Part 1: 

Sam crept down the creaking stairs into the kitchen of his father’s old house. The creaking wasn’t as creepy as you might imagine because these stairs always creaked and the walls always groaned and the springs of his father’s bed would sometimes squeak though not as regularly as the rest of the house. Strangely, Sam noticed, it was only when his father brought over a woman. Sam wondered why a woman would stay in his father’s house- a house so ugly and so perilously perched on the edge of a cliff where each day, the back of the house inched closer and closer to the spraying sea as the front lifted its shingled head to the sky. This resulted in a terrible teeter-tottering, not unlike what was found on a sailboat stuck in a storm. The only thing that seemed to keep the house stable was Sam’s father’s fitness equipment that lived next to the front door. There were weights and plates, kettlebells and barbells, Christmas bells, and all sorts of other bells that Sam was sure no other living thing knew how to use. There was one particular piece that stood out to Sam because of the way his father touched it. Slowly. Deliberately. Delicately. It was a long steel pipe with a weighted ball on one end that had collected dust and rust. He never saw Father using it, cleaning it, or moving it- just caressing it like a precious relic. This, Sam thought, was very curious because this was not how Father treated his fitness equipment. Father would pick up those bells with grunts and sweat and swears and then throw them down with the same force he had ripped them off the floor with. Oh, and then there was the window dressing. 

Father finished his weightlifting sets with what he termed “window dressing” (no, this did not involve hanging curtains). Father dressed the window with himself. In his tightest spandex onesie, he would post up on the window sill and do bicep curls until his veins bulged and his face curled into a horrible grimace. Inevitably, the doorbell would ring. On the other side of the door was always a woman asking him to flex, asking for directions, or asking if he was okay because she saw him in the window worried he was having a stroke. He would then invite them in. Sam thought as soon as they walked through the door and saw the state of the place they wouldn’t want to stay. Dust filled the corners and the salty spray from the sea flew in through the intentional and unintentional holes in the house. The floor was cold and slippery and every door was unhinged…well, almost unhinged. There was only one hinge on each door even though they required two. Sam’s father was just too lazy, or too busy window dressing or bed squeaking to make the house happy. Alas, they did not see the mess or hear the groans or feel the teeter-tottering. Instead, they saw Sam. Unbeknownst to Sam, they stayed because of his uncompromising and frankly, adorable, curiosity. Though he wished he could warn them about the squeaking sounds or the teeter-tottering becoming more teeter than totter, toppling the house into the sea, he could not. He could not because he would get as distracted by the women as they would get by him and he would forget what he was so worried about in the first place. Even if he did remember, he couldn’t have told them because he was a cat, and though he understood human language, he had not yet mastered its sounds to speak it. One of the human phrases he detested was, “Curiosity killed the cat”. Not only did curiosity not kill Sam, but it also made life more interesting. It is possible, however, that his alluring curiosity killed a woman, or two women, or maybe more.  

Part 2: 

Sam is creeping down the creaking stairs, but Sam is being extra creepy because Sam is extra curious. Sam is extra curious because he awoke to the sounds of not just squeaking but squeaking and slamming. Upon approaching Father’s door, he notices the strange piece of fitness equipment is missing. In its place is a patch of clean floor displaying the boards’ original reddish-brown color.  Sam is so pleased by the color of the floor that he lets out a meow. The house groans in response and the squeaking and slamming suddenly stop. If Sam could, he would put a paw over his mouth. Instead, he bolts to a position behind Father’s weightlifting bench. Father’s door swings open, one lonely hinge hanging on for dear life. His beady grey eyes scan the space. Sam is unsure why he is hiding from Father but Father had never stayed in his room so long before and everything suddenly feels different. The house holds its totter mid-teeter as Sam’s heart thumps loudly in his ears. There is no view of the steel-piped relic or the woman. Sam’s father slams the door and the house resumes its rhythmic sway. The single hinge rattles angrily.  

Part 3:

It was not unusual for the women who went into Father’s room to never come out because Father looked at women the way Sam looked at a mouse, and if Sam lured a mouse into a room, you could be sure it would never come out, but the woman who was presumably still in father’s room was… different. Sam recalls the previous day in hopes it would give him insight into the location of the steel-balled pole.  Sam’s father woke up, gave Sam a single stroke followed by a gentle removal of a piece of dust stuck to his fur, and made himself his usual blended breakfast of protein powder, raw eggs, anchovies, avocado, and chocolate milk. He poured one half into a glass and the other into Sam’s bowl. Father paused mid-sip to look at the walls. It was like he was seeing the house for the first time, “Does this foundation look uneven to you?”  Sam meowed an affirmative and dug his claws into Father’s shoes. He thought it might convince Father to fix the doors or move the house further inland, but instead, it was reciprocated with a swift kick. Sam thought Father looked strange. Self-conscious, perhaps? Or insecure? Sam had never seen Father look this way. Instead of repairing the doors or cleaning the floors, Father set about his routine but nothing went right. He missed his best lifts and the window dressing was nearly unsuccessful. It certainly took longer than normal. Sam had never seen Father so exhausted. He thought Father’s biceps might explode and his tight spandex onesie would split down the seam. When the doorbell finally did ring, that’s exactly what happened. Father stood up from the window sill quicker than normal and the spandex protested, ripping itself away from the seam, all the way from the top of Father’s tailbone to the bottom of his neck. Father let out a combination of words Sam had never heard. He sauntered off to his room to acquire a new onesie. When he re-emerged, the door was already open, and in its frame stood a short muscular woman with wide shoulders and glorious black hair that framed a fat freckled face. Her hair was certainly her best feature but Sam thought she was beautiful all around. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the way she held her position in the door frame (uncompromisingly) or because of her features. It all seemed to blend.  

“It was open,” she said. 

“No it wasn’t,” Father fired back. 

A damp silence snuck its way into the room, but the woman broke it, “I have a weird story.  My father was a Strongman.” 

Another silence. 

“That wasn’t a story,” Father’s steely eyes intensified. 

“How much for the fitness equipment?” 

That was when Sam noticed she was looking at Father like a mouse. He said it wasn’t for sale, but he had something better in his room she might want. He spun on his heel, and she followed without a word. Sam noticed Father’s grimace had turned into a smirk, but unbeknownst to Father, she seemed to wear the same sickly smile.  A door slam interrupts Sam’s recollections, and he bounds to his favorite spot behind the weight bench. The same woman emerges from Father’s room, but Father doesn’t follow. The one-hinged door finally relieves itself from its weary position and falls, unable to take another slam. Sam cautiously exits from behind the weight bench and sits at her feet. 

“Ah, I forgot something.” She purposefully strides back into the room and re-appears carrying the steel-balled pipe. 

Taking the hem of her shirt, she cleans off the top. As she brings it away, Sam sees it’s now dyed a deep dark red, almost like the floor oasis. She skillfully swings the balled pole around her body and then balances it on her flat outstretched palm. 

Looking down at Sam, the weapon still suspended, she whispers as if telling Sam a secret, “You must be careful with a mace. They’re dangerous if you don’t know how to use them.” 

A mace. The new word rattles around in Sam’s brain. A simple word for a simple object. 

She steps over Sam, opens the front door, and calls outside, “Get in here boys. Me and Tough Guy parlayed. Stuff’s ours.”

 Four burly tattooed men in white beaters and high-waisted jeans come in and begin removing the weight equipment. Their boots clomp as they stride around the house. The woman winks at Sam.   Sam glances into Father’s bedroom. Where could he have gone? Sam is rather curious and nervous and he thinks it’s quite an exciting combination. The house creaks and groans as the boots, weighed down with fitness equipment, clomp in and out. Sam cautiously creeps through Father’s open door and surveys the room. There is nothing but a coverless spring mattress and walls wallpapered with spandex onesies. Sam bolts from corner to corner. Pausing only to lick his salty paws. He lets out a self-flagellating meow. How could he have forgotten underneath the bed? Bed-underneathes are one of Sam’s favorite things. The house teeters, but Sam couldn’t resist. Into the shadows, he goes and what he finds ignites his curiosity unlike anything he had experienced before. Underneath the bed is a steel door. A double-hinged steel door, mind you. The steel grate seems to be the ceiling of a dimly lit elevator box that looks more like a birdcage than a downward mode of transportation. Sam sniffs the cold air that blows up through the shaft. It smells like death and seawater. Sam listens. 

“Ssssssammmmmmm,” a chilled whisper that sounded more like a listless snake rose from the shaft and buzzed on the cold steel. 

Sam is endlessly curious. What could be better than a bed with double underneathes?  But before he makes up his mind to descend into the underneath’s underneath, the last boot clomp, weighed down with fitness equipment, resounds through the teetering tottering house, and instantly, the house violently lurches, knocking Sam through a large gap in the steel grate. With a horrible cracking the tired foundation topples into the sea and is swiftly swallowed up, while the birdcage elevator descends into the depths, dinging away at each new layer of earth, taking Sam along with it.    Though the above-ground world never saw Sam again, you must remember that curiosity could never kill an intelligent cat.