Minka Versus Minx

MINKA VERSUS MINX

A tale by Chibouk the Stray

‘MINKA!’

A shrill voice echoed over the cobbles of Tahawal Street. It came from miss Kibbel, who had popped her head out of her little bakery called Muffin Tops.

‘Seriously, where did you run off to?’ she said, rubbing her temples. Twice more she shouted for Minka, before giving up and changing the CLOSED sign to OPEN and heading inside. She left the door open, allowing the smell of fruity, buttery pastries to waft out the door: a hint of cinnamon here, a dash of lemon there, all designed to trigger a bit of a tummy-rumble. Miss Kibbel shuffled over to her furnace and inhaled the scent of roasted almonds on banana bread. They were not ready yet, and so she plopped down in her rocking chair and pushed herself off with her heels, enjoying the cool breeze that came in through the entrance.

Something soft brushed against her legs. ‘Missy Minx! Why, I didn’t see you come in. Come here then, on my lap you go.’

The calico cat that had snuck in meowed and allowed herself to be picked up, and, after softly clawing miss Kibbel’s apron, nestled into her lap, purring at the strokes of her wrinkled hand.

‘Honestly Minxie girl, I don’t know what to do with that girl,’ miss Kibbel said while staring out the shop window, ‘where does she sneak off to every night?’

Minx flexed, yawned and stretched, then rolled on her back, relishing the belly rub that followed. Miss Kibbel smiled at the feline’s delight. Then she noticed the pink bowtie around her neck.

‘Oh, how pretty, Minx! You didn’t wear that yesterday. Did your owner give you that? Gosh, you are a cutie-pie, aren’t you. Tickle tickle!’

With powdery fingers miss Kibbel prodded Minx’s exposed tummy, and in reflex the cat grabbed her wrist as if catching prey – but the baker knew that whenever she did so, Minx never revealed her nails.

A heavy sigh signalled the end of playtime. ‘Where is that girl?’

Minx paused as if thinking on what to do next, then half rolled, half fell to the ground, landed neatly on her paws, and affectionately rubbed her head against the baker’s legs, before sauntering off to the back of the shop and hopping up the stairs. Miss Kibbel got up as well and took another long, hard look at her breads in the oven, straightening at the sound of footsteps coming downstairs. At first she looked surprised. Then her face sagged in displeasure.

‘Minka! I couldn’t find you anywhere upstairs. Where on earth did you come from? And stop doing that, will you!’

The teenage girl that emerged from the staircase stopped licking the palm of her hand, stumbled over her own feet, then adjusted the salmon-coloured ribbon in her hair. ‘Notice anything, auntie?’ she chirped, cocking her head to the side.

‘I notice you’re late, as usual. Waffles are in the kitchen, though they’ll be cold by now. Oh and finish the orange juice will you? It’s about to expire. Chop chop girl – shop’s open!’

Grunting Minka dragged herself to the kitchen, placing her back against the corner of the table and rubbing it to rid herself of an insistent itch. Stale waffles awaited her. The glass of orange milk smelled more sour than usual. With a grimace Minka emptied the glass in the drain and chucked the waffles in the bin. She’d have some milk later, when the maid delivered it. When she saw her reflection in the window she took off her ribbon, wiped it, then squeezed the thing in her fist before throwing it to the ground. Auntie hadn’t noticed it – not when she wore it.

Sighing Minka licked the back of her hand and flicked it through her auburn hair, before walking back into the shop and grabbing an apron from the rack behind the counter. The first customers were in: the grandmama twins who lived across the street, who came by every day.

‘Here’s your cinnamon rolls, Carol, Carla,’ Minka said, handing them two paper bags prepped by her auntie. ‘Will you be staying for coffee?’

Of course they stayed for coffee. They had stayed for coffee since time immemorial, having been loyal customers even since before the shop’s conception, eating rolls and sipping joes with her auntie in an act of neighbourly support. There, the lady of the house emerged, returning from the mirror at back of the shop with a thick layer of lipstick and a copious streak of rouge. Without even looking at her niece miss Kibbel plopped down with the twins and began her routine of morning gossip, ordering her to bring another cup of coffee with a flick of her hand. Minka rolled her eyes, brought the pot and placed it on the table for the ladies to figure out for themselves. She concluded, hearing their cackles, that they didn’t much care. Some more customers came and went, and ultimately it was Minka who took the banana bread from the oven while her aunt yakked away with the dinosaur twins. That’s how it went every single day; Minka ran the shop while Kibbel ran her mouth. As long as nothing broke and the customers were cared for, Kibbel didn’t speak to her at all.

Except, of course…

‘Minka put that down dear, lest you turn into a sweet roll yourself! That stuff goes straight to the thighs – and you really don’t need that, not with hips like yours.’

Scoffing Minka put away the cake she had almost bit into, took off her apron, and stomped up the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Bathroom!’

Minka slammed the door behind her and faced the mirror, wiping the corners of her eyes. How come that daft woman never paid attention – would willingly let her breads burn – yet somehow always knew when her niece went for a treat? Minka’s eyes glided down her mirror image. She wasn’t exactly skinny, but fat? Minka pressed her hands against her stomach, then let them slide over to her hips. This won’t do, she thought, day in, day out, what’s the point? Maybe I should go and change… But no, she couldn’t, not while the bakery beckoned. Tonight, yes, if only to confound Kibbel about her absence. Slowly Minka retreated to the shop.

The maid came to deliver the milk, allowing Minka to quelch her thirst. At nine-thirty she had a salmon-and-cream bagel, which would have to power her through the rest of the day, because lunch time was busy, and with patrons packing their provisions she would not find the time to have a sit down herself. Kibbel, of course, always found a moment to eat, blaming old age and frailty for her incessant need of nourishment, all the while criticising Minka whenever she asked for a break – what with her girth on the grow and all (as if Kibbel herself had not garnered quite the cushion). It wasn’t until five-thirty that the front door would shut and the sign would read CLOSED that, at last, Minka’s shift was over.

Miss Kibbel poked her head out the door, scanning Tahawal Street. ‘Minx? Oh missy Minx! Here puss puss puss!’ she sang, waiting a little while longer.

‘She’s never around at this time,’ Minka said, scowling at her grumbling stomach.

‘Oh shush, what do you know of cats,’ miss Kibbel said, before closing the door anyway. ‘Now be a dear and cook up some dinner. I’ve got tomorrow’s dough to knead.’

With a sigh Minka shuffled to the kitchen, groaning at the pile of plates she had to wash ere cooking could commence. A simple Pasta Romano would have to do, even if the tomatoes were no longer fresh. At least there was plenty of cheese.

Dinner was its usual quiet affair. Minka slurped at her fettuccini while Kibbel twirled the pasta with her fork – failing at her pursuit of etiquette. She tutted at her niece’s habit of licking the plate clean.

‘Cat’s got your tongue except for when you slobber it all over your plate. How are you to become a proper baker with that attitude of yours? And where are you off to now?’ Miss Kibbel inquired, eyeing Minka as she hobbled to the stairs.

‘Long day, I’m turning in,’ was the reply.

Kibbel scoffed. ‘For someone who sleeps so early you certainly manage to wake up late every day. Fine, go, have your cat nap – and don’t shake your hips so much when you walk, dear, it’s unbecoming.’

Without answering Minka trod upstairs, entered her room and quietly closed the door. She took a moment to lie on her bed, pushing her nose into the blankets and writhing around as if she couldn’t quite find the right position. Then she sat up, turned off the light, and waited, listening to the rhythm of the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. She focused solely on that sound, tick, tock. She breathed in. Tick, tock. She breathed out. Tick, tock.

It began with a shiver. An itch, just behind her right ear. Slowly the sounds of the world dimmed, while the sound of the clock grew louder. She felt herself diminish in size, and as she did her features began to change. Her nose began to shrink and her ears elongated. The hair on her head shortened while her skin grew bristly, and all the while she grew smaller. Then it accelerated: from her tailbone an actual tail sprang to life, and her arms and legs repositioned themselves to allow for quadrupedal movement. Her nails became claws that retracted in furry paws, and all the while she shrunk and shrunk. The final touch came with a cute little sneeze, causing whiskers to sprout from her face. The feline on the bed scratched behind her ear and meowed, blinking as her eyes enlarged to take in a world so dark.

Minka loved how each time she changed, her awareness changed too. Even sitting still on the bed she revelled in the sensations that swirled in her mind. The shadows of the room turned to silver, allowing her to see the wardrobe, her desk, and her nightstand with great clarity. Her vision had also expanded, as if her world had become panoramic. More impressive, however, were the other senses: without having to even try it Minka could smell everything with an acuity humans could never understand. She picked up the scent of her own pheromones, which were an intimate kind of sweet. There was an undertone of mustiness from dust and pollen, and tucked beneath all that she detected a hint of fermented yeast and sugar. Like a layer of blankets each smell presented itself, together yet separate, covering her surroundings in warm, familiar odours. But that was not all. There were also many more sounds than before: the ticking of the clock dominated the bedroom, but there was also her auntie’s shuffling coming from downstairs, the whistle of the breeze outside, and the scraping of tiny rodent paws in the beams above. She could also deduce with great precision where each sound came from, and she wiggled her ears when from outside came a feline cry.

Minka pushed her hind legs up and straightened her forelegs, stretching her claws and her spine. Then she hopped off the bed and walked the room, so giant, so alien, yet still home. With a wiggle of her whiskers she calculated her jump, before effortlessly reaching the bureau under the window. Strewn under her were pencils, papers and sticky notes, but her paws always avoided them, even without her looking down – her whiskers were like magic antennae, telling her exactly what was directly under her. She hopped on the windowsill. The opening to the outside world was a slither, just enough for her to squeeze through. From there she clambered up the gutter and strut over it like a literal catwalk. Oh she loved how her shoulders rolled with each step. The pistons of this pussy’s power were still a lazy locomotive, but in the blink of an eye she’d be a bullet train, sprinting with a finesse and speed only felines possessed. The rooftops, getting dark in the fading twilight, appeared as bright as midday to her – but now she would have to descend, for her nose had picked up something of interest.

With a motion more akin to water Minka flowed down a drainpipe and jumped onto the canopy of a small confectionary shop, gleefully bouncing on its elastic surface. Her movements were sinuous – and she felt mischievous. With her whiskers she picked up a change in the air even before she felt the canopy tremble behind her. It was the orange alley cat Otto, who roamed the back alleys and side streets and who lived behind perpetually overflowing rubbish bins. They rubbed heads, purred in recognition of one another, then leapt down, stalking the shadows of Tahawal street. Bags and bins were there to be toppled, rats and rodents there to be thwomped – and nightly rest was to be thwarted by the falsest of falsettos: a balcony duet to make even the moon regret its rise.

A shrill, wet cry interrupted the acappella. The calico cat looked up and with an air of nonchalance pushed Otto off the wooden fence that they had made their stage. Then she dropped to the street and at a brisk pace went for the source of the sound – which was, of course, Muffin Tops.

‘MINKA!’ the shriek went, and the cat could hear high heels tapping against the cobbles. With a meow she let the baker know of her presence, and she heard a sigh of both relief and worry.

‘Minxie dear, have you seen Minka, by chance?’ Kibbel said, studying the feline’s face.

The cat rolled over the woman’s shoes and rubbed her head against her shins.

‘Of course not… you probably don’t even know who Minka is. She’s not in her room, and I never heard her leave the bakery. Darn it, why does that girl have to worry me so?’

Slowly the cat lifted her head, as if comprehension dawned. While miss Kibbel tutted and groaned the cat slipped inside and ran up the stairs. The room she went for was closed, and without opposable thumbs it would’ve been impossible to turn the handle. But the little window up top stood permanently ajar, and with little to no effort the cat made her way up the shelves in the hall, jumped up the window’s ledge, and dropped in like the cat burglar she was. Wait – why was she here again? She scanned the room… Oh why was it so hard to remember?

It was the noise miss Kibbel made downstairs that did the trick, and deftly the feline hopped onto the bed, locking onto the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The cat’s eyes barely moved, focusing on the hands of time. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Not a minute later a groggy Minka stumbled out of her bedroom, half wondering where she was and why she smelled of discarded mackerel tins. But with a bigger brain to process the world around her, the answers presented themselves even before she reached the stairs.

‘Minka!’ Kibbel turned when she heard footsteps coming down. ‘Where have you been girl? I came to check on you when I noticed your room was empty.’

‘Bathroom,’ Minka mumbled, scratching the dishevelled nest that was her hair. But Kibbel was not so easily deceived.

‘I took a shower dear – you weren’t in the house. Gods knows how you escaped – the window I suppose, but then what? Dropped down from that tiny ledge?’

Minka looked down at her socks. One of them had a hole in it.

‘I guess we’ll get to that later.’ Kibbel rubbed her temple as if trying to clean away smudge. ‘Tell me, what is this?’

Minka eyed what her aunt was holding up to her. It was her pink ribbon – the one she had discarded in the kitchen.

‘My…’ she began.

‘What did you do to Minx? This morning that little darling came into the shop wearing this lovely ribbon, before going upstairs. And then I found it, creased and crumpled, on the kitchen floor! And just now I saw her and she didn’t have it anymore! So I ask again, what did you do to that cat?’

‘Give me that, that’s mine!’ Minka said, reaching for the ribbon that dangled in front of her. But her feline finesse had left her, and Kibbel easily manoeuvred around her grabby hand.

‘Please! I’m not stupid, you know. If it’s yours then how did it end up with Minx? Now what did you do to her?’

Anger bubbled to the surface and Minka began to tremble. ‘You don’t get it, do you? You never do! And you say you aren’t stupid…You care more about that cat than you care about me!’

‘Don’t you wag that finger at me young lady! I care for you plenty! Took you in after your parents died, didn’t I?’

‘Don’t you dare use them as an excuse!’

‘You are horrid, Minka!’ Kibbel continued, deaf to the girl’s pleas, ‘Disappearing night after night – making your poor aunt worry sick! I should bolt that damned window shut! Now I will ask one last time: what did you do to missy Minx?’

‘Nothing!’

Miss Kibbel’s face reddened. She straightened her back and puffed herself up. ‘LIAR!’ she belted, ‘You are nothing but a horrible liar! Always complaining, eating my life savings away, but do you hear me making a fuss? No more! You are grounded, missy, until you decide to be honest with me! And if you DARE to leave the house tonight, better prepare to stay away, because you won’t be allowed back in anymore! NOW GO TO YOUR ROOM!’

Minka clawed at her head and let out a long, loud shriek, before stampeding up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind her, and shoving her face into her pillows to weep. And when she had no more tears to shed she stood up, made her bed and tidied her room, before fully opening the window. She clambered through, almost slipping over the little ledge, and softly shut the window behind her. With a quiver in her voice and a shiver from the cold she straightened, closed her eyes, and jumped.

A calico cat landed on the cobbled street.

***

‘MINKA!’

A shrill voice echoed over the cobbles of Tahawal Street, which bathed in the light of a watery sun. The sign of Muffin Tops said ‘OPEN’.

Carol and Carla, the next-door dinosaurs, came and went. No coffee was poured this morning. And to the great surprise of the lunch-going crowd, Muffin Tops was closed before noon, with the lights inside turned off, despite the door being open.

The baker sat motionless in her rocking chair, gazing out the window, seeing nothing. A meowing sound eventually made her look down.

‘Minx,’ she said, her voice faltering. The calico cat that had snuck in purred and allowed herself to be picked up. Softly she clawed at miss Kibbel’s apron, nestled into her lap, and shivered at the strokes of the baker’s calloused hand.

‘Oh Minxie girl, I think I’ve done it now,’ miss Kibbel said while staring out the shop window, ‘Minka disappeared… Oh Minx, where could she be?’

Minx’s eyes narrowed, as if she was thinking really hard. Then she flexed, yawned, and rolled on her back. Wrinkly fingers prodded her tummy, and softly the feline grabbed the lady’s wrist, only vaguely aware of the drops that fell into her fur.