The Bell Cats

By Safiyya Bintali

There was a certain time of week when Jem, full-time writer, was a part-time veterinary assistant. He’d head over to the little vet’s office in the quiet outskirts of town come the fog of morning. After swiftly descending the precarious staircase of his apartment building and giving a friendly nod to the sprinkling of people in the café downstairs, he’d duck into his car and be gone until the settling of night. On those nights, when he returned, his clothes would be finely dusted with small hairs. Sometimes, he’d also be carrying a plastic box, its wall speckled with holes, a glowing pair of snake-like eyes and snowy whiskers visible from the cage door on the side. Jem’s neighbors watched and whispered and gossiped, but they never questioned. That was how it was in the big city, after all. 

The time of week rolled around again, and Jem drove off as usual, the scene in his car’s windows showing as buildings melted into fields with little structures scattered sparsely throughout. He turned onto a road here, down another there, spectacled eyes searching for the little engraved gold plaque on a wall. Then, there it was: Dr. Gantz. Pet veterinarian. Open always, just call after midnight. The last part was followed by a number. Jem sat for a minute, looking at the sign, remembering painfully the time he saw that name first. He remembered that night, up in the city, pounding on doors that mirrored dark veterinary offices, desperately calling numbers that wouldn’t pick up. As a last resort, he had torn through the phone book, where he first saw Dr. Gantz’s name. Then—Jem recalled it more vividly than he would have like—there was that drive through the ink of the wee hours, the fastest trip he had ever dared drive, and with such a fragile, furry passenger fading away beside him. He had met a friend then, the name upon that golden plaque—but, to the euthanasia needle, he lost the pointy-eared, purr-throated friend he had fought for that night.  

Jem sighed. He got out of the car, pressed Gantz’s bell, and waited. After a few seconds, and a greeting over the intercom, Jem was buzzed in. Once he got past the flurry of fur that rushed forth and knotted around his legs, he entered the office—a small place, painted with whites, creams, and muted browns, a wall of glass to one side giving a view of the courtyard and its resident cats. The floor was different, though. The office’s pastels melted off the cabinets, shelves, and walls, down to the floor, and into a brilliant rainbow of reds, yellows, blues, pinks, blacks. The wooden panels of the ground were always flooded by a sea of carriers, a sea of plastic cells which barely muffled the frantic yowls of the cats contained in them. And each little creature within each little cell would be awaiting one of two fates—fates that were life and death themselves. 

When a cat was judged with the Fate of Life, as it was most of the time, it was marked by the light of a simple surgery. Memories of those days would themselves smile. Jem would cradle the cat awaiting new life in his bare arms, its smooth fur caressing his skin as if it were made of spun silk. Dr. Gantz stood over him, syringe in gloved hand, pushing the needle that called for a short slumber into the feline’s hidden skin. Once the cat was under, it was laid on the table, eyes hidden from the rays of the surgery lamp above. They looked like the perfect image of the dead, and only the slow, steady breaths within that puffed their chests gave away the truth of their life. Lifeless as they looked, they always woke up. Jem, as he stood watchfully by, would hear the rustle of newspaper beneath their paws as movement leaked slowly into them, the sudden odor of ammonia powdering the sharp scents of medicines and creams. Yes, the cats—they would always wake up.

There were six carriers that day, each with a tag but one. The tags were of a simple construct—a line of silver tape, a name with the likes of “Cotton” or “Snowball” scrawled on it in pen. One animal was within each carrier, paws pressed to pillowed or newspapered floors, dark pupils shading the near entirety of their fearful eyes. Jem checked on them all, greeting them like a grand bellhop. It was his favorite part of the day. He glided from carrier to carrier, studying their coat patterns, stroking fur that poked between cage bars, asking them moot questions. Every so often he would glance at Dr. Gantz as she prepared the instruments in her hands. She caught his eyes and shook her head, smiling.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s time.”

A nod from Jem. Stepping gently over to the final cage, he lifted the sheet by which it was covered. There, four eyes greeted him rather than two—engraving into him a look that struck his chest like ice. The two bodies were ringed with ginger stripes and were pressed against each other as if they were one. There were collars around their necks—pink and black, respectively—and each subtle movement they made was accented by the jingle of a bell.
“Whose pets are these?” Jem asked. “Their carrier doesn’t have a tag.”
“No one’s,” said Gantz. “They were found on the side of the road in front of a house. Someone abandoned them.”
Jem glanced again. “So they’re trap, neuter, return like the others?”
Gantz stared at Jem and the cats. The cats’ eyes, black holes with the slightest ring of dark gold, bore back into hers. There was a slight shuffle. The bells jingled.

“No,” she finally said. A labored sigh escaped her—her hammer of judgement. A few of Jem’s fingers, which pinched the cover over the carrier, reddened. He knew that sigh.

“They’re…to be euthanized.” The vet let the words linger for a moment. “We looked and looked, but…we couldn’t find them a home.”
A chill came over Jem at Gantz’s words. The cover in hand, he glimpsed the ginger cats. He wanted to let go of the cover but couldn’t let the cage be encased in darkness again. 

A fuzzy thought that seemed like a memory surfaced in his head. It was smudged. Nothing could be made out. Yet, through the haze, a figure was walking, calling out names Jem could not understand. Desperately, the figure called, and called, and called—they cried out for the cats with the pink and black collars. 

The cats, Jem thought, they must have simply run away. That was all. That must be all.

 If their death sentence was to be heeded, that figure would look for them forever, calling names that no one could hear, names the cats could not hear from a sleep impossible to wake from. Yes, someone was looking for them. Someone must be looking for them. No one could simply discard them, collars…collars and all!
Then, Gantz’s voice broke through. “Just like those cats outside. Abandoned.”

Soft tsk-tsks from the vet, by her silver table, her whitening hair illuminated by a suspended lamp. Jem looked at the cats outside in the courtyard, their snake eyes peering in, distorted in some places by the little nose prints smattered on the glass. Sitting there—black, white, calico, gray; one-eyed, three-legged, head lopsided. They were the victims, each an embodiment of the same story. A story of a lonely street, a family once there but now gone, a story of an endless night, an empty heart, and a barren stomach. But, they were here now, in the courtyard, and their stories faded into the past. They were victims, but with a savior. They were victims without a bell.
“So many people just throw them out. They don’t care. They give up on them.” Dr. Gantz shook her head. “It’s really just terrible, isn’t it?”

“Yes…” Jem watched the glass wall. Countless pairs of eyes blinked back. “Just terrible.”
Then dawn came. The figure in his head drowned in morning light, their desperate calls for their cats fading away. He got up, the soft cover falling from his fingers, enveloping the collared cats again in the peace of darkness. He looked at the carrier, but his eyes didn’t see.

“Earth to Jem.” Dr. Gantz tapped his shoulder, holding up a small IV bottle. 

He whipped around, shocked back to reality.

“Come on, help me with the infusion,” said Gantz. “We need to get it done before you prep the carriers.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Doc.” 

Jem headed over through air that was suddenly cold and joined Dr. Gantz at the table to do his usual tasks. Behind him, he heard the tinkling chime that tolled like great iron bells. The sound pouring through his ears, he bent over a syringe and began filling it.

Soon, the sunshine that turned the glass wall white gold dwindled down to an amber, threatening night. Jem, today a part-time veterinary assistant, made his way through the courtyard’s obstacle course of paws, tails, and affectionate bodies. He almost tripped four times before he got to the door. 

“Jem, remember to bring the kitten you took last week in for a checkup next time you come,” Dr. Gantz said from behind the half-open glass wall. “It’s about time those stitches get looked at.”

Jem nodded. “Sure thing, Doc.” 

“A real miracle she made it. You got some touch, young man.”

Jem smiled. “The little one’s the real fighter. She wants to live.”

“You don’t give up either, you know.” Dr. Gantz glanced up at something Jem couldn’t see. “Even I give up, pull out the needle, and there you are…”

They stood for a moment in quietude, as a strawberry sunset and plum night clouds shed pink all over their little world. 

“Good night, Doc,” Jem said. “Same time next week?”

“Of course,” Dr. Gantz said, chuckling. “‘Til I retire. Then, you’ll be the reigning vet of this place.”

They shared tepid, friendly laughter and waved goodbye. Then, Jem opened the door and left. In a seat of his car, he loaded a box covered with a cotton sheet, patterned all over with flowers. Something shuffled inside it. And two bells—they jingled.

About the piece: "The Bells Cats" is a work of flash fiction, wherein a veterinary assistant comes across abandoned cats sentenced to euthanasia, as they were seen without place in the world. It is heavily based on a time I volunteered at a veterinary office when I lived in Saudi Arabia, wherein I met two cats that were abandoned with their collars still on.

Safiyya Bintali

Safiyya Bintali is a freshman at UNLV, studying physical science in the College of Education. She is also a writer; her main areas of focus being creative nonfiction, flash fiction, and poetry. Her poetry has been featured in the digital literary magazine Ink and Sword, and she also actively writes articles at Our Life Logs. 

In her free time, she enjoys reading, exploring, dabbling in photography, and playing video games (especially the Earthbound series!).