The Cat-Woman by Mary Elizabeth Counselman

Mary Elizabeth Counselman achieved an unexpected fame when a storm of reader applause greeted the publishing of a short "filler” story about three marked pennies and the fates that befell their owners. She has a knack for touching the emotional springs that lie deep in men and women. The tale we now publish is such in question, a tender little account of a curious encounter.

The first I heard of the strange Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche (I shall call her this as I can not remember her real name) was that incoherent, absurd tale told me by the landlady.
"She ain’t like us,” the old lady insisted, glancing fearfully over her shoulder and speaking in a low tone. A furriner, she is, and a quare one! I don’t like the looks of 'er. Them eyes of hers are full of evil!”
I suppressed a smile. “Oh now, Mrs. Bates—not that bad, is she ?” I said soothingly. “And you say she lives right across the hall from me, huh ? I’m looking forward to meeting the lady.”
"You'll come to no good, Mr. Harper, if you have any truck with the likes o her! the old lady warned, and waddled off, shaking her head slowly.
It was not until the second night after moving into Bates Boarding House that I really saw the lady. I had come in rather late from a .show and was fumbling with my door-key, when a slight noise behind me caused me to turn quickly and straighten up.
A woman, a tall and beautifully formed woman, stood in the half-open doorway across from mine. She was very fair, with a straight ash-blond bob that fitted close to her head. There was something about her— I could not place it, unless it was her perfectly round green eyes— that reminded me immediately of a cat.
I swept off my hat with an unwonted nervousness, and murmured some sort of apology Tor disturbing her. She did not answer me at all, but merely stood there staring at me in the dimly lighted hall with those large cat-like eyes. I opened my mouth to speak again, closed it foolishly, and turned, red with discomfiture, to fumble again with my lock.
Suddenly behind me I heard a gentle but quite audible “pr-rrr” like the whir of an electric fan, though not as loud. Glancing over my shoulder I noticed that the strange woman had gone back into her room, although she must have moved very quietly for me not to have heard her.
In her half-open door stood a large white cat, and it was its purring which I had noticed.
“Hello, kitty!” I murmured, holding put a hand.
The animal seemed very friendly, for it came to me at once and rubbed against my legs, still purring loudly. I petted it a moment, then unlocking my door at last, I stepped inside, closed the door, and switched on my light. Glancing down I found that the cat had slipped in while I was not looking.
Scratching its head in a way cats love, I carried it across the hall, and knocked timidly. There was no answer. I knocked again, then twice more, loudly. Still there was no answer. The lady must be out, or perhaps asleep, I told myself; and opening the door slightly I put the cat inside and shut it within. Then I returned to my room and went to bed.
I was wakened some hours later by something heavy on my feet. Sitting up and feeling about the covers, I touched something warm and furry. I switched on the bed lamp quickly, to find the white cat curled up contentedly on my feet. It must have come in through the window. Smiling slightly I went back to sleep, promising myself to return it to my queer neighbor in the morning.

Early the next day I knocked at the door, and receiving no answer put the cat inside as on the previous night. It was not until I was leaving for the office that I noticed with a start that all my windows were closed, as they must have been all night. I was sure, too, that my door had been locked against a chance thief. How, then, had the white cat gained admittance?
I was still wondering about this when I came home from the office. Mrs. Bates was dusting the stairs, and I paused a moment to speak to her. She mentioned again my queer neighbor, warning me to “keep shy” of her.
I smiled. “I saw her last night coming out of her door. Good-looking, isn’t she?” The landlady shook her head ominously and cast her eyes toward heaven. “And she has a beautiful white cat,” I added.
Mrs. Bates stiffened. “Cat?” she snapped. “I don’t allow no pets kept in the boarders’ rooms! I’ll have to speak to her about that.”
The front door opened just at this point and my strange neighbor came in. I was impressed once more with her odd beauty, the feline grace in her every motion. The word came inevitably to my mind — she reminded me so much of' a sleek, well-fed cat.
“I’m told you keep a cat in your room, miss,” began the landlady unpleasantly. “I thought you knew the rule..."
Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche turned her round green eyes upon Mrs. Bates in that disturbing unwinking stare of hers. “I haf no cat,” she said.
Her voice was a purring, throaty contralto, very pleasant, with a slight accent not French, not anything I had ever heard.
The landlady scowled. “But Mr. Harper here just tells me..."
I'm sorry,” I broke in hastily. “It must have been a stray cat. I saw it in your doorway, and naturally I thought ” I Ooundered helplessly. That fixed green stare made me forget what I was trying to say.
"It iss all r-right,” she murmured, and went upstairs to her room without another word. I followed suit in a moment; and there in the open door she stood as if waiting for me, motionless, silent, fixing me with her unwinking eyes.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I began again, trying not to meet that disconcerting cat-like gaze. You ” see, I put the cat..."
Suddenly she moved toward me, closing her eyes slightly like a pleased cat — and to my utter consternation, rubbed her head gently against my shoulder !
My first thought was that this was merely an amusing trick of a clever street-woman, the advances of a {fille de joie} a little less blatant than those of her boldly dressed, loud-voiced sisters.
Then suddenly the feeling swept over me like a cold draft that she was not a woman at all, that she was not even a mortal... that she was a cat!
Moreover, as I drew myself away from her and entered my room queerly shaken, I could have sworn I heard, from the depths of that pale throat, the purring of a cat!
I strode across the room and stood a moment staring out the window, trying to collect my scattered wits, when I felt' something rubbing against my ankle. It was the white cat, arching its furry back and purring loudly.
I was in no mood just then for anything resembling a cat, but its gentle wiles won me in spite of myself and I began playing with it. I rolled a ball of cord across the room and the animal bounded after it, tapping it playfully. Soon I had forgotten my upsetting encounter with Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche and was having quite a time with my furry visitor, when our romp was interrupted by a rap on my door and a familiar call, announcing Mrs. Bates.
As she came in, her smile vanished. “Oh, this is your white cat, eh.? I never liked the critters... Scat!”
As the animal crouched motionless with fear, the old lady seized it quickly by the scruff of its neck and dropped it from my window into the muddy alley below. “There! Maybe it’ll go away now.”
She talked for a moment, collected her rent, and was standing in my open door for a parting word, when beyond her in the hall I saw Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche.
She was strangely disheveled and spattered with mud; and she was directing upon the landlady’s back such a look of concentrated hate that I shivered. Only a moment she stood thus; then she had disappeared into her room.
Next morning at breakfast (I ate alone, as I had to leave earlier than the other boarders) I noticed that Mrs. Bates’ face was all but hidden behind a network of adhesive plaster, and bright red spots of mercurochrome.
"Why... why, what s the matter with your face.?” I asked with concern as she served my breakfast.
"A cat got in my room last night,” she wailed. “That big white one, it was! It jumped on me in bed and scratched me up terrible afore I could chase it out. I tried to kill it with the broom, but it got away. I never did like a cat... mean critters, they are I...” She prattled on until I left for the office.

It was two days later that I saw Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche again. I confess I had avoided her in the hall; and as our meal hours were different, we had no occasion to meet. But on this afternoon she was standing in her door as usual, watching me as I came down the hall. Sensing that she was likely to repeat her disconcerting cat-caress, I nodded curtly and went straight into my room, stumbling over something soft as I did so.
There was the white cat again, purring and rubbing against my legs affectionately. Something impelled me to glance back where the woman across the hall had been standing, with an uncanny knowledge that she was there no longer.
She was gone.
I shut my door with a creepy feeling, which the pranks of the white cat soon dispelled, however. We played together for a while, when our romp was again interrupted by the voice and knock of Mrs. Bates.
The cat seemed to know it was she, for it fluffed up its long fur and hissed angrily. Then it turned as if frightened and leaped out of the open window. It was a second-story window — not a pleasant jump, even for a cat. I glanced down to see if the animal had landed safely — just in time to see a huge mongrel dash down the alley and pounce upon my unfortunate pet.
The cat fought furiously, but it had not a chance against the big dog. I saw the mongrel snap twice at my little friend, heard the kitten give an odd cry of anguish — a cry that sounded far more human than feline. A moment later, Mrs. Bates and I saw the limp, blood-spattered form of the white cat lying very still in the muddy alley.
And somehow, it has always seemed to me something more than a mere coincidence that on that very day Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche disappeared mysteriously as smoke, without a word of farewell and, as Mrs. Bates reiterated plaintively, without even paying her rent. And strangely, she left behind all her personal belongings (from which Mrs. Bates managed to collect slightly more than her rent, though she would never have admitted it). All her clothes, hats, shoes, toilet articles, every little personal belonging, our lady left behind her... and an absurd thing the landlady remarked upon at length curiously; a foolish plaything fond old maids fashion for their cats — a small worsted mouse stuffed with catnip.