measured a hole big enough for it. I placed it in the hole and braced myself. I went to work. Slowly finding where my heart would be, I rammed the knife into my chest and sawed. And sawed. And sawed. Upon success I placed the heart into the box and tried to close it, but I was weakening. Blackness crept into my vision and I could not move. I took one last look at my mother’s grave and laid down.[*]

[1] In “The Black Cat” Pluto had his eye gouged out and lynched by his owner, the narrator.

[2] Pluto would have been a great name for him, nevertheless I digress.

[3] I wonder which eye the narrator in “The Black Cat” carved out of his pet, and if someone did this to my beautiful Nevermore as a reference to Pluto. I also wonder which eye the second cat was missing. Much to think about.

[4] Upon reflection, I really should have gone to the police, they would have made this endeavor have a much better outcome, oh well, too late now.

[5] Ah, yes memories, this reminds me of the first reading of “The Black Cat,” in which the narrator becomes frightened of his second cat, the one with the white spot on his chest. I wondered why someone could fear their own beloved pet, alas, now I know.

[*] The informed reader will here recognize a reference to Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart” and much less so an implicit death wish by the author. I, like Poe do not simply write autobiographical from experience only. I am not the narrator in this story, neither is Poe in his work. My beautiful cat, Damian, however, was part of the inspiration for Nevermore. Also, Damian is perfectly fine and excitable as ever. I also would like to note that this story is not making light of those who do feel like suicide is the only option. In fact, if this is the case, please note that there are options: The National Suicide hotline: (800) 273-8255, Veterans Crisis Line: (800) 273-8255, Rape and Sexual Assault: (800) 656-4673, Domestic Violence: (800) 799-7233, Teen Dating Violence: (866) 331-9474. These lines are open 24/7. Do seek help if you find bits of yourself in this story.

Author’s Note:

This story was written for an English class focusing on an important author, in this case Edgar Allan Poe, and we had learned all about the different techniques that Poe used and the different themes that he utilized. For this assignment we had to chose an object that was Poe themed, and either write a close reading of the object, or a story featuring it. I did not have to buy an object like my classmates, although I did end up buying the Poe Funko Pop figure, as my mother had gotten me a Poe themed lunchbox for my birthday a few years prior. If you would like to read the works of my classmates here is the link to that website, https://poepculture.weebly.com/anya-gleichmann.html.