Cat’s Fight

Crime Fiction by Brandon Doughty

When Cathy Ramsey returned home from the market, she considered ramming Sara Cargill’s Mustang down the hill into the lake. It sat parked in her spot in the short driveway. Her friend made a habit of stopping by while Cathy was away. That pattern had triggered a little fight or flight response in Cathy’s mind that she still couldn’t quite explain to herself.

She settled for blocking in Sara’s car then honked before killing the engine.

The song on the radio finished before Cathy concluded that no help was coming and began gathering the bags herself; canned veggies, assorted meats, buns, bread, and beer. After crushing the bread and nearly dropping the bag of cans down the hill she chalked up the exercise as a lost cause. She carried the meat and buns into the house.

She placed the bags on the counter along with her phone and purse, then headed out the back door.

James Ramsey reclined on their dock kicking his feet in the lake. Water rained like stars soaking Sara who sat close to him kicking right back while defending herself with her arms. Her posture produced more cleavage than protection. Sara was not a less is more type of person, except perhaps for the size of her bikini.

Cathy walked to the boathouse picking her way through the chaos on the dock. It was cluttered with wakeboards, ski ropes, life jackets and oars; a jumble of items that should have already been replaced in their neat cubbies on the boat. A bottle of Soft-Scrub lay unopened, a bucket of water sat not foaming and a few dry sponges baked in the fading sunlight.

The water babies had not noticed her. She kicked an oar across the dock sending it clickity-clacking across the boards before falling into the water.

The noise stopped their water games.

“Hey Cat,” James said. “Where ya been hon?” He underhanded an empty beer can into the boat adding to a growing collection of dead soldiers.

“Hi Cathy, bin waitin’ for ya.” Sara twinkled a finger wave. Her Southern accent was thick.

And fake, thought Cathy.

 Neither got up, but James reached for another beer.

“Hello Sara,” Cathy said. She refrained from mentioning stolen parking spots. Or, unexpected visits.

Instead, Cathy looked at her husband. “Jim, what is all this? I thought you were cleaning the boat in case anyone wanted to go out tonight.” She hated her plaintive tone. She hated feeling like a nag. Like the mother of a thirty-two-year-old child. Jim had once actually called her the fun police.

“I was working on it Cat, I promise. I—”

“My fault Kitty. I showed up and forced him to keep me company.” It came out cumpny. “Blame me. Jim’s bin a sweetheart keepin’ a girl entertained.” Sara gave a predacious smile. Late coals of sunlight caught water droplets in her auburn hair giving her a fiery mane that sparkled with diamonds.

Why fix her hair if she planned on swimming?

“Yeah,” Jim said. “See she kept me from getting the job done. Not my fault. I was cleaning. Sara showed up and asked where you were. Where were you anyway?”

She sighed. “I was at the store. Getting groceries for tonight. You were supposed to come with, but made the deal that if I went, you would clean the boat, so we could ski later if people wanted. I guess you forgot. Are you drunk already?” A rhetorical question. The empties in the boat answered for him.

“Naw, naw. Just had a few, to keep me motivated.” He gave a sheepish look at the mess on the dock and changed tack. “I mean… I don’t know what I mean but look, everything is fine.” He jumped up, hopped into the boat, and began tossing empty beer cans out of the Styrofoam cooler, leaving the fresh cold ones safely on ice in the boat. He also put down the seats he’d lifted while removing the ski ropes and life jackets.

“Voila. Ready to go.” He threw his arms out like a gameshow host.

“And what about all of this?” Cathy said gesturing at the mess on the dock.

“Easy access,” Sara said. “Folks can just walk out and grab what they want from the dock as they get on the boat. Perfect. So really, Jim did a pretty good job, huh?”

Cathy spun, ready to beat the woman with one of the oars. Rough up her perfect mani-pedi. Add some black and blue to that golden tan. Maybe, tell Sara Cargill that her presence was not welcome. She was not needed tonight. Advise her that Cathy knew the idea of Sara coming to see her was total bullshit. Sara had driven by, saw Cathy’s car gone, and leaped at the opportunity of alone-time with Jim.

Instead, she glared.

The boat lift motor rumbled to life.

“Come on Cat. I’ll show ya she’s ready to go. Let’s take her for a quick spin. Be back before anyone shows up. Promise. Come on.” He waved her onto the boat, but Cathy balked.

“What about all this stuff? What about starting the grill? Plus, there are still bags in—”

“It’ll keep honey. We won’t go out far. Come on. Let me make it up to you. I’ll take you on a nice little cruise to soothe those nerves.”

“Well, I’m in,” Sara said. “Help me, Jim.” She stood, hands out until he grabbed them. She maximized skin to skin, then stepped down into the boat.

“Dang Jimmy. Such a strong man.” Sara gave his bicep a squeeze and turned to look at Cathy. “Come on Kitty Cat, the longer we delay the longer eva’body has to wait for us to get back.”

We? You presumptuous bitch. Cathy questioned how long she could continue to eat this Kentucky-fried horseshit.

“Hon, if you don’t hurry, we’ll have to leave you.” Jim called.

Cathy hated him for that. She’d never forgive the idea he’d just slip away with Sara and leave her standing there.

Deep breath.

She shook it off, and pasted on a smile. It looked real enough. “Alright, just a quick trip.” She obviously wasn’t letting Jim spend more time alone with this bitch. “Help me in Jim.”

They left the boat slip with a half-full cooler of beer, food forgotten in the house and car, and the rest of the gear sitting on the dock.

***

Cathy quickly realized Jim was at least three sheets to the wind, and she suspected he had a whole sail billowing out there. They weren’t on a nice soothing cruise. The boat sped near full throttle and Jim was jerking the wheel back and forth like it was a jet ski earning angry looks and two flying birds from other boaters he passed.

The sun singed the tree tops around Calder Lake, a shimmery fire that ran across their tips. Jim trimmed the engine up making fish tails in the water before finally throttling back to neutral. The boat planed across the water before settling to a rolling rest on small waves.

Cathy exhaled relief. She knew Jim shouldn’t be driving and stared as he reached for another beer. She started to demand that she drive home, especially considering they had no lifejackets. “Ji—”

“Hey,” he yelled like he needed to get their attention. “My dad used to tell me about this island over near here. You could see it from the old double bridge before they built the new one over by Jay’s Marina. You remember? You’d drive by and it would be covered with seagulls and cranes and shtuff. You know, all these birds.”

“Yeah, I ‘member. It was so cool. Too bad you cain’t see it from the new bridge. I’d always ask my parents about it when we drove by.” Damned if Sara’s voice didn’t sound hot and wet like a deep kiss in a sauna. “What’d they call it? You ‘member Jim?” She had not spoken directly to Cathy since leaving the boathouse.

“Bird Island,” Cathy said, boredom sewed through the words with a hostile thread.

“Yeah. You ladies wanna go? We got tons of time,” Jim slurred.

“I don’t thin—” Cathy started.

“Let’s do it.” Sara interrupted. “We can go by for just a sec before we head back. We’ll be like kids again. Bein’ naughty.”

Cathy was about to lose it. Who the hell talked like that? It was too much. But she told herself, I’ll wait until we get back to the house before laying into Sara. Right now, she needed to talk some sense into Jim.

“How do we know the birds are still there? It’s been like fifteen years you know.” Her words got lost in a wash of engine noise. Cathy stumbled backward over her chair, then landed on the rear bench in a huddle. She caught the laughing, feline eyes of Sara staring at her and quickly turned away.

An hour, she told herself. Then she would tell this southern-fried bitch where to stick it. Cathy could handle an hour.

***

It was time for Cathy to take the captain’s chair. Jim had put them on autopilot—a short length of ski rope tied from a steering wheel spoke to the rearview mirror above—while still at almost full throttle. It kept their heading relatively straight while Jim searched the bow compartments for extra beer. The cooler having run dry, he sought a mythical spare case.

Cathy was done. This was over. She started to slide toward the driver’s seat.

Sara stepped into the aisle, blocking her way.

“Hey Jim, can I help?”

Sara wanted to keep Cathy from the controls. It was infuriating. Cathy leaned on her seat, waiting, and reminded herself that there was only half an hour left of this fool’s errand. She looked over to Jim, his head now in the other storage locker. She focused beyond him and saw a wall of trees. Oh shit!

“Jim!” She screamed. Cathy body-checked past Sara in an attempt to grab the controls, but only succeeded in knocking the woman down and tripping herself.

Things might have been different if Cathy hadn’t tripped. But she did.

Instead, to catch herself, she braced against the throttle as she fell, pushing it full forward. The boat leaped like a spurred horse.

Sara, already off balance, fell back. She grabbed at the bottom of a chair to keep from rolling right out the back of the boat. Jim’s head started to rise from the tank he was searching. He was too slow.

Instead of a sandy beach, ‘Bird Island’ rose from the water on rocky steps. The sheer outcroppings told the story of erosion as Calder Lake slowly digested the terrain.

Newtonian physics were then proved in a most brutal fashion. This was no question of an unstoppable force versus an immovable object. The bow embedded itself in the rock, blasting up a wall of muddy water. The stern, unsure where to spend its forward velocity, leaped toward the sky. It threatened to flip, but at the crucial moment gravity prevailed and the rear plummeted back to the lake, smashing the water like a breaching whale. A CRACK announced the death knell of the watercraft as the engine block broke free of the hull.

Cathy landed in the footwell below the instrument panel after her leap. She took an opportunity to enjoy watching Sara shoot toward the bow like a pinball with flailing limbs before her own adventures in physics began.

The crash first threw Cathy into the front wall of the footwell. Then like a dog shaking a toy she was smacked to the floor, flung into the control panel overhead, then slammed back to the decking hard enough to bounce as the boat came to rest in the water.

After regaining consciousness, she did a damage check; nose probably broken, likely concussed, and a wet gash dripped somewhere above her ear. A lot of maybes and some blood, but all her limbs moved. Thank goodness. And, her ears worked; she could hear someone whining.

“Oh please, somebody help me. It hurts.” Sara cried.

Cathy poked her head around the wall. Sara sat in the floor of the bow.

“I think it’s broken. Oh God, I think its broken and it hurts so bad. What are we going to do?” Sara’s hair lay flat against her head. Blood trickled from half a dozen places. She sat with one leg outstretched and the other bent to her chest. Her left tibia or fibula or both were broken, the bones threatening to push through her skin. Her shoulders tilted heavily to the right due to a dislocated shoulder, and her ring and pinkie fingers were broken on her right hand. Ole Sara was fairly fucked up.

Cathy said nothing but asked herself, Where’s Jim?

Good question. When the boat hit the island, about half of James Ramsey’s head was inside the port-side storage bin in the bow. At impact his head smashed into the fiberglass with the force of a sledgehammer. His skull shattered, the right side of his brain liquefied and his head became no more than a sack of jelly and bone chips. His body catapulted up, feet twisting over his torso effectively flinging Jim like a bola up and over the bow of the boat. His raggedy landing onto the island was silent compared to the crash, but the impact was enough to break most of his ribs.

Ignoring Sara’s moans, Cathy stood then looked over the bow. Jim had landed just above the water line, a few feet from where the red clay base of the island gave way to dirt and tall grass. His head sagged near the water. He lay on his back; his lower body was twisted such that his heels pointed to the sky.

Before fear could freeze her into inaction, Cathy climbed onto the seat and tried to jump over the side of the boat. It shifted and she took a header into the shallow water. She rolled over, lifted her aching head, and leaned it back against the hull. Black dots floated across her vision. After it cleared, she regained her feet then stumbled through the knee-deep water toward Jim.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. Cathy felt sick as she knelt reaching for Jim’s neck to check for a pulse. She thought better of that after seeing the twisted knot there. Instead, in her dazed state, she placed her thumb against his wrist.

She found a fast yet faint throb. Thank goodness! That telltale sign he was still alive surprised her so much she never considered it was her own. Cathy didn’t risk moving him. Where could she take him anyway? She looked inland where mud became dirt then gave way to tall vegetation. Further back stood dead trees—empty—that reached skeletal fingers to the sky.

A green spark flashed behind the overgrown grass. Cathy, almost positive she saw something— maybe a penlight— called out “Hello? Can anyone help us? There’s been an accident.” No reply. The only other sounds were the gentle lapping of the water, and Sara’s moans.

No flutter of wing. No angry or frightened squawk. So much for “Bird Island.”

***

“What are we gonna do? I’m in so much pain. What are we gonna do?” Sara cried, her Southern accent all but disappeared. “I need a doctor. Cat, what are we going to do?”

Cathy paid no attention. After using the rear ski-ladder to climb back aboard Cathy had found the redhead asleep. Hopefully concussed. Sara woke while Cathy was tossing the boat like a burglar, looking for anything useful. Sara didn’t ask about Jim once.

Cathy found Jim’s Zippo during her search and used it as a makeshift flashlight. Useful, since the sunlight was now gone. The only other illumination came from the green and red safety lights on the bow. The white pole lamp at the stern had popped off like a rocket when the boat crashed. The rest of their provisions still sat on the dock, except for the empty cooler. Useless, she thought.

She cursed herself for allowing this situation to occur. And why? To protect her marriage? Considering what she now suspected about Jim and Sara, Cathy would have preferred to be back at the house, explaining to their guest how the food would be late because Jim was an asshole.

“We need a dove.” Sara moaned.

“What?”

“We need a dove,” Sara’s snark knew no bounds. “You know, to send for help, like back in the olden days.”

“Those were pigeons. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. We have no pencil, no paper, and no rubber band to attach it. But keep those great ideas coming.” Moron.

“I’ll try,” her voice sleepy now. “This should be a good place to get a dove. Bird Island, right?”

Cathy nodded in begrudging respect. Even the daffy, concussed adulteress noticed that Bird Island was a joke.  Even in the darkness it was clear the trees were empty. Enough time had passed for them to return if the wreck had scared them. Tiny laps of water, and buzzing cicadas scored the evening; nothing else.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Cathy heard grass rustling, but no breeze. No motion across the brushy overgrowth to give evidence of wind. And it was inconsistent. Almost stealthy. 

Cathy climbed down, a moldy towel she’d found on her shoulder. She had thoughts of finding a stick to make a torch. Maybe she could build a signal fire.

The air was stifling with no breeze. So why could she hear shuffling in the brush? She staggered away from the water toward the tree line looking for a solid branch. With the Zippo’s weak light, towel on shoulder she stared into the thick grass. Another green flash blinked out from the shadows. Something reflecting back the flame?

Two lambent green orbs floated near the ground just beyond the reach of the flickering light. She thought of Sara’s eyes before it clicked in her mind: Cat’s eyes.

“Now how did you get out here kitty-kitty?” Cathy stepped forward, angry rather than afraid. Somebody dumped their cat on this godforsaken island. Probably thinking it could feed on all the imaginary birds roosting here. The poor thing was stranded. Like us.

“Here kitty-kitty.” She crept forward to avoid scaring the animal. As she crawled into the grass the Zippo fully revealed the animal—fur matted and missing in places where scars stood out. Knotted pink tissue traced the animal’s body like a feline Frankenstein’s monster.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Cathy reached to pet the cat. It remained still; crouched and staring.

Before she could offer any comfort, more scarred and furry forms poured out of the grass and leapt at her from both sides. They swarmed out of the brush like ants attacking a wounded insect and reminded Cathy of the movie Critters.

Something yowled. She assumed it was a cat, then realized it was her own scream as razor claws sliced her arms.

She fell back as more cats bounded onto her body. It happened fast, but remarkably Cathy’s face remained clear. On the other hand, since Cathy wore only shorts and a crop top, the beasts had ample access to the rest of her flesh. Cats bit, scratched, and tore small chunks from her arms and legs. Peeled skin from her torso.

Cathy rolled hard, hoping she was headed toward the water. She felt a small bloom of triumph as she heard the snap of breaking bones from these miniature monsters as they rolled beneath her.

Her body dropped off a step of rock into two-feet of water and she was choking. That was okay. The blessed cool water extinguished some of the fire in her wounds. But the cats hadn’t stopped.

Well, some let go; those likely suffering broken bones. But others held on fighting for purchase on tender flesh. She thrashed, and spun underwater in a death roll like an alligator. More beasts lost their grip or never resurfaced, but all of them took their piece of Cathy’s flesh as payment.

Her body was burning when she finally climbed back aboard the boat. The scratches were scorch marks, and she bled everywhere. Everything felt swollen. The claw marks itched and seared. She sobbed, releasing a cry of pain, fear, and exhaustion. She’d almost died. She still might.

When the blood stopped pounding in her ears, she heard more yowls and hissing. She peeked over the side of the boat. Furry, mangled bodies floated on the red surface of the lake. Blood on the water. A few cats tried to make shore from the shallower water, but their broken limbs failed, and they sank below the surface.

Cathy saw a bloodied scar on the shore that marked where she’d been attacked. No bodies. She expected to see at least a few crippled cats, but the land was blank besides some blood stains and gouges in the dirt and mud.

“They pulled them back into the grass,” she whispered. “Protecting their secret? Or eating the dead.” It made a perfect, awful sense. The floating cats would either wash away to sink in deeper water or would wash ashore where their fellow killers could collect the bodies. And eat them.

So far, no animals had come for the boat. A shallow moat had grown between the craft and the island. The water, perhaps only a foot deep, required swimming to reach the craft. Maybe the old cat versus water myth would keep them safe.

Them!

“Jim!” Cathy ran to the bow to check on him. She kicked Sara in the process. It was accidental, but still: Little wins she mused. Sara moaned.

“Quiet.” she hissed.

Cathy had lost the lighter in the attack. Without more light it was difficult to discern anything where Jim landed. “I have to get down there. God help me, I’ll be right back.”

“Ow. You kicked me. You… meanie” Sara protested weakly, apparently at a loss for harsher words. Tears streamed down her face, and her body was a pale imitation of its former bronzed perfection.

“I’ll be right back.” Cathy said climbing down the ladder.

Navigating carefully, Cathy kept at least a yard of water between herself and the shoreline. There he was. Except there was no him, just a roiling mound of skin and fur. The world’s deadliest fur coat. Animal vengeance for years of human mistreatment. PETA would be pleased.

Under the yowls and smacking sounds, Cathy could hear their claws unzipping his skin. She retched, sobbing again.

Anger powered Cathy’s first act as a widow. She found a good-sized rock in the water and threw it with all her pain, fear, and hate for these cats, and—yes, she admitted to herself—Jim and Sara behind it. Sara was no better than these pitiless animals. Their instinct only to find prey and take it. The cats and Sara had wanted to take Cathy’s husband. Sara might have gotten him first, but the cats got him in the end.

Cathy’s missile knocked away a single feline. She pleaded with her dead husband. “I tried. I tried to save you Jim.” The words expelled on hitching breaths. “I loved you. I love you. I wanted to protect you from these predators. From yourself.”

She flashed back to Jim and Sara playing footsie on the dock. A string of memories followed: All the times some simple errand had taken him away from the house and required longer to complete than necessary. Jim, always chasing some task that took hours. Or, Cathy realized, sending her off to the movies or shopping, anything that ensured she was gone for an extended period.

“Yeah, I tried to protect you from yourself.” Her voice hardened. “But you decided to stick your head right into the lion’s mouth, didn’t you? How many times did you play cat and mouse with that fucking bitch?” she screamed the last word.

Sara moaned in response from above. Cathy returned to the boat.

***

“What are you doing?” Sara whimpered when she saw Cathy towering over her. “Why did you kick me? It hurt you know. I’m hurt already. Get a doctor, huh?”

“I’m going to take care of it.” Cathy said. “I’m going to take care of you.” She braced her arms on the seat cushions in the bow and lifted her feet toward her butt like she was preparing for a dips workout.

“I wish Jim were here. I wis—”

Sara’s wish curdled into a scream as Cathy dropped all of her weight down on her good leg, breaking it to match the first. Cathy heard a sickening crunch and felt the fold as bone gave way when she landed on it.

“I don’t think the boat is safe for us.” Cathy said. She raised her voice to be heard over the screaming woman. “You should probably be on the beach.”

“W…Why did you do that? Why?” Her voice was a screech. High and tremulous. “I’m gonna tell. I’m gonna tell I promise. Where’s Jim? Help me!”

“Sorry about your leg. That was an accident. But I’m going to fix it. I’m going to get us over to the beach so you can sit next to Jim. That’ll make it better, right?”

“I’m still telling. Bee-tee-dubs, you know he wants me, right? I’m better and you’ve always known it. Itty, bitty, shitty, stupid, kitty Cat!” Sara taunted her like a grade school bully. Her entire demeanor gone child-like.

Cathy ignored it. “Can you stand?”

“No. What kinda question is that? Are you stupid? Of course, you are, not knowing when we’re in your bed together. I always smile when I think how easily I took him away from you. And you just walked around like a pretentious bitch. Oblivious.”

“Okay, well that’s good. Let’s get you to the beach.”

Lacking the strength for a fireman’s carry, or a honeymoon lift, Cathy simply lifted Sara by the shoulders into a sitting position on the seat, ignoring the screams of pain and spittle that flew from the redhead’s mouth. Then she rolled Sara back like a scuba diver right over the side of the boat. She smiled when she heard the splash and Sara’s accompanying howls as her busted legs and dislocated shoulder hit the water.

Not wanting her to drown or float away, Cathy rushed back down to the water. She risked dragging Sara slightly up the beach a little closer to the grass, ensuring Sara’s head and most of her body was safely out of the lake. It was a calculated risk. But she was the big Cat now, just bringing another course to the buffet.

Jim’s body was already gone.

“Sorry honey. Looks like Jim moved. You’ll see him soon though. And isn’t this so much better? Isn’t the beach nice after being all scrunched up in the boat?” There was no beach, but Cathy believed Sara was beyond caring.

After an extended silence Sara finally said, “Yeah this is better. But don’t think it’s gonna make me forget what you did.” she paused. “You, did something and I’m telling. I’ll remember, don’t you worry. Where’s Jim?” With impressive effort she called out, “Jim?”

“He’ll be along shortly. Even if he’s late you won’t be lonely. I found you some pets.” Cathy started to walk away but stopped short. “Hey Sara, I know you’re mad and all, but can you do me one favor?”

“Whatever.”

“Stay awake, okay? Just stay awake.” She turned not waiting for an answer.

***

Cathy wanted to hear the feast but was a pragmatist. She knew her wounds could get infected, either because they were inflicted by feral cats or from the dirty lake water. Her injuries needed to be cleaned and disinfected soon.

While prepping Sara for her trip to the beach, Cathy remembered there were still roads at each end of the old bridge. That was the whole point a bridge after all, connecting two previously unconnected paths. If Cathy reached shore near the bridge, she could follow the old road to the closest store. And there were lots of beer stores around Calder Lake. Then she could call for help and report this horrible accident.

She threw the top of the cooler into the lake—not so useless after all—and climbed down after it. Cathy held it as a float and kicked out away from the island. As she slipped away, Cathy estimated it was roughly a mile to shore; about an hour’s swim. Cathy could handle an hour.

---

Bio: Brandon Doughty lives in Austin, TX with his family and their dog (Ellen) Ripley. After a quarter century working at Apple, he now writes full time. His work has been published in Punk Noir, Roi Fainéant, Aethlon, and Yellow Mama. His short story “Beachcomber,” is also part of Crimeucopia: Totally Psycho Logical (Murderous Ink Press). Find him on social media: @snakelst (Bluesky & Threads).

Cover Photo By:Pexels/Sébastien Vincon, Edited by The Yard

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