The Breaker of Cats' Necks
Loneliness can drive a man to the brink, but is that true of kindness as well
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Loneliness can drive a man to the brink, but is that true of kindness as well? The diary of one man’s downfall in the Alps.
30 September
Went into the study and got the black and white one. Strolled out into the snow. It glared at me and for a minute there seemed a point of understanding between species despite my malevolent eyes and determination for the deed that had to be done. I tightened my grip around the creature’s neck and twisted as hard as I could. I felt the brittle bones break under the force and its neck went limp, the rest of its body stiff. I dug a hole in the snow and buried it behind the cabin. Its eyes were still glazed with life as I condemned it to its icy grave. I won’t let the others out for a while and when I do it will have to be one by one and this time they can stay away from me. Got work to be getting on with.
27 September
Locked the cats in the study today and ignored their cries for release.
26 September
All their eyes were on me today, following me around the room with disappointed dilated pupils. Etching their confusion into my very skin, let alone my thoughts. Still writhing in pain - as always.
25 September
The novels not coming on at all - surprise surprise. More bad weather ahead so not going into town again for ages... too long.
24 September
Worked on the novel today amidst the incessant crying and clawing in vain at my legs. Slept dreadful again, tossing and turning all night long.
23 September
Out all day to calm the nerves a little. Detachment never hurt anyone. The snow is falling harder than ever and the paths are completely blocked off not to mention my foot killing me... not at least what I deserve. Felt very cold only wrapped in a red scarf, face all frost bitten and I’m completely at a loss.
22 September
Woken up again by clawing and yelps of pain. Really don’t know what to do. She spent the afternoon writhing around in agony in front of the fire and once I’d got to sleep she clawed at my legs furiously to wake me. Held her by the fire. I’ve done the diagnosis. I’m not stupid I know what has to be done.
21 September
Woken up by claws being dug into my chest and a sad sight. Aerial’s eyes are all oozy and her fur is matting where she can’t clean herself properly. Sat up with her most of the night, she seems in real agony and I don’t have a clue what to do. I’ve given her some dosage but it seems that the swelling is continuing and her back is becoming skeletal, which means her kidneys are damaged or something. All this since I got back. I can’t believe my ignorance. God knows what she’s eaten or what she’s caught.
20 September
Angry with myself. Because of my selfish infatuation with my work I’ve completely neglected the cats and its come to light that Aerial isn’t well at all (thus the reason for her incessant following and calling). She’s not eating and her tongue is swollen. To make matters worse, Jacque and the boys in mountain rescue radioed to tell me there’s no going nowhere for at least a week, maybe even two, so I’m going to have to give her treatment myself. It’s slim pickings, as I haven’t got supplies for months. She should be all right though.
19 September
My foot is completely bruised. I don’t know what’s wrong with Aerial but she has become completely sentimental - following me almost everywhere. Today out in the shed I was carrying the logs into the fire and I nearly trampled on her. My stuttering actions caused a log to topple from the top of the stack and as it was heading directly for her back, I put out my foot and the rest is history. Bloody hurt, but she was meowing all the way back to the cabin. Don’t know how cats say thank you but I think I’ll take that as gratitude.
18 September
Got back today, the rain was pouring down yesterday so no chance at all of making it up. Pierre was cynical about my idea for a romantic introduction, so I may give that a miss after all. However I think he was pleased to get his hands on some copy at long last. Glad to be back in my solitude, the town was packed and it won't be long until these hills are brimming with the thrill-chasing hedonistic youth of Europe. It’s only jealousy that makes me this way. As long as they let me be I have no problems at all and besides I have a month at least before they find this niche. I offered my condolences to Mandy no matter how serpentine they might be. In truth, that whole thing with Jed makes me glad to be shot of the place - it’s so bloody pretentious. Says the man writing a novel set in a ski resort. I am a walking contradiction. Night night.
15 September
Another great day of writing, I won’t chat long, my hands are absolutely killing me and I’ve got to rise early to start the hike down to town. I’m going to wring that French man's neck if he blasphemes my work. Not much room for negativity in my tired head so, lights out me thinks.
14 September
Finally, a good day of writing, Christ I’ve waited long enough. The first four chapters done and dusted Pierre will be pleased... if that’s possible. I have to say I am rather elated, at long last it’s finally taking shape, I am even considering adding a romantic episode but am very sceptical because of the chance that my deep felt indignation in these quarters might come through in the attributed chapters... I think I’ll discuss this with Pierre.
13 September
Climbed the mountain again this morning, first time in a month. After my musing yesterday I thought my zest for life should branch beyond the occupants of my home and embarked upon this gritty trial of stamina and determination. Despite the glacial weather the sun was shining once again and on my way down I was saw a golden eagle, a greater sight hasn’t greeted my eyes for years. It was surging upwards in the thermals and the sunlight was glinting off its sleek feathers. I even felt a slight tinge of jealousy from the guys when I got home. I felt guilty for my betrayal, but I’m pretty sure they’ll come round, if not for their love of me then at least for their love of canned tuna which I served up tonight. They can’t resist.
12 September
I found some time this morning to work on ‘the novel’ as it’s becoming to be known within my thoughts. Decided to elaborate on her eating disorder but once again I stopped writing after my thoughts ran dry. It's becoming a habit but despite my better judgement I refuse to call it writers block and remain adamant that such a thing ceases to exist. The sun was out for the first time in weeks so I went for a stroll up to Counters Creek. Mercutio and Caliban set themselves the task of following me again. Everywhere I go on this mountain I lead a feline convoy, though I am not complaining. I’d be lonely as hell without them. Even Aerial, the black and white beauty, digging her claws into my bedsheets, or more often than not my bare thighs, in the early hours can’t put me off the company I hold. My acquaintance with her is becoming almost unnatural. I might rename her Gertrude after all, but I feel the name wouldn’t fit the personality. Hark at me going on about this! Well I may not be able to write a novel but at least I’ve found a talent in my diary writing. Jacob. B. Celeste ‘Famous diarist’. It does have a sort of ring to it, I’m sure Mr Pepys would agree. Sweet dreams.
