the black cat | dnf

1967, 6th September.

1967, 6th September. Two days after the loss of Clay Dream Smith.

So far, George had still not stopped being miserable. He had spent most of his hours inside or visiting Clays grave.

As far as George knew, he thought he would probably never get over his death. A man he loved dearly had unfortunately passed. George was miserable.

"George! George, I came up to see you." A loud voice boomed off the thin walls. It was his friend Sapnap, who was also close with Clay. He was loud and obnoxious and George grunted upon hearing him.

"George, wake up! Or are you already awake and ignoring me?" He knew him too well, he walked over to see whether he was asleep and instantly knew by his eyes. They were red and puffy from all the crying. He turned away from Sapnap, being ignorant.

"Go away, Sapnap." Came a small murmur from under the silky covers. Sapnap groaned in frustration and instead sat down on the bed, looking over at George. He sighed.

"George, I know its hard. But I'm here for you, I'm here to help you. So please, can we just take a walk?" He said, placing a hand on George's hair that was poking out from the covers.

George turned over to see Sapnap smiling and decided he was right.

"Okay. Just give me one minute." He gave a faint smile and left, finally leaving his dingy bedroom. Sapnap stared after him and smiled, he then turned to see a photo of three young boys.

It was him, Clay and George. They were all laughing, smiling wide. It must have been a while ago. He missed them both, George had changed and Clay.. well he was dead.

Finally George returned with some nicer clothes, he stood above Sapnap.

"Let's go."

. . .

They walked out the building and immediately spotted a cat. It was black with small white curls on its body and pretty green eyes. It looked pretty. The truth was, George actually never liked cats. He never really liked animals. He specifically didn't like this cat, it had been showing up for the last two days at his doorstep.

"George, is that the neighbours cat?" Sapnap asked, pointing to the tall cat that was curled up on his door step. He shook his head.

"I have no clue who's cat he is, all I know is that he doesn't belong to me." He snapped, walking off with a trailing Sapnap behind him. There was an ominous glow about that cat, he felt it and he knew George did too. He was just too ashamed to admit it.

"Hey, George?" Sapnap asked, killing the silence that George was trying to make. He looked over at his sluggish friend.

"Yeah?"

"I know you loved him, George," He smiled, a small frown on Georges face. George looked around for a possible distraction but could find none.

"I suppose I did get quite attached. Can you really blame me?" He gave a small chuckle and even though he was laughing he still sounded sad. Sapnap bared a toothy grin and looked up at the sky, it was getting dark.

After a few hours of walking it was dark and it being London, they knew it was best to get home as they street lights slowly started to light up a bright yellow.

As George finally reached his house he saw the cat once again, it was licking it paws and suddenly perked a ear up as George stopped. He looked at him, his deep green eyes connected with Georges. George stood still, observing the cat as it stared back. It looked well treated for a street cat and despite the fact he didn't like the cat, he decided to look for some cat food he may have lying around in a cabinet. He eventually found a small piece of leftover sausage and came back outside to see the cat was gone.

"Goodnight, Mister Black Cat." He whispered to himself, seeing the bright white moon. He decided that tomorrow would be a good day to visit Clays grave. He simply turned his back and left upstairs to get ready for bed.

6th September, the day George started to warm up to the cat. He would feed him a little bit of sausage any time he had come across the mysterious black cat. Now the black cat, he belonged to an old poet who was close to being fully blind. He was barely able to function by himself. It was the cat that had protected him.

The poet was named Phil, an old man who lived at number 59 on Georges block. He was known for writing multiple stories, he believed in such things that it was bigger than a childs imagination. He told people his wife was in the sky, looking over and blessing those in need. George had never met his wife but he assumed she was a lovely woman.

According to Phil, she wore long grey robes and had beautiful black hair that was so long that it reached her back. She always smiled and liked to tell children stories. She, like Phil, believed in myths and legends that were only really told by old people.

Phil was old now and had four sons. One stayed with him, despite him being 35, he stayed to care for the old man. His name was Techno, he was quite out-fashioned for the 60's. He always had his hair tied in a long braid and it was dyed a darkish pink, quite peculiar but he liked it like that, unusual. Techno looked like a soldier in a myth, casually carrying around a (hopefully plastic) sword that swayed around when he moved.

Then there was his second eldest son, Wilbur. Wilbur was around 24 and he was a singer. He wasn't anywhere close to being world-wide famous but he had few fans that would see him play. He was friends with Clay and he liked to hang out with the man a lot. They were close. Wilbur had a thin set of specs nicely balanced on his nose, he wore a mustard-ish yellow jumper and carried around his guitar despite horrible back pains. He always wore a beanie that sat on his fluffed up hair and had hazel brown eyes.

Then, there was Phils youngest son. Tommy. Tommy was 17 and he lived somewhere north. You didn't see Tommy much, he would sometimes visit but normally he'd be off with two of his friends. When he returned he looked awfully different, whether that was because he had a new scar than before or he had changed his style. He would travel a lot, he carries around a compass neatly in his trouser pockets. His eyes were a icy blue that seemed to be greyer everytime you saw him. He liked to be seen wearing a red and white shirt, along with a green bandana hung round his neck. He said it was a friendship thing between him and his friend, Toby.

George knew Tommy but never really spoke to him, he would often greet him and ask him about his trip, other than that he found the boy tiresome. Tommy could talk for hours and George would sit and nod, completely bored.

Anyways, Phil was actually Clay's father. Clay was the fourth child, he looked alot like Phil. Everyone agreed.

One time, Phil had been talking to Clay. He was talking about cats. Phil also believed cats, specifically black cats, were a sign of luck. He thought they should be treated like any person should. But, Phil was old and those were just stories.

What is deeply surprising about him as how he heard the news about Clays passing. He didn't cry, nor look sad. Instead he smiled.

"I know he isn't gone, he's here somewhere. I always knew he'd never leave me, he is here." He insisted when he heard it, and of course Wilbur and Techno were shocked. Tommy hadn't had such a good relationship with Clay but he still felt sad, he had only heard of his health once before he left.

Clay was closer to Techno and Wilbur, he enjoyed spending time with them both. Its a shame he died, I'm sure he would have lived on a great healthy life.

But he didn't, instead he had to suffer through medicine before eventually dying. George would constantly think about Phils reaction and wonder. He thought Phil was right in a way, and that Clay might actually be around them.

. . .