When the Weather Is Just Right

By Stewart A. Brown

Art Lake is a simple everyday kind of man with a turbulent past. He turns to introspection and meditation to deal with the stress and pain that past turbulence produced. While meditating he learns to shift into the form of a common house cat. Art is content to use his new found power to supplement his diet by eating mice (poverty can do strange things to a man) and to reduce boredom by chasing moths. He has no plans to be a hero and as he leaves middle age he has gained enough wisdom to not dream of being one. The Universe has other plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483426037

Book preview

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1

I CANNOT SAY THAT THIS is the beginning of the story. Did it begin when I was born or did it begin when I got married, maybe when I got divorced? It may have begun in another lifetime or out in the forest when, musing alone, I made and got a wish. I don’t really know, but this is where I am going to start the story. Slowly at first, because I think differently from other people and, since I am telling this story, understanding a little of my perspective is important. You don’t have to accept it or believe it; just understand where I am coming from.

I live at the edge of the great American suburban dream. Life can be great, or not. I have a lot of good friends. I don’t see them much anymore. I live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. The crime rate has gone up recently. I have done a lot of things in my life. I can honestly say I have lived life, I didn’t view it from a couch. I bear the scars of much living, inside and out—scars you can’t get watching TV.

I live alone and eat mostly noodles and peanut butter (not together). There is an old Chinese curse that goes, May you live in interesting times. When I was younger I didn’t understand why that was a curse; now I understand. I carry the baggage that interesting times incur. Interesting makes for good theater, but living it can hurt. Bone and muscle don’t heal in real life like they do in the movies; lost opportunity seldom repeats itself; and I am not sure if broken hearts ever really mend. I must really have made some old witch very angry.

Without going into boring details: The stress of an interesting life was beginning to weigh upon my mind, body, and soul. I was going down and I needed to do something. I had no money and no health insurance. What I did have were a shallow knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine, a few decades of martial arts training, and years of training in meditation. I turned to a combination of herbal therapy and meditation.

It helped, at first slowly, and then I stumbled upon a truth: The Universe doesn’t work like we think it does.

If I could explain it I would, but the best I can do is give an example. Ancient man knew about lightning. He didn’t know what it was, so he wrapped it in superstition and religion. Then one day some nut with a kite and a key demonstrated that lightning could be coerced and therefore controlled. The race was on, and man soon learned to harness the power of lightning and renamed it electricity. Man still didn’t know what it was, but he figured out how it worked. We now know that electricity is what is released when an atom loses an electron. We can seemingly create it from thin air with the right equipment. But what is that lost charge and where does it come from?

What I stumbled on is like that. I can flip the switch and the lights go on. I know there is a power plant sending energy to the switch, but that is all I know. That, and that I can use it to make the pain go away.

One day while trying to meditate and failing terribly, I decided to use my cat as a focus. Simple practice: focus on the cat and it prevents all the other thoughts from interrupting. Focus on the texture of its fur and you won’t wonder how you’re going to pay the bills. Focus on the way its eyes never really close and you can’t think about when to mow the lawn. Focus on the curl of its tail and you won’t think of work. Focus on its breathing and you find yourself in a deep trance. If you live in interesting times, the Universe might even let you in on a secret.

I became a cat. I didn’t stay that way long. The shock of the change changed me back.

Some people might have been scared; I was curious. So I repeated the steps. Eventually, I learned to do it without a cat to study, then more and more quickly. I took to practicing being a cat. I tried other animals, but it didn’t work. All I could do was go from man to cat and back. I did manage to learn both sexes of cat, different sizes and colors, but I am apparently limited to house cats. I don’t know why.

Your soul has power. The Tao Te Ching mentions it, the Buddhists talk about Karma, and Jesus used it. Energy flows through all things—the Universe, God, quantum whosy-what’s-its —the name only limits it and my ability to perceive and use it. Just find the switch and make the change, which sounds simpler than it is.

I kept what I had learned a secret, of course.

It took a certain amount of patience and wisdom to find that switch, and the wisdom told me that even if I could prove what I could do, science couldn’t currently explain it. If I tried to tell the general public, most people would do their best to tell me I was wrong and would refuse to believe me, which is a way of throwing that energy and turning switches off. It is the whole mechanic behind faith, and faith works two ways. If you believe you can do it, you can; if everyone else says you can’t, doing it becomes exponentially more difficult.

Worse, some people would believe it and would tack some mystical label on me, subsequently ostracizing me or even trying to kill me for being so far outside their beliefs.

Others would try to make me a messiah and raise me up upon a pedestal from which I would eventually fall and get hurt. The government would, of course, insist on studying me.

I knew my secret knowledge was extremely rare and valuable. Since I was the bearer of the switch, I decided I didn’t want to end up dead, surrounded by misguided groupies, or a lab rat in some secret government vault. So I decided to be content stalking my neighborhood as a small gray cat and cutting food costs by eating mice.

Being a shape changer has its perks, but my ability has definite limits. Maybe the Universe has learned, from past mistakes, that allowing a normal human being to turn into a powerful predator is unwise. Maybe my shape was limited to a fairly innocuous predator so that I would not become drunk with power. Maybe I just needed to let the Universe flow where it needed to go, quit trying to be the master, and accept my role as student.

I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, so I just enjoyed what I did know and played with it during my meditations in hopes of learning more. What I had learned was that, although my knowledge had moved past the normal person’s perception, I still don’t know much of anything. Maybe the next thing I need to learn is how to become a more patient man.

So I was out practicing my patience and chasing moths late one night in March. The air was warm and scented with the smells of spring flowers, newly cut grass, human sweat, blood, and fear. The latter smells kicked my cat senses into hyper-drive and my human mind into fight-or-flight mode. My intuition told me to move; my nose told me where.

I followed the scent of sweat and fear, carefully picking my way through the shrubs along the edge of the neat suburban homes When I came to the right fence I had to stop. If I went over the top of the fence it would make noise, and I couldn’t afford that. I didn’t know what was causing the fear or why there was blood. I would have to squeeze quietly under the fence at the far corner. I edged along the fence to the far corner of the gate. The resident dog had worn an indentation in the ground between the fencepost and the concrete walk to bark at possible intruders. Normally I would have had to be wary of the dog. He was a good pet, but he was also not fond of cats. Tonight he would not be a problem; the intruders had poisoned him and he lay twitching next to the inner walkway. It was a fate he did not deserve, even if he didn’t like cats. I crawled through the hole and moved in close to his dying form. I wondered if I could affect him, healing the damaged tissue with the same method I used to change my own shape, but I didn’t think I had much time and I had to move on. Something was terribly wrong and I felt I needed to act quickly. The smell of blood was stronger near the house; hopefully, I could help the dog later. I followed the scent left by the humans who had left him there to die. The owners of the house would not have left him there, and they would not have tracked his urine down the walk. Whoever the intruders were, they didn’t care about the house, its occupants, or the dog, and they were in a hurry.

My mind spun as I rounded the corner into the back yard. Something was out for blood, I could smell it, and it didn’t have happy thoughts and nice things in mind. Street gangs had hit this part of Elk Grove five times since Thanksgiving and five families had died; maybe I had stumbled onto their newest victims. Police had not been able to identify which gangs were involved, but all the common indicators of gang-style home invasions, robberies, and killings were apparent. As yet, there were no suspects. I doubted I could do much, but I might be able to alert the police.

I could have run home and called for help, but if I were right about the home invasion and the people in the house were still alive, they would be dead by the time I made the call. I could turn into me and alert the neighbors, but the downside of changing shape was that I hadn’t figured out how to take my clothes with me. I would be a naked old man knocking on a stranger’s door, claiming a murder was taking place. Not good and, again, too slow. If anyone believed me, it would take some explaining and that would take time. I figured my best bet would be to see if I could get into the house and cause a diversion or call from an empty room with a phone or find an alarm system with a panic button.

So I came around the back of the house and followed the trail to the back door. It was still open, I hoped I still had time. As I bounded up the walk I could still smell the urine from the dying dog. As I approached, the smell of blood grew stronger by the back door. This was how the intruders had been getting in. They would kill the family pets and then mimic the sounds of the pet being asked back in. The owners would turn off their alarm and open the door. The intruders would rush in, kill them, rob the house, and leave. No alarm, no barking dog, no call to the police. They were brutal and crude, often tormenting their captives before killing them.

I could hear muffled sobs inside so I didn’t take time to move slowly; besides, a small cat doesn’t make much noise, except on wood floors. I shot through the door and into the family room … onto the wooden floor.

Sometimes I have no doubt the rest of the Universe sees me as its favorite fall guy for cruel jokes.

The scene before me was surreal. A well groomed man wearing a Halloween mask held a knife to the throat of a small girl who was pinned against his chest. A man in his mid-thirties lay beaten and bleeding badly, but still conscious, against one wall.

A pretty woman, also in her mid-thirties, was stifling sobs while her husband bled to death: her eyes silently pleading with her attackers between the sobs. Two more well groomed men wearing Halloween masks stood smiling at the scene. The bastards were making her and her daughter watch as their husband and father slowly died. She had to stand there or they were going to cut the girl. They all turned at the sound of my claws on the wooden floor. I could leave and the family would die, or I could fight armed killers as a house cat and probably die just before the family did.

I went straight for the crotch of the guy holding the little girl. That’s the advantage of being a small cat. People don’t expect you to be ferocious and underestimate the damage you can do. Especially to a lightly clothed opponent. It also helps if you’re not a natural cat and you know how to fight a human.

I went straight under the girl’s dangling feet and up her assailant’s leg, As soon as I got to his crotch I was all teeth and claws. He screamed and dropped both the knife and the girl to grab for me. I pushed off his leg and ran around the corner into another room. I could hear him cursing and sobbing behind me. His friends were making surprised and graphic exclamations, and at least one was laughing. I shot down a short hall and into the front room. I could hear someone moving behind me. I ran to the bottom of the stairs and saw what I was looking for at the top of the landing. I shot upward, my pursuer coming fast behind me. I bunched up and sprang, hitting the small red button on the plastic control pad hard. There was a muffled puffing sound and the wall a foot away from me erupted as the bullet tore through it. My plan worked and the house alarm went off. I bounded off the wall back towards my attacker. He hadn’t been expecting that, and his second shot was way off the mark. I landed at his feet, hopped past him, and spun to confront him. He turned too, but again, being small and four legged gave me an advantage. I was far more maneuverable than he was. I could hear someone else coming down the hall. As I turned I changed. Instead of facing a small, dark gray cat, my attacker was now facing a full-grown and naked man. I caught him under the chin hard and he started to go down. I grabbed the hand that still loosely held the gun and spun to point it down the stairwell. The man who had been standing with him in the family room came around the corner; I pointed the gun at him and, using his accomplice’s own fingers, I pulled the trigger. He went down and I shot again, missing him entirely. Shooting someone with a gun squeezed into someone else’s hand isn’t easy. I shot again, this time hitting him in the head (I was aiming for his gut). Then I let the gun slide from his hand onto the stairs. The man I had hit followed his gun as he slid down the stairs. I hurried back to the family room.

The last intruder was still there, holding his knife in one hand; the other hand was holding his crotch. The bleeding husband had lapsed into unconsciousness against the wall. The woman lay unmoving on the floor. The injured gunman was putting the knife to the throat of the unmoving form of the little girl. He did not know there was anything other than a cat in the house, and his buddies and didn’t notice my approach. I didn’t hesitate as I came around the corner. I caught his arm at the shoulder and twisted it, forcing the knife down away from the little girl’s throat. The blade sliced along her right side nonetheless, and the assailant spun to meet me. But the injuries I had given him as a cat slowed him down. They also gave me an attack point. I kneed him squarely between the legs as I twisted his shoulder upward. My free hand grabbed his fist and I easily pried the knife loose. Whining and cursing, he looked up and his eyes met mine… sort of. I kept the cat eyes when I changed, and as he stared wide eyed I said, Meow. His eyes never blinked as I pulled the blade of the knife across his throat. The cut was deeper than I had intended, slicing through not only the arteries, but his windpipe as well. As he collapsed to the floor I noticed for the first time that the alarm was blaring.

Changing shape uses a lot of energy, and biological organisms get energy by eating. Changing also requires a lot of protein. Hunger and the smell of blood were driving me crazy, but I would have to wait. I moved over to the father. He was pale and his breathing was shallow. I put a sofa cushion under his arm and laid him on his side. I hoped it would slow the bleeding and keep any blood from collecting in his lungs. He already sounded very bad.

I laid my hands on his side and let my mind relax. My consciousness moved into his wound. He had been shot in the gut and needed blood, but he also had a punctured lung. The wound had been made by an expert and it guaranteed a slow death. I reshaped his body as if it were my own, trying to seal the lung. I had never tried anything like this before, but I hoped it would work. Once he seemed more stable, I checked the little girl and the woman; both were out cold, but breathing. The slash to the little girl’s side had only cut her sweater and creased one shoulder.

I could hear sirens, so I left the family and ran to scavenge in the pantry. The first thing I saw was a box of breakfast bars (20% of Your Daily Protein!) and I wolfed down several as quickly as I could shred the wrappers. I tugged open the refrigerator and yanked out the meat cooler. Inside was a paper butcher’s wrapper, which I grabbed. I heard the gate bang open and the front door break as I changed back into a cat. As the police flooded into the house, I ripped into the butcher paper with shaking claws. It was fish, and I began eating it ravenously. Cops flooded the room, men and women yelled, but no one cared that the cat had found a bit of fish. No one even knew the family didn’t have a cat. I finished about half the fish before someone threw me out the back door to prevent me from disturbing evidence. I took the fish with me, though. I finished it outside and, suddenly remembering, ran around the side of the house to the dog. His body was there, but he was gone. I howled miserably and an old cop came to find out why. He called to someone on his shoulder radio. I had done all I could. I was stuffed, but it takes time to digest the food. I couldn’t help the dog any further. I bounded off into the night.

2

I TOOK A ROUNDABOUT WAY home and slipped through my back door. The second time I went wandering in cat shape, I locked myself out. If my back yard was as clean and well groomed as those of my neighbors, I probably would have been arrested for public nudity. I had to break the back lock to get back in. I installed a doggy door when I fixed the lock, but at least I wasn’t seen. This night, I entered and curled up in the laundry room to sleep. I didn’t change, I was exhausted; I just slept and let my system absorb what I had eaten. I awoke ravenous about three o’clock that morning. I changed back into me and ate three peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Then I took a shower, ate another sandwich, drank some milk, and went to bed. I awoke again about six o’clock, ate a normal breakfast—a bowl of oatmeal—and went to work. Even with all that sustenance, I was dragging all day. No one noticed.

I used to be a teacher. I still want to be a teacher, but I was laid off with about another 100 teachers during the first round of budget cuts. This year they will be laying off more, and I doubt I’ll get my job back. So I work as a substitute, which—thanks to ever-increasing class sizes—is more like babysitting. The funny thing is, if I were a babysitter taking care of 40-plus kids an hour, 180 days (more or less) a year, I would earn about $170,000 a year. Assuming that I got paid the same rate I paid for babysitters in the early 1990s. They don’t pay teachers a third that much, and they pay subs about a third of what they pay a contracted teacher. I guess the babysitter got a good deal. The only advantage to being a substitute is the hours. You get a lot of time off. I get bored when I’m not doing something, so I work on my meditation techniques.

It was after an especially difficult day of babysitting, when I was feeling disillusioned and frustrated, that I decided to explore and challenge my view of the Universe. I couldn’t focus; my mind kept drifting