The Wallenstein estate was a generational house. Not that more than one generation of the family lived in there now but by size alone it could accomodate an entire clan. Cat could see decorative items that were both old and new, a mix of modern and antiques. The red-brick building exterior reminded her of British architecture while the interior was very American in its wood paneling, choice of decorations, and style. It still showed the pressure of the century-plus old dynasty and the different touches each descendant left on the household. The furniture ‘smelled’ of old money. Some of the antiques should be worth a pretty penny. If pennies were made of gold. The appliances and technological gadgets were cleverly integrated but they still stood out in the multi-generational home.
A lush forest denounced the presence of a water feature at the back of the house. Probably a small stream that crossed the neighborhood. It offered the large estate a natural barrier and separated it from their neighbors. It seemed the whole neighborhood grew around this old mansion, occupying and transforming into an urban area what could be farmland more than a century ago. The grid-like structure of the streets showed its urbanization happened before World War II and the subsequent popularization of the isolated cul-de-sac neighborhoods.
She stared, no, gawked at the decoration.
“I still can’t believe I’m back home,” Cat said to the two following her as she explored her new… Catherine’s home. She reached the entry lobby, dominated by a grand staircase. A series of portraits on the wall along the hardwood stairs depicted the Wallenstein dynasty, with the current generation on the very top. She recognized Catherine, an older version of her that was probably Mrs. Wallenstein and a handsome man next to the two that must’ve been her deceased father.
Esmeralda came from behind and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “You’re home now, Cathy. Now, you must be tired. I’m going to talk with Mr. McNamara here and learn the details of your prescription schedule and diet. Why don’t you go to your room and take a nap until lunchtime?”
Now that Esmeralda mentioned it, getting out of the hospital and riding home in the NY traffic sapped whatever little stamina she’d built during the physical therapy sessions. It must be quite obvious to an external observer but the relief of being back in the real world struck her like a spell. She was quite exhausted, emotionally. Cat found she couldn’t tell no to that friendly big smile. Some of the subconscious memories lingering around Catherine's brain told her she liked Esmeralda very much. That made her question once again what was going on. Was whatever she had left of “William” really vanishing and becoming Catherine or was it just her impression?
Esmeralda took Cat to Catherine’s bedroom. It was a suite with its own mini-living room, a massive movie-like walk-in closet, and a large bathroom. She got glimpses of the side rooms as she went to the bed. The four chambers added together were bigger than William’s former apartment in Manhattan. It was sternly decorated, with only a few stuffed animals on a couch. It didn’t fit Cat’s image of what a teenage girl’s bedroom should look like. Nonetheless, it was as stylish as the rest of the house and looked very comfortable and posh.
Her eyes fell on a piano resting against a wall. She could imagine Catherine sitting there, playing it with elfin grace. Cat smiled and then remembered she probably couldn’t play shit. As she frowned, Catherine offered to help,
The housekeeper approached, stopping Cat from sub-vocalizing an answer. “Do you want to take a shower?” Esmeralda’s question was more like an order. “Wash that hospital grime, use that liquid soap you love.”
She didn’t even let Cat change out of her own clothes. The housekeeper deftly undressed her and collected the bath sundries from shelves behind the bathroom door. The bathroom was beautiful, with a jacuzzi inside a glass box and a large marble countertop that took a whole wall. A lot of beauty and hygiene products lined up the marble countertop, along with some teen magazines neatly organized on a steel rack.
Esmeralda examined the naked girl again, probably searching for any scars or blemishes. Cat had none, she tripled recovery powers and divinely-infused vitality had fully healed her skin and body. The permanent damage to her lung, kidney, and womb aside, she was as good as new. Satisfied, Esmeralda placed the towel and a fresh set of Victoria’s Secrets underwear next to the shower before leaving Cat alone.
Cat couldn’t smile as she stared at the jacuzzi.
“Okay.”
After a quick shower, she found Esmeralda waiting for her outside. The nanny put her in a comfy lace nightgown that was too titillating for the tired reincarnator. She only thought of that en passant because true to Esmeralda’s word, Cat was only left alone when she was comfortably ensconced in her queen-size bed under a couple dozen pounds of blankets. She bid Cat a good sleep and dialed down the AC until it was arctic cold.
Cat found the odd combination of chilly air conditioning and the pike of blankets oddly comfortable. Once again, it was probably some muscle memory from the body. It was hard to tell where William ended and Catherine started in their psychic gestalt. It was mostly William but how much of each stood to be proven. She’d already found her emotions to sway much easier than when in their male body. Tears came too easily for their taste.
Immobile under the blanket barrier, she didn’t sleep. Instead,
[Posh. I expected it to be more girly but giving it a better thought, it fits your lifestyle. I doubt your mom let you decorate the room to your liking.]
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She had to remember Catherine was raised in a sheltered bubble. The girl had little worldly experience. That’s what put them in that situation in the first place.
[At least it’s not a four-poster bed, Your Highness.]
[I didn’t see your mother.]
[Nonetheless, she’s still AWOL.]
Catherine sounded actually afraid of her mother.
[Did you mention she used to hit you?]
[Nope. I think we do have to talk about the alcoholic woman that may or may not come into my bedroom to hit me.]
Catherine sighed and grunted,
[You mean she’ll give me a beating for what YOU did. Not fair.]
[Sorry, it doesn’t. And she won’t hit us.]
Cat snorted with derision,
[Does Esmeralda let her beat you?]
[Okay, this is too fucked up. I’m sorry but I won’t let your mother beat me more than once. I’m going to boobytrap the room and get her to stop.]
“Sleep well, Catherine,” Cat said and relaxed to sleep.
----------------------------------------
Cat woke up later, got out of bed, and went to Catherine’s… her desk. That’s when Cat met the cat. It was a typical American wirehair with a white chest and a dark gray body. The cat hissed at Cat.
The menacing moggy was clearly pissed at seeing Cat. She thought it was because it went more than half a year without its “mother’s” affection. If it were not for Esmeralda, everyone in this household would die of motherly love starvation.
“Mr. Mouser!” Cat parroted her soul-passenger and moved a hand to pet the feral feline.
The cat hissed more and pounced the friendly human appendage. Cat’s sharp claws raked on Cat’s soft skin, making the girl hiss and withdraw her offer of cuddles.
“What’s wrong with this beast?” Cat hissed back at both her caddie and the caddie’s cat.
Beads of blood ran down Cat’s arm as the maiden mewled and wailed. To her surprise, the scratches healed at a visible pace, leaving only the red streaks behind as the skin closed.
“Huh. We’re still fast-healing,” She analytically remarked.
Even more pissed for being ignored, the pussy on the desk hissed.
“We’re getting rid of this critter,” Cat declared, then added, “If we don’t find out why it is being so rudely aggressive.”
“If he’s such a sweetheart, it will be easy to get him adopted. See how it is still baring its fangs at me?”
The cat was not only baring its fangs but was now in full-aggression mode, with the heckles raised as far as they would go and the arched back. It looked ready to pounce at Cat’s face and tear her a new smile. Joker style.
“I need to use the computer, Catherine. Do something to get your pet off of it.”
Cat backed away from the desk and went for the walk-in closet. The cat jumped on her back.
“Motherfucker!” She cussed as she dodged the attack getting only light scratches on the back of her thigh as it slid off of her extra-long hair.
"Not now!" Cat dashed into the closet, reached out, and took a shoe from the rack. It was obvious she would fight back at range.
At least the cat kept its distance, wary of the threat of a good four-inch high clogging.
“Shit. This is literally me throwing money at a problem,” Cat ruefully admitted as she scanned the racks of trotting delights on display. “And it probably won't solve it."
"What do you have here that costs less than a hundred bucks? And what’s the deal with the movie set shoe racks?”
Indeed, the animal wasn't threatening to attack. it just stood there, staring menacingly. Cat used the respite to assess the damage to her body and admire the closet. Each shoe shelf had LED strip backlights. The feet accessories were neatly organized by brand, color, and model.
“Rich girl problems,” Cat snarled. Mr. Mouser took advantage of the momentary distraction to advance. “Backoff!” Cat hissed and raised the designer clogs in the air. “Catherine, less preening, more parenting. Why is your cat acting up like that?”
“How did it get in the room?”
Mr. Mouser hissed.
“Wait. Keep quiet.”
Mr. Mouser hissed.
“You, the dead girl in my head. Shush, please.”
Catherine grunted only. Cat hid the shoe behind her back.
“Mr. Mouser. Come to mommy!” Cat cooed as she slowly advanced.
Wary, the feline backed away.
“C’mon, Mr. Mouser. I know you want some cuddles.”
Mr. Mouser yowled menacingly.
[Now, Catherine, talk to it.]
The cat hissed and stared at Cat. Mr. Mouser bared its fangs and crouched on its hind paws, preparing to pounce again.
“Yup, that confirms it. The damn critter can sense you, Catherine. Or at least it knows I’m not you.”
“Damned if I know. A month ago I was happily getting married, then I discovered the afterlife existed, and someone threatened to drag my killer to hell. Shows how little we know about the world.”
Cat was still sour about the loss of her former life. It showed in her sardonic tone.
“I think cats were related to everything in ancient Egypt. But you got one thing right. Cats are rumored to steal souls from small children. They probably have a connection with the immaterial. It’s obviously able to tell something is wrong with us. Maybe even listen to you.”
Catherine attempted to calm down her pet and test their theory at the same time.
Mr. Mouser looked even more scared. It threw another hissing fit and bolted for the cleverly hidden pet door in the bedroom entryway. The wooden flap flapped twice and rested inconspicuously once more. From the way it stopped at the middle, some magnets cleverly hidden on the sides must be holding it in the closed position.
“Neat pet door,” Cat remarked. She scanned the closet and took a traveling carry-on case with her then went to bar the pet door with it. Once she was sure the critter couldn’t get inside, for now, she went back to the desk.