Avon Fantasy Reader No. 8 — page 47: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CAT-WOMAN : | eee 43 ing 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! . . .” She prattled on until I left for the office. -" * It was two days later that I saw Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche again. I con- fess 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 af- fectionately. 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 awhile, 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. ee And somehow, it has always seemed to me something more than a mere ~ coincidence that on that very day Mademoiselle Chatte-Blanche disap- peared 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 Eomicbooks;com,