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Chapitre 1 : Dont' trust the cat when there's fish on the menu*

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Vanessa walked across the parking lot that laid between her building and Mrs Chastain's. As usual, she was going to the old lady six mornings a week for over a year now.

It wasn't her dream job, but at least, she didn't have to drive to go to work. Anyway, now she was about forty years old, she didn't expect any kind of career transition. As everyday, she typed the access code of the building - 2910-, as every day she chose to climb the stairs rather than take the elevator to go to the fourth floor and as every day, she stepped inside Mrs Chastain's apartment at ten o'clock, sharp! However, beside her daily habits and her mechanical movements, Vanessa didn't imagine a single second that this day would take an unfortunate turn.

As soon as she stepped in the corridor, the smell hit her nostrils. She would never get used to this pungent scent, a mix between musty and cat's pee - that old tomcat had impregnated the entire place with his essence and although she cleaned relentlessly the slightest track left by the animal, the scent remained.

Besides, she saw him appear in the small hallway. This tall black cat with whith his white paw had the habit to come and welcome Vanessa every morning. The woman extended her arm, leaning toward him to greet him, but feeling a bit grumpy, the beast fled to the living room. She slowly stood up, removed her stuffed boots and put them by the doormat. She got into the living room and saw Mrs Chastain, from behind, watching one of these soap opera on TV, the volume at its maximum.

"Good morning, Mrs Chastain. How are you today?"

She got no answer. Turning her head, Vanessa spotted the hearing aids on the sideboard. With a shigh she raised her voice and greeted the old lady again.

"Mrs Chastain? How are you? Why haven't you put your hearing aids on today?"

Mrs Chastain startled, as if she was surprise by the presence of the the other woman, who nevertheless, came every morning at the same hour. Without greeting her, Mrs Chastain replied :

"You're not going to do this too, aren't you? To tell me what I have to do..."

"As you wish, Mrs Chastain."

Vanessa had soon stopped negotiating with the old lady. She quickly figured out that it was useless and that the woman, bitter since the death of her husband, had become petulant and seemed to hate every living being on this planet... except her cat.

"Kitty? Where are you Kitty?"

Kitty. What a ridiculous name for a cat. When he heard his mistress called him, the feline approached the armchair where Mrs Chastain was sitting. With dexterous movements, he jumped on her knees and curled up against her purring loudly.

In the meantime, Vanessa took the remote control of the television that laid on the armrest next to Mrs Chastain, and lowered the volume which pierced her eardrums. At the same moment, the old lady turned her head toward her home-help, frowning.

Colette Chastain, 87 years old - almost 88- had a surly look. Her hair was messy and despite Vanessa's repeated suggestions she never deigned to go back to the hairdresser. Her blue icy eyes, seemed to probe every human being in the very depths of their beings, as if the old lady was looking for the slightest imperfection, the slightest flaw and then turn them back against their owner. However, one could guess a certain charm in her. During her young years, the woman probably had many pretenders. But it was Eugene Chastain, the village doctor's son, whom the beautiful Colette had chosen. From their union were born three pretty children: Danielle, Patrice and Elise. Each went to built their life at each side of the country. Now Colette was alone in this apartment lost in a big anonymous city. Eugene was no longer there and only the yellowed photos witnessed the glory and the faded beauty of the octogenarian.

"Why are you still here, giving me this stupid blank look? Aren't you supposed to clean the apartment or whatever you're paid for?"

"Mrs Chastain, my job also consists to keep you some company. I'm not only here to help you with your daily tasks."

"I don't care about your company! I don't need you and your so-called sympathetic look. I have Kitty, I don't need anybody else! Go, play with your rags and towels, so I can watch my show in peace."

Vanessa rolled her eyes and started to clean. First, the bathroom, then the bedroom and finally the living room. The whole time with Mrs Chastain's favorite series in the background : a program that had been going on for too long, full of fare-fetched twists and without any logic.

Tired of these scenarii that she considered bad, she tried to talk to Mrs Chastain again :

"So, did you have some news of Elise? Did she finally get her promotion?"

"How would I know? My ungrateful child never bothers to call me! She's just like her siblings. My three children are obsessed with their miserable lives that they believe are so important and don't even bother to take the time to call their old mother."

"You know Mrs Chastain, I can understand that you're sad about it, but if you miss them, nothing prevent you from calling them as well."

"This is not up to me to do it! I believe you're the same as my children. For your generation, family has no importance anymore. You're always busy with this new thing called the internet, or whatever. Or you're too eagle to juggle your work, your children to raise and your dogs to walk that you forget about your elders. However, if you have a correct life it's thanks to us, your parents! But no, you're so focus on yourself that even lifting the phone handset to get news is too much to ask!"

Once again, Mrs Chastain had just spit her venom. Yet, Vanessa couldn't help but think about her mother. How long hadn't she called her? Two weeks? Maybe three? She had such busy days that in the evening when she returned home she only wanted to throw herself on the sofa and be knocked out by the television. She was tired, stressed, by this lifestyle more and more demanding. But, deep inside, she knew Mrs Chastain was right and a phone call to her mother wouldn't require any effort. Tonight, tonight I'll call her! She promised herself. But no, despite her conviction, tonight she wouldn't call her. But she didn't know that yet.

The old clock hung on the wall of the living room suddenly started. The tried cuckoo clock rang 11am with its rusty voice and Vanessa was brought back to reality. It was time to cook Mrs Chastain's meal.

With one hand behind her back to massage her sore muscles from being bent too long to clean every corner of the apartment, Vanessa headed to the kitchen.

There, she took the big casserole that was in a cupboard, filled it with water and put it on the gas stove. Vanessa then cut the vegetables in irregular pieces to prepare a soup for Mrs Chastain's lunch and dinner.

Time passed and as usual, Vanessa took out of her jeans pocket a pack of multiple dried fruits that she ate so she wouldn't starved until she'd be able to have lunch. She put it on the shelf above the gas oven and grabbed a nut at the moment when the sharp voice of Mrs Chastain stop her gesture.

"Valérie ? Valérie the remote control! Where is it? You lowered the volume on purpose earlier so I wouldn't hear my show anymore? Admit it!"

Vanessa sighed, her hand still half way between the bag of dried fruits and her mouth. Mrs Chastain was so unconcerned by her home-help, that she even forgot her first name. It saddened the fourty years old woman. Although she had long been accustomed to the old lady's disrespect, this behaviour was beginning to weigh on her.

Vanessa was about to go to the living room to give Mrs Chastain the remote control when a thought crossed her mind. With her eyes still on the nut she had in her hand, she thought she only had to open her fist to drop the dried fruit in the old lady's soup. And then, no more concerns, no more complaints! Mrs Chastain was severely allergic to shell fruits, this is why Vanessa always made sure that no nuts were in Mrs Chastain's meals.

As she chassed this morbide idea from her mind, a sound coming from the living room caught her attention. Kitty was snarling with rage under his owner invectives.

"Bad cat! Bad Kitty!"

Vanessa hurried toward the living room and crossed on her way the feline who ran at full speed to hide in the kitchen.

She didn't bother to question the old lady to know what had just happened. It wasn't necessary, this kind of drama happened frequently : the cat had probably wanted to run when he heard Mrs Chastain yelling at her home-help. Frustrated, the old lady had, undoubtedly, pulled his tail and Kitty had surely defended himself as best as he could before escaping.

It disgusted Vanessa. The poor thing deserved a much better home. However she tried to make Mrs Chastain understand that this kind of behavior wouldn't fix the situation, that it wasn't the cat's fault. But as usual, Mrs Chastain threatened Vanessa to terminate her contract if she didn't like her methods.

Without a word the home-help took the remote control on the sideboard and handed it to the octogenarian.

"Here. The lunch is almost ready..."

"It's about time!" Mrs Chastain cut her off, "It's past noon, you're behind schedule!"

Vanessa didn't reply and suppressed a sigh. She simply returned to the kitchen to mix the vegetables that had finish simmering in the broth.

However, when she passed the door, her heart jumped into her chest.

"Kitty, get down from here!"

When he heard Vanessa raise her voice against him, Kitty jumped off the shelf above the gas stove and landed without a sound on the tiled floor. The blond-haired woman rushed to the bag of shell fruits the cat was playing with when she entered the room.

She nervously bit her lip and thoroughly inspected the shelf, its surrounding and also checked on the casserole to be sure that no dried fruit had fallen into it. She sighed with relief, everything seemed in order.

To avoid any other worries, Vanessa put the sack in the back pocket of her jeans and began mixing the soup.

A pleasent sensation tickled her legs and startled her. Kitty, at her feet, rubbed against her purring with pleasure. Vanessa was surprised, it was the first time the cat acted like this with her. Usually, they ignored each other even though, the feline sometimes accepted to be pet on the head. So why was he showing Vanessa sudden affection?

The cat contentment even seemed to increase as Vanessa filled the bowl with the soup for Mrs Chastain. She frowned, staring at the liquid with a suspicious look. No, it wasn't possible, it must have been a coincidence. The cat couldn't know that his mistress had just avoid to be poisoned with shell fruits a few seconds before.

As he had come, the cat left toward the living room Vanessa on his heels. Lost in her thoughts she wondered if it would be safer to cook another soup. But when she crossed Mrs Chastain's murderous look, she thought that to make her wait thirty more minutes was a mistake she didn't want to make and she had to trust herself. She had checked, no nut had fallen in the potage.

Vanessa put the bowl of soup on the table, while the old lady got up painfully from her armchair. With small steps, Mrs Chastain approached the table and sat in front of her meal. She began to eat loudly, sucking up her soup with every sip.

Vanessa tried to ignore this unpleasant sound and walked back to the kitchen to save some soup for dinner and wash the dishes.

Her hands plunged in the soapy water, she let her mind wander. The more time passed, the more she wondered whether it wouldn't be better for her to suggest her employer to no longer come at Mrs Chastain's home. Since the first day, the two women had never managed to get along. It would, without any doubt, be better for both of them if one of Vanessa colleagues took over. Even though she doubt another home-help would manage to get into the good side of the the octogenarian.

On the other hand, the proximity of her work place and her home brought her a personal comfort that she would lose if she accepted a new contract. But was it worth being mistreated every day? It wasn't Vanessa's first try. She has been doing this job for more than fifteen years and she was used to her patients bad mood, but Mrs Chastain was far beyond her tolerence level.

While she was mentally listing the pros and cons to her request for a change of contract, noise coming from the living room shook her out of her thoughts : a hoarse cough followed by a rattle.

Intrigued, Vanessa turned off the hot water tap and walked towards the living room, ignoring the drops of water falling from her soaked hands and crashing on the floor. She'd clean the kitchen again later.

"Mrs Chastain, is everything alright?" she asked while stepping in the room, "Mrs Chastain!"

Vanessa put her hands to her face, frozen in horror, in front of the scene she witnessed. Mrs Chastain was leaning over her plate, her eyes reeling from fear. One of her hand grabbed her neck as if she tried to get rid of something uncomfortable. Yet, she had nothing around her neck, not even a necklace.

However, Vanessa could see an edema growing with her own eyes. The more it got bigger and the more the old lady seemed to struggle to breathe. Vanessa's eyes traveled frantically between Mrs Chastain's neck and the bowl of soup still in front of her. Her brain just started to acknowledge the cause of the old lady's reaction.

Vanessa was wrong. A piece of shell fruit ended up in her patient lunch. The eyes of the home-help widened even more with this fact and she suppressed a cry of terror. What had she done?

By dint of fighting against her invisible enemy, Mrs Chastain, exhausted, collapsed to the ground. The thud of her body hitting the freshly waxed floor brought Vanessa back to reality and she ran to the victim.

She knelt beside her and turned her gently on her back. The old lady's face started to take an inquisive purplish hue. With her mouth open, she tried in vain to take her breath.

Vanessa crossed Mrs Chastain's gaze. Her usually piercing look seemed now covered in a veil, but she could still see the anguish felt by the octogenarian. Yet, an unspeakable glow lit her pupils when Mrs Chastain realized that she was about to join her Eugène.

Panicked and feeling the situation was escaping her, Vanessa took Mrs Chastain's shoulder with her left hand and tried to straighten her painfully. With her right hand outstretched in the air she fumble around the cupboard looking for the phone.

"Hold on Mrs Chastain. I'm calling the emergency services," she whispered without taking her eyes off the old woman.

At last, she felt the device under her hand. She grabbed it abruptly, which made it fall in front of her. The handset failed to hit the ground and now swung a few centimeters from the parquet retained by the constantly tangled wire.

Vanessa stucked the handset between her ear and shoulder and the hand still on the furniture, blindly dialed emergency number.

The tone rang and the home-help began to strum nervously on the cupboard waiting impatiently for someone to pick up the phone. From the corner of her eyes, a movement caught her attention.

Kitty was siting on the armchair of the living room, straight. His green pupils landed on Vanessa, making her shiver as his look seemed to be human. The feline didn't look disturb at all by the events. On the contrary, he seemed satisfied and his whiskers shuddered, giving Vanessa the impression, even though it wasn't possible, that the cat was smiling.

A male voice raised at the other end of the handset, pulling Vanessa out of her slumber. She looked down again at Mrs Chastain who seemed to have stopped fighting. Her half closed pupils fixed a spot invisible to Vanessa's eyes.

As the home-help told the events to the operator, she felt the old lady's body sag against her. Her hand, which was still gripped to the collar of her blouse, fell heavily beside her. Colette Chastain was gone.

Vanessa stopped talking abruptly. The operator repeated her name tirelessly, worried about this sudden silence.

With her voice strangled by the shock, Vanessa managed, after a few long seconds, to articulate a sentence :

"I think she's dead," she whispered.

"Help is on the way, Madam. I'm staying with you until then."

The operator voice was comforting, but Vanessa could no longer hear it. She gently released Mrs Chastain to the ground and pressed her back against the cupboard.

Still on his armchair, Kitty, as for him, stretched out, jumped on the floor and approached the two women, tail in the air and purring full lungs.

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*Malagasy proverb.