The light we choose to see

Judy watched Friedrich held the tiny furry creature as a mother might cradle her newborn. She giggled and ran her fingers through her hair. There was something both confident and vulnerable in his movements, and she felt a little awkward looking at him—like catching someone in a moment too private to witness.

Many of the animals brought back to the shelter were abandoned frail strays who had suffered trauma, one way or the other. Some were, initially, in a constant state of hostility while trying to make sense of their new surroundings. Human contact would paralyze them with fear and their reactions were often unpredictable. Her purpose was to bring these poor souls back to the righteous path and make them understand that there is still hope in humanity. Cynically, she saw her job as harmonically connected to the evil in the world. She was conveying darkness into light.  

Friedrich greeted all the animals in his own peculiar way, regardless of their affliction. He had the gift of understanding them beyond reason — as if he spoke their language, fluent in meows, purrs, and the occasional hiss.

As he lifted the kitten in the air with just one hand, in a gentle sway, she allowed herself to contemplate. Every human, she thought, is surrounded by a subtle glow, — a warmth invisible to most, yet sensed by those willing to see it. A fair golden hue, that lives in harmony with the flesh and guides one through life, even though the darkest moments.

He began to dance, the kitten pressed to his chest. His fingers timidly touched the paw—trying to draw out the claws. When he leaned into a tango pose, she could have sworn his light followed, as if his entire body was encompassed by a blaze.

‘A graceful Gretel’

The sound of his voice struck like the first falling domino — Judy’s train of thought collapsed, and she was pulled back into the world. A sudden blush overwhelmed her cheeks. She desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice.

When the government cut the funds a year ago, Judy nearly fell into despair. She was underfunded, overcrowded, and constantly exhausted from fighting to meet sanitation standards. The few volunteers she had were fleeting appearances — people who left once they realized an animal shelter wasn’t all about fluffy love and gentle rubs.

The day Friedrich rolled his classic El Dorado Cadillac down the alley, she rubbed her eyes like a child on Christmas morning. She, who drove a beat-up Ford Escort and kept one wary eye on the engine light, could vaguely recall seeing a car like that in an old movie.And then there was the color — that overconfident, almost offensive turquoise tint. But Friedrich didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he carried his elegance with an effortless grace that made mockery impossible.

He stood motionless before the car, head tilted to the sky — a posture so assured it almost startled her. His light cobalt eyes were fixated on the sky and his head was slightly tilted backward. This angle allowed her to perceive a remarkable jaw structure; a quadrant not far from perfection, the ideal place to hold the crown jewel – his smile. It was neither dismal nor pompous. It was not courteous or wistful. It was a dominant, comfortable sparkle that found itself in perfect conjunction with the mastery of his gaze.

He took a deep breath of the evening air, straightened his head, and walked directly toward the front door.

Judy’s palms grew sweaty. When the doorbell rang, she wanted to hide. Suddenly, her worn-down T-shirt and her stonewashed jeans seemed like the worst aesthetic choice in the history of fashion. And though she’d never cared much for appearances, she cursed herself for not rinsing her hair that morning.

It was more curiosity than anything else that finally edged her to compose herself and embody the role of shelter manager.

‘Good evening’ – he said, as soon as the door opened. There was something about his voice, soft and warm, like the skin of a peach.

‘And who might this bulky fellow be?’ he asked, pointing at the discolored picture of Mister Doodle the Cat that hung on the front door.

She hid her hands behind her back, picking at the skin around her nails.

‘A soul in the wait for his forever home’ – Judy answered

‘The wait has ended. I would like to meet him. I’m Friedrich’

His hand was suspended in thin air, waiting for hers. It took her long to notice, as she was already swimming in the immense abyss that was his eyes.   

In the months that followed, Friedrich organized a crowdfunding event. He'd laugh as he explained this let him play at entrepreneurship—something he'd wanted as a child. His family never allowed it, he said. She later learned he was the heir of German aristocrats who considered common work a distraction from life's central piece: limitless entertainment and rejoicing. Conversations over the provenience of money never seemed adequate. All she knew was that the family owned a British estate on the outskirts of the city, where Friedrich was now residing.

His sense of humor was childish and he always made Judy laugh to tears. He called the small female cats ‘Gretels’ and the male ones ‘Hansels’ – apparently inspired by an old German folk tale that spoke of two brothers who got lost in the woods, abandoned by their parents. Friedrich told her the story. The kids found their way back home even if faced with adversity while having crossed paths with a vile sorceress whose only purpose was to lead the two innocent souls toward death. This was a parable and Judy chose to see it that way. What she and Friedrich were doing was the work of God in many forms.

Back in the day, cats would stay in the shelter longer – either because they were not adopted per se or because they were too sick. This was not the case at present. Some kittens were, indeed, taken home by visitors. Yet most of the placements were in his hands. This was his only requirement – to be allowed to personally take in as many tabbies as possible. Odd at first, routine towards the end. He adopted one cat every ten days.

Friedrich was obsessed with feeding them big quantities of high-quality food in order to get the animals 'plumped' and healthy as soon as possible. The more Rubenesque they looked, the better. His favorite remained Mister Doodle the Cat which soon started to resemble a Russian tank.

There was no doubt his estate had room for the impressive number of cats he vouched for, nor any question about his financial power. Yet the real fuel for his philanthropy was Ludmilla. The delicate, seductive, mysterious Ludmilla. Judy could not get rid of the tiny prick she felt in her heart whenever he spoke of his beloved.

Every detail Judy knew about his better half came filtered through Friedrich's affection, and, as often happens, love paints the world in rose colors. When faced with reality, Judy couldn't tell if her own lenses were green with jealousy or pale with resignation. Dedication and kindness—even if appreciated—seemed not to have the same glamour as genuine beauty and elegance. And Ludmilla was, indeed, exquisite.

 They had met a year ago through common friends, Friedrich confessed. Since then, they had never spent one day apart. The way he said it—with such certainty, such contentment—made Judy's chest tighten.

She never visited the shelter. In fact, she never really left the estate. Initially, Judy maliciously imagined that she had an awful appearance or a life-threatening disease that would prevent her from showing her face to the world. That sandcastle of malediction came tumbling down when Friedrich spoke of her eyes like fire, her skin glowing like honeyed marble. Like Botticelli's Birth of Venus—that's how Judy imagined her. A hymn to beauty in its purest form.

Even as a fictional character in Judy's life, Ludmilla loomed impossibly large. Friedrich painted her as gracious, sophisticated—a woman who had traveled the world to be with him, who adored fine dining and classical music. Silent when needed, caring when required. The perfect companion for a nobleman. And what was Judy? A woman in a stained T-shirt who scraped cat litter and drove a Ford with a dying engine.

She adored cats, Friedrich said, and he was bringing them to her—an army of loveable toys for her amusement, delivered to her doorstep while she lounged in comfort. Ludmilla never had to worry about tomorrow. Her delight was the present moment. Fate, Judy thought, had a cruel sense of symmetry—some were born to estates and admiration, others to shelters and scraped knees.

It was Ludmilla’s birthday that Saturday and Judy had secretly hoped for an invitation to the party ever since she saw Fredrich had started preparing for the big event. It was also a big day for Mr Doodle, freshly washed and bow tied, his coat puffed into unruly curls and his belly round with contentment. His grand adoption moment. Judy felt a bizarre anticipation in the air, as if a grand outcome was about to be revealed; some sort of step forward in their relationship, maybe a breakthrough in them moving beyond just their common interaction at the shelter. Her desire to meet Ludmilla was clear as day, yet it went beyond just that. She yearned to see what life may be like for Friedrich; what kind of cuisine was served at the table, what type of silverware they used, and what sort of classical music they listened to.

‘See you on Monday, time to take this Hansel home!’ – Friedrich saluted, waving gently, as he turned around and left. Mr Doodle’s large head was bouncing comically as it hit his shoulder, out of sync to the rhythm of his walk.

She offered no reply as he walked away. The air felt heavy.

Her gaze darted across the room, searching for a focal point. The luster in the corner emitted a phosphorescent, neurotic light, and her pupils dilated. Her shadow lay engraved on the wall — a formless mountain, immense and motionless, moving neither forward nor back.

‘One must not impose,’ she heard herself say aloud.Was it her own voice — or her mother’s, who always taught her to be polite and never interfere in other people’s business?

‘And yet I will.’

‘10 minutes to destination’ – the GPS announced. Her pulse quickened. What was she doing, anyway? Showing up uninvited to somebody’s house after copying their address from an adoption receipt? She could already foresee how police would question her about trespassing. But the tornado in her head made her thoughts collide, twisting her sense of reason. She hated to admit it, yet this was by far the most exhilarating thing she had done in a long time. She rolled the window down. The evening air tangled her hair in the spaghetti straps of her new dress.

Who was going to welcome her at the door tonight? Would it be Ludmilla herself, looking radiant in a night gown, holding a glass of champagne? How many guests will there be? Would she make a statement in her expensive but unremarkable dress, her feet aching in beautiful shoes?

‘You have now reached your destination’ – the dull, emotionless voice made her jealous.

‘I wish I had that kind of composure’, she thought.

At the end of the pathway, the outline of the house began to emerge. There was a certain stillness in the air that seemed to have embraced the building also, and even if she did try to make some sense of how the architecture was, the moonless night made it very difficult to comprehend the style. Much smaller than expected, the house looked like the modest cousin of a mansion built for banquets.

‘Perhaps it’s for the best’, thought Judy, a bit calmer at the sight of a humbler establishment.

She climbed the stairs to the main entrance, clutching a white calla bouquet to her chest, praying her heels wouldn’t catch on the rocky pavement. The only thing missing was Mendelssohn's Wedding March to accompany the ludicrous scene. She really hoped Ludmilla loved flowers, the cost of this bouquet created a small crater in her weekly budget.   

She gently caressed the door frame looking for a doorbell, only to be disappointed to find out it had none. Not even a doorknob for that matter. She touched the surface once more, this time adding more pressure to the gesture while moving her left hand slightly to the right side. The door obeyed and opened by itself as if an invisible, delicate string was pulled from the other side. There was no sound to accompany the movement.

‘Hello… Friedrich? It’s me, Judy. I…was just driving by and thought of saying hi…’

Inertia. It was then that she realized Friedrich never mentioned the party was actually held at the house. For all she knew, they could be out at a restaurant somewhere, dancing the night away. Suddenly the whole thing appeared comical, like a tale fit for a stand-up show. Here she was, searching for a party to which she had not been invited, standing in front of a house that was not her own, carrying a ridiculously pretentious bouquet of flowers for a person she did not even know. Too many unknowns and too much darkness. It was time to go back home. This elaborated delusion must come to an end. She made a sudden pirouette and turned around. Just as she was about to step down the stairs, a familiar noise caught her attention.

The sound made her freeze. There was something intimate, recognizable about it and it took her less than 3 seconds to identify it … Mr Doodle was inside. His pitiful, lengthy "meeeoowwwww" rang out through the walls and into the terrace. Without asking herself any more questions, she simply followed the cries and pushed the door again before entering the hallway.

The decor of the parlor was surreal. Without question, the focal point was the enormous fireplace, which was blazing, even though the time of year did not warrant its use. Tongues of fire rose high, throwing restless shadows across the mural. Their unity projected a spectacle of light and shadows on the beautiful mural in front. Though still, the room felt alive.Judy made a step closer but was interrupted by a sound coming from the opposite direction, so she naturally turned around.

Two red velvet armchairs faced each other in the space between the mural and the fireplace, beckoning visitors to take a seat and take in the scene. On the armrest of one of them, laid carelessly, in an aristocratic pose, none other than Mr Doodle. He had his long, fluffy tail hanging free to one side. As his body grew softer from the fire's warmth, he opened his mouth to yawn, exposing all of his white, pointed teeth. He was, without a doubt, enjoying his evening. His tiny claws were playing softly with the fabric, the way cats do when they're comfortable. The sound of the fire was complemented by a soft purr.

 Judy grinned, her heart full of love.

‘There you are, you big ball of furr.. you are..’ – before she could finish, something moved in the dark—fast, fluid. She saw scales catch the firelight as it struck, seizing Mr. Doodle in a coil of muscle. The python—it was a python—tightened with terrible precision.

Mr Doodle, convulsed and dismembered, was slowly fading away in the wooziness, precisely like a body in a swift waterhole. Bones cracked and tissue bent. And with each movement, the grip grew stronger.  

Judy let out a scream, terrified. Her maternal instinct made her take three rapid steps toward the scene, but the pitched black vertical split pupils looked her straight in the face, causing her to freeze and not go a single step farther. There was no blink. Just a hypnotic stare accompanied by an almost imperceptible tilt of the oval head.

A soft hiss broke the deadly silence, and the snake's split tongue seemed to be tasting the air with quick, sinuous movements. Its rubber skin appeared to have reflected the fire, transforming its original yellow-cream hue into a dazzling golden-like sparkling silk fabric.

A poker was hanging on the wall near the fireplace. A long iron rod with a bent end. Judy did her quick math and determined that a single blow to the head would be sufficient to kill the reptile. She grabbed the instrument and prepared to fight the beast. Just as she was about to hit, she felt a cold touch on her shoulder, drawing her slightly back.

'Well, well well… look what the cat dragged in'

It was August, the fire was blazing, her eyes were red and scorching. And yet, at the sound of his voice her blood turned to ice.

‘Meet Ludmilla, a sealer of perfection’ – Friedrich continued.

His hand had now moved down from the shoulder to capture her left wrist. A solid grip kept her anchored.

 ‘Pythons are agile, majestic creatures. She is having her dinner now… one must not disturb, you think not?’

His eyes—had they always been that grey? As Judy looked closer, his pupils seemed to narrow to slits, yellowish and cold. His skin no longer glowed. The smile she'd found charming twisted into something repugnant. Or had it always looked like that?

‘Look, Judy, look… admire her. Isn’t she a beauty?’

Ludmilla had loosened the grip and Mr Doodle’s lifeless body laid on the floor. His limbs were twisted in a grotesque, undulating position and his eyes had popped out of their sockets, now hanging out like 2 balls of flesh connected to the muscle by a single blood-soaked fiber.  

Ludmilla's jaw opened wide. Her ligaments extended like a fan, while her tendons stretched broad to support the movement. Short, stinging teeth saluted the victim as her saliva began to trickle to the ground. She began inhaling the flesh like a prized possession, and her skin glided over Mr Doodle's body like a latex garment on one's skin. The bite advanced steadily and precisely, as the cat gradually disappeared into her innards.

As she ate, her long, sleek form undulated, welcoming the kill, pushing it deeper and deeper into her stomach to prepare for digestion.

At last, Mr Doodle’s long wooly tail vanished into the crevasse.

‘She will rest now, and we must be respectful’ – said Friedrich as he unlocked his grip.

Judy’s eyes were in pain and tears had knotted in her chin.

She felt the fire poker in her right hand. This time the metal seemed alive.

Friedrich looked at her.

‘Don’t be a baby! In the end, we both win. You keep your business; I mind my own. What happens with the merchandise when I bring it home, it’s solely my concern’

His once golden glow had turned cold, now a shadow swallowing the light like a black hole.

Judy felt a sharp needle ache in her temples. She raised the fire poke in the air, and, without hesitation, moved her body to the left side where Friedrich stood. She gave him a blow to the head with a force she never imagined she possessed.

He stumbled in amazement for just one second before collapsing to the ground, right in front of the fireplace.

His eyes remained open, staring at the ground. In just a few seconds, they were flooded by a river of blood that continued to run on the floor, staining the white cashmere carpet.   

Ludmilla slid towards him, maneuvering her (now) heavy body with care. She tasted the blood with her tongue, looked straight into his eyes, and gently coasted on top, wrapping him in spirals.