MY ENCOUNTER WITH A GRIMALKIN

In my biography of Cailly Leach, I observed that artists have long been captivated by this mystical entity, frequently portrayed as a cat. However, I never anticipated having the honor of witnessing her presence firsthand.

She is a storyteller of immense experience, having lived through countless years. She has witnessed war, pestilence, and the myriad transgressions of humanity, consistently finding herself captivated by creative individuals.

Since my childhood, I have been dedicated to writing—perhaps not always with skill, but with unwavering persistence. I have also explored dimensional art, photography, and painting, though my primary focus has remained on literature.

In the early 1990s, I encountered a fascinating term in Webster's Collegiate Dictionary: Grimalkin. Intrigued, I delved into research and discovered its mention in Shakespeare's Macbeth. Although the legends appear to be rooted in the Scottish Highlands, the tale of Cailleach actually originates from 16th-century Irish folklore.

I authored a short poem titled The Grimalkin, which was published in a small press magazine. This piece can be found on this website under My Work.

Subsequently, I revised and republished this poem, along with others, in various small press magazines, college publications, and anthologies, while also writing and publishing short stories and aspiring to author a book.

Despite having numerous ideas and half

finished manuscripts, I lacked the time, energy, and motivation which led me to abandon writing for a while.

In the summer of 2018, on a humid night at 10:13 pm, the usual night sounds ceased, and I heard tapping on my sliding glass door.

I opened the vertical blinds and saw a stout, gray & white Ragdoll cat with striking golden eyes.

When I slid open the door, she entered with a stalwart gait, her tail like a fluffy, gray exclamation point. Her bones glowed with blinding white light and tiny electrical currents coursed through her body reminding me of a live wire.

Seconds later, cats of various shapes, colors, and breeds entered behind her, mimicking her every move. It was evident this mature cat was the Alpha female. All surrounded me in my living room.

I stepped back as she rubbed against my legs. She had something in her mouth, her tail raised. She dropped a dead bat at my feet, nudging it toward me.

Unsure of what to do, I wondered, Should I be worried? Has the devil come to me? Is he going to try and make a deal with me, promising to make me a great writer at the cost of my soul?

"Sure'in you don't believe I'm the Devil now, do you?" the feline asked with a soft, alluring, Irish accent, her mouth never moving. I assumed she communicated telepathically since I heard her more in my mind than my ears.

"You're - you're, Cailly Ceann Leach!" I stammered.

"I am," her quick reply matter of fact.

If what I'd read and heard was accurate, she'd expect an offering. I squatted down to her level, and before I could utter a word. she swiped at my hand, her curved claws cutting my right index finger. She starting licking the blood before I could pull away.

When she finished, my wound healed, not even a scar. "Holy shit!" I said aloud. "This is unreal!"

"Let us dispense with this," Cailly instructed in my mind. "Sit down. I have much to tell you."

Without hesitation, I asked, "Do you mind if I record this? Your words will be immortalized."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, then said, "You may proceed." She chuckled, though I didn't know why.

I grabbed and activated my digital recorder. I sat on the couch while she sat on the floor beneath me, her tail flailing and flicking as her myriad companions looked on. Her melodic Celtic timbre emphasized each word. She even added quotes, proverbs, and sayings.

Hours flew by. At the stroke of midnight, my drapes parted and my sliding glass door opened on its own. Cailly and her clowder dashed out and vanished into the dark. The door closed and latched. "I don't believe this!" I shouted out. I grabbed my recorder. Just static and my shallow breathing with occasional Mmm, hmms, uh huhs and ah, ha's. I never saw her again.

A month or so later, I got a white 8 x 10 envelope. Inside, there was a portrait of a radiant cat sitting on a hill of skulls, along with a photo of the striking, dark-haired artist from Block Island, RI named Valeria Candelaria.

She had portrayed Cailly with exquisite detail as she had envisioned her. Valerie also included regaling a remarkable story of how Cailly rescued her from an abusive relationship. She had become one of her chosen.

Two days later, I began my short story collection, endeavoring to remember all of Cailly's yarns on my desk top while attempting to maintain her intensity and using my own words. I added my version of Valerie's tale and featured it as the first story. I even incorporated an altered image of Valerie's painting on the cover - with her permission, of course.

I finished the work in late 2019 and had it published in February 2020 during the Covid-19 pandemic. All Things Truly Wicked: Tales of Sinners, Saints, Science and the Supernatural includes 11 fast-paced stories about conflicted characters drawn to the unknown. I am now working to complete a rewrite on the book, along with some novels.