There once was a kitten named Goliath. She was a shy little thing, fluffy and black with eyes that pierced through the dark. She was the only cat in the shelter. The rest… were dogs.
She stayed in her corner, patiently waiting to get the hell out. She didn’t hate the other animals. They just barked at nothing.
She didn’t remember much of what happened before the shelter. There was a road and a thick brown paper, then gentle hands and the shelter. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but the piteous way the dogs sat and begged when a stranger came in made her think we were all waiting for something.
After a week at the shelter, a man walked up to Goliath. He was swarthy and towering, and she knew it was time.
She was now in a crate in the back of a Yukon. Through the bars, she saw the world pass by. Trees and ocean, and sun and moon.
When he stepped out, it was nightfall. He grabbed the crate and walked to his house. Across the street was a stumpy woman with red hair and a hunched back. She was sweeping the steps to her angry house.
Goliath laid a paw on the crate. The woman looked up, and their gazes met. Suddenly, Goliath felt an urge to itch her back.
“Hi, Ms. Davidson.”
“Hmph.”
He whispered to Goliath, “She’s a nasty one. We’ll stay away from her.”
When they entered the house, a small boy came running up to the man. “Papa!”
“Hey, kiddo!” He lowered the crate, and Goliath watched the man embrace the child.
A stranger behind the boy took money from the man and left.
“What’s that?!” The boy widened his eyes at the ball of fur.
“It’s our new pet,” the man said, unfastening the crate. “Meet Goliath.”
Before Goliath got to her paws, the boy wrenched the cat from the crate, tearing out a tuft of fur. Goliath hissed and clawed at him. The boy yelped and dropped her. She thudded and ran back into the crate. The boy whimpered, cupping his palm.
“You have to be gentle with her, sweetie,” the man said, consoling the boy.
He sniffled, staring at the crate. Goliath gingerly crept out and peered up at the boy. As blood seeped into the floorboard, the boy smiled at the kitten, his cheeks shiny with tears.
Because of their first meeting, both Goliath and the boy were skeptical of each other. She slept in a different room, and he left food outside her door.
Though she was young herself, she knew he was younger. They each took naps and made plenty of messes. And she played with yarn like he did toys. When the man left, the stranger returned to watch the boy. But when both the man and the boy left, the stranger did not come.
Goliath spent most days exploring the house. Her favorite nook was the attic. While it was cold and dusty, it had a lovely view from a window of the street with the ocean at one end and a stable at the other.
She watched birds fly by and neighbors take out trash. Several times, she saw Ms. Davidson hobble out of her house, always with a scowl.
Ms. Davidson saw Goliath too.
Each time their gazes met, Goliath felt her hair stand on end and an itch on her back.
About a month in, Goliath warmed up to the boy. Though he cried like the dogs, she liked being brushed.
Sometimes, he grabbed her tail. And sometimes, they forgot to feed her.
She still liked the boy and his papa. She even grew to love them.
One day, she heard a scurry in the attic — a mouse! She darted at it as it ran into a hole.
But Goliath knew patience and waited by the hole until the mouse came out. The thing cracked like a nut under the weight of her paw. She didn’t know what came over her. But she felt proud and with her teeth carried the mangled creature to the boy’s bedroom and left it outside his door.
The boy screeched when he saw, but the father didn’t bat a lash. In fact, he was flattered. He petted Goliath warmly and topped off her bowl.
They had a funeral for the mouse in the backyard. Goliath watched from the window, not understanding the ritual. But she knew humans were weird and that she could forgive.
On a breezy spring day, the father opened a window to air out the house.
Goliath sat by the screen, felt the wind through her mane, and watched the day go by until a chipmunk pranced onto the yard, searching for something in the grass. Goliath perched up and observed its behavior. She then lifted a claw and cut an opening into the screen. She squeezed through and approached the chipmunk from behind.
The chipmunk was swift, but she was swifter. It climbed up a tree, and she followed. It stood at the end of a branch, quivering with fear. She lunged at it and tore off its head.
This time, she left the carcass outside the father’s bedroom.
The following week, he found a pigeon outside his door, its wings matted with blood.
The week thereafter, a rabbit with its intestines spilling out.
And the week after that, a raccoon.
Each time, they held a funeral.
The man was baffled. He kept the window closed, yet somehow, Goliath brought in more and more dead animals.
In the beginning, she thought he liked the gifts. But she was beginning to think he was scared of her. He petted her less and less and never left the boy in the same room as she. She missed them and the gentle nuzzle of a hand.
Maybe the gifts weren’t grand enough. Maybe he wanted more.
One night, when the boys were asleep, a deer came into the yard. She slaughtered it and dragged it upstairs.
She slinked back outside in search of a second gift. Down the street was a stable. And in a stall slept a horse. She approached the beast, lifted her claw, and slit its throat. She darted away as it jolted awake, its blood squirting and painting the barn. It kicked and bucked until it could no more. She dragged the body out the stable, down the street, and into the foyer only to slink back into the night for a final gift.
She headed toward the ocean.
At the end of a jetty, Goliath watched the calm of the ocean, waiting for her next feat. And then, she heard it — clicking and whistles, and moans and squeals.
She eased into the water and paddled her way outward. When one breached the surface, she brought down her mighty paw.
As the sun began to rise, she lugged the body up the beach and left it in the front yard. It was too large to bring inside.
She shook out her mane and looked proudly at her gift.
A scream came from inside the house.
“What the fuck…” he said under his breath, stumbling onto the porch.
He stared unblinkingly at Goliath and backed away from her.
She was confused.
Then, an explosion of green blew open Ms. Davidson’s door. She stepped out and, for the first time, smiled. Right at Goliath. She placed a broom between her thighs and lifted into the air. Her hair glowed and whisked in the wind like ashes.
Goliath felt another itch in her back. She hunched over in pain, and a crack punctured the air. Wings unfurled and flapped.
The boy had joined his father. They stood with their backs against the house, petrified. They both looked so young, Goliath thought.
It was only then that Goliath knew that the gifts were never not grand, but that she was grand herself.
It broke her heart to leave, but she knew it was time.
She turned toward Ms. Davidson, batted her wings, and lifted off the ground. And together, the ginger witch and the kitten named Goliath flew off into the sunrise without ever looking back.
La Fin
Illustrated by J.Q. Gagliastro