Kitty

By Joshua Magee

 

One night I heard Catherine stumbling down the road. The noise stopped outside the front door and then I could hear a lighter failing to ignite. This continued until I went down to the front door.

When I opened it, she took a few moments to notice any change, but after a while she turned to look at me with her cigarette hanging out of her mouth and dissonance in her eyes. She was plastered; the kind of drunk were only your eyebrows react to anything whilst your eyes stare widely at the space beside whoever you’re focusing on.

She put the lighter back in her sable fur coat and took a step towards the door, grabbing the frame with one hand while the other flailed about in an attempt to balance on her stilettos. Before she lost her footing, I reached out and grabbed her free arm to help steady her.

“Well Catherine, finished up for the night then? And looking as fine as ever!” I joked. She mumbled something to the effect of “Murrah. Mirsturfunnrm’n”. “Spot on Kate, spot on”.

I helped her in and she dwindled in her heels towards the stairs. I went to her and intended to aid her up the stairs but even with my arm around her she still managed to collapse backwards the moment she lifted her foot to the stair. As she fell, she let out a loud, high-pitched “whoops” and then fell into laughter as I tried to soften her fall.

I figured that, if she were to make it up the stairs at all, she would have to take off the stilettos. As she lay there with her head back and laughing, I proceeded to unclip the latches on her heels. As I did so, flat 1’s door opened and out came the resident to glare with a scolding look.

I knew him only a small amount, and from what I did know he was a grumpy old fart. As I started to release the second foot, all while she was swinging her free leg about, still laughing and saying things like “Whater y’doin’ y’foolll”, I said to the peeping old man “Fuck off George”, (from what I knew his name was Freddie).

He let out a scolding sigh and closed the door. I was sure the residents of the other two flats on the ground floor were able to hear Catherine, whether or not they were intensively listening.

This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and from what I had heard, most of the building’s residents referred to her as ‘that whore who lives on the third floor’. I had a lot of time for Kitty, of the little I knew about her, I learnt that she had two sisters somewhere, a dead father and an invalid mother living in a rest.

She didn’t have much schooling growing up but her sisters were very well educated and emigrated many years back. I didn’t judge Catherine for her whoring, she didn’t have many other lucrative talents and she had to pay for her mother’s care somehow.

I also thought, ‘fair play to ye girl’, because she was raking it in. The apartment she lived in was easily the biggest in the building, not quite the grandest, Mr. Moore on the second floor had that title, but Kate’s was fairly impressive.

I’d only been in it twice; I’d been in three large rooms and I’m sure I hadn’t yet seen it all. I’d surely sell my body if someone was offering such a price. Instead, I lived in a small flat with two rooms and a ‘balcony’ big enough for one garden chair.

I never resented her for her money, I’d even say I quite liked her, when you got her on the ‘right drunk’ she was very funny and we always had some great conversation. But, with all of us who drink in excess, there were different levels.

I could tell by how drunk she was that tonight had been a night with big spenders and fancy lenders. The big earners would take her out, usually to a hotel somewhere in Belfast, somewhere expensive and considerably more private.

Then, they would wine and dine her, take her to some club and then eventually back to the hotel room for the filthy nasty. The next level down were the spenders who only did the fancy, private hotel.

Then you had the regular crowds. Half decent hotel room or second flat that the wife somehow doesn’t know about, maybe something to eat. Below that it was very basic hotel, no food, in and out, 60 minutes max. And lastly, we had the poor regulars, the outcasts and pity fucks with nowhere else to go.

They came to her apartment, although that never made sense to me. One time, I had heard her screaming upstairs (not the hanky pinky screaming, but one of panic), I ran out and up and started banging the door.

After some heavy banging, her client opened the door and head butted me right in the nose, we had a scuffle but thankfully he wasn’t a very large man and, eventually a with a fair struggle, I was able to send him packing. This was the first of a few times, but those are other stories.

I helped Catherine up off the floor and we began to ascend the stairs, albeit in a very slow and unbalanced manner. I won’t lie to you, it took us a few minutes to get up a single flight, and the entire time I was practically supporting all her weight (which wasn’t much, she was a small, rather light woman, but when she was this drunk, she somehow became three times her weight).

This continued until we got up to the second floor. Kate seemed to be finished, and we were just at my flat, so I decided to take her in and lye her down on the small sofa in my kitchen. I got the door open and supported her over to the sofa. “Ah Kitty, what are we gonna do with ye” I said to her as I lay her down. She was out.

I sat at the table and rolled a cigarette. I had intended to do some writing that night so I you’ll crossed the room to open the door to the balcony as to allow the smoke out, walked back to the table, took out my typewriter and began clicking away. I’m not sure how much time had passed, at least an hour or two, but Kate eventually put her head up and let out an “Ooooooooooooooh, I’d love a glass of water”.

“Sure Kitty, two seconds” I said as I got up. This startled her and she opened her eyes and looked around before letting out a sigh of relief. “Oh Josh, you scared the fuck out of me, I had no idea where I was for a second.”

She seemed to have sobered up a fair bit, so I may have been typing longer than it seemed. “You mind how you got here? All safe and sound, or do I need to go assault some other skinny runt?”

She laughed, “No, no, no, not tonight, Josh, got home all safe and sound, you helped me up the stairs, yeah?” “Yup” “

And old fogey came out downstairs at one point?” “He did indeed” “And you told him to go fuck himself?” “I told him to fuck off” “You have such a way with people Josh” “Only for you Kitty, only for you” I brought her a glass of water and sat back at my chair.

“Whatchya writing Bukowski?” I gave her a dirty look, as if I didn’t love it. She smirked, stood up and walked to the bench behind me where my rolling tobacco was and began to roll a cigarette.

“Ah nothing worth reading to be honest.” “Oh?” “Yeah, just more depressing shit, writing about things I hate, people I hate, verbs I hate, you know, the usual.”

 

“Ah” she said as she stood behind me and hung her arms and head around my neck “The Josh special, speaking of specials, do you have anything to drink in this tiny nest of yours?”

“I’ve got just the bottle Kate, it’s been sitting in my cupboard waiting’ for ye, crying for ye, I kept telling him you’d be home soon and alas, here you are.” “You’re full of such shit so you are, you know that? You’re heads full of shit. Get me that drink Parker!”

“Right away m’lady.” I got up to pour two drinks for us and when I sat back down at the table, she was rolling cigarettes for the two of us. “So, big spenders tonight then?” “Oh very big spenders Josh, very big spenders indeed.” “Ahhh I knew it.”

She looked right at me, “You went through my purse you sneaky git!” “Well, I’m not far off being your pimp, so maybe I will someday y’cow, but no m’dear, you were just drunk enough for it to be obvious.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea Josh, you’ve no idea.” I was curious as to what was to be found in her bag, so I went ahead and asked “What’s in the purse then? Precious valuables?” “They’re big tippers Josh, that’s all you need to know.” We both laughed and continued to talk and drink.

Some time had passed and we both ended up rather inebriated, well, I got inebriated and she got back to it. By this point Kate was telling me about the benefits of citrus in the whore’s world and I was complaining, waving my arms about and shouting about the lack of lemon-flavored products in the local shop (any little thing, I swear to God I’m easy to set off, runs in the blood).

We had run out of rolling papers but Kate lifted her purse and began to search, saying that she definitely had some somewhere. “Oh, so ‘Madame Money Bags’ has to use all of my papers before cracking into hers?” “They’re not mine actually, if you shut up, I’ll tell you a good story of where I got these.”

As she said this, she started lifting things out of her purse, and amongst the items were; miscellaneous make-up, condoms, handcuffs, a very small vibrator, a rather large vibrator, a bag of cocaine and a very, very, very large roll of cash.

“Where the fuck did those papers go?” “Jesus Christ girl what all have you got in there, you about to pull out an AK?” She laughed, “No, actually, I got this baggie from the same place I swiped the papers, but they must be in my coat, was I smoking when I got home?” “Yeah, unfortunately I think you put it out in your fancy coat.”

“Fuck the fancy coat, it’s just a thing Josh, they’re all just things, no matter how fancy.” We had very similar beliefs, but I found it harder to stick to mine, perhaps a big wallet helps you stick to your principals, or maybe she just had more balls than me.

She then proceeded to tell a story that, for legal purposes, I can’t re-tell, but in essence she had been taken to a ‘private party’ and in this party were many… let’s say ‘well known names’ about Belfast, I told her I didn’t believe her and then she began to swear that the bag of coke and papers came from a well-known news presenter for one of the primary news channels, who had gotten too coked out to realize he left everything sitting at the table he was at.

“So, you stole his coke AND his cash? Jesus Kitty, what are you at?” “No, no, no.” She said as she waved the wad “This, was all my baby.” She winked “It was just the coke and the papers” she shrugged.

I shrugged back, “ah, that’s alright then.” We continued to drink until she reached more or less the same state in which she entered our story. I ended up letting her use my bed, she had had a long day of work after all and was again too hammered to climb the last flight of stairs.

I helped her in and onto my mattress and gave her a kiss on her forehead, “G’night Kitty.” I came back into the small kitchen/living area and sat on the sofa with the bottle of whiskey.

Maybe I could earn some cash whoring about? Kitty made it look terribly easy, but she was petite and very attractive, and I was… not. I sat there thinking about other ways to earn more money than I was earning for my writing, which really was nothing at all now that I think back to that time of my life, how I managed to survive on that is a mystery to me.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but next thing I knew, it was 2:30 in the afternoon, I was still sitting upright on the sofa and she was gone.
Sitting on the table was £300 in cash with a note that said “You’re a doll so you are, think nothing of this, I just appreciate you” and it was singed with a lipstick print. Salt of the earth. Salt of the earth.

 

Joshua Findon-Magee from Italy is an Irish born author, poet, musician and playwright. With a distinct voice that blends dark humor, introspection, and raw realism, his writing explores themes of loneliness, identity, and the quiet struggles of ordinary people. Drawing inspiration from working-class environments and the subtle dynamics of relationships, he creates narratives that feel both deeply personal and universally relatable. His storytelling is characterized by rich character development, natural dialogue, and an ability to find meaning in the mundane, making their work compelling and thought-provoking.