by Bill H Myers
She smiled; I knew she wasn't scolding me, but I also knew she was serious about who would be doing my laundry in the future. Me.
She pointed to her bedroom and said, “I need to make some phone calls. Why don't you take a short nap? It'll do you good.”
There were a lot of things I needed to do. I needed to call my car insurance company and file a claim on the motorhome. I needed to call the hospital billing department and give them my health insurance details. And I needed to start thinking about finding a more permanent place to live.
But all those things could wait. I was recovering from a serious concussion and already worked harder that morning than what the doctor would have approved.
A nap sounded good. But only a short one; I had a lot to do. I headed to the bedroom, took off my shirt and crawled into bed.
Sometime later, I woke to find Abby standing above me, arms crossed and smiling. She saw me open my eyes and whispered, “You awake?”
My head hurt, and I was thirsty, but I was awake. “Yeah, how long did I sleep?”
She smiled. “Probably not long enough. Do you want to sleep more or are you ready to go out again?”
I would have rather stayed in bed. But we had things to do and places to go and the sooner we did those things the better I'd feel.
“I'm ready to go back out. As long as I don't have to dig through a wreck or carry a heavy safe again.”
When I sat up, I realized I was only wearing underwear. I'd gone to bed wearing clothes, but, somehow, while I slept, they had been removed.
She patted me on my bare leg and pointed to a chair across the room where my clothes had been neatly folded. She grinned and asked, “Are you going to get dressed or are you planning to go out like that?”
I threw the sheet off and stood up slowly so as not to pass out from the dizzy spells I'd been having. If Abby knew about these, she hadn't mentioned it.
I walked over to the chair and put on my shirt, one of the polos she had bought me. She watched as I dressed and started laughing, amused by what she was seeing.
I didn't think my nearly naked body was something to be laughed at. I was in decent shape, probably better than most men my age. Still, I wondered what had her laughing.
I pulled on my pants, turned to her and said, “You know, you standing there laughing while I'm nearly naked might give me an inferiority complex. So what's so funny?”
She pointed to my shirt. “You've got it on inside out.”
I looked down and saw that in my haste to get dressed I had put the polo on with the labels and seams on the outside instead of the right way.
I shook my head, pulled the shirt off, turned it inside out, and put it back on.
Still smiling, Abby said, “That's better. You ready to go?”
Ten minutes later, we were in the minivan heading out. Our first stop was the Venice pet shelter.
On the way, Abby asked about my health insurance. She said, “I found your card in the laundry bag. It looks good, but you can't use it.”
“Why? It hasn’t expired, has it? I've been paying the premium. What's the problem?”
She patted me on the knee and said, “It's not the policy that's the problem. It's the name on it. It's in your real name, not the name the hospital has on file for you.
“If you call and give them your policy number, they'll run it, and your insurance company is going to deny the claim. They'll say the policy covers the named insured, no one else. Certainly not Tony Mendoza.”
I thought about what she'd said and realized she was right. There was no way my health insurance would cover a fifty-thousand-dollar claim for someone not shown on the policy.
“Can't we go down to the hospital and straighten this out? Can't I show them my real ID and get all the billing records changed?”
Still driving, she said, “You could try, but then you'd have to explain why you have a fake driver's license.
“And then there's the problem of the police. They'll want to know why you have the fake one and where you've been using it.
“But the real trouble begins when they want to know who created it for you.
“And that’s a bigger problem. The people who made it don't like the authorities asking questions about their work. In fact, they'd rather both of us disappeared before the questions get asked. And we probably don't want that.
“So don't be in a hurry to call the hospital. We’ll figure out a better way to handle this.”
I wasn't happy about not being able to give the hospital my insurance details, but knew better than to go against Abby's advice. According to her, the people who created the fake license were not the kind of people you wanted to make mad.
I thought about my other insurance. “What about my motorhome? Can I file a claim on it?”
She thought for a moment then said, “No, not yet. They'll want to see the accident report. The VIN number has to match the VIN on your policy. If it does, your insurance company will probably pay.
“But to get the accident report, we'll have to go to the sheriff’s office. There's a substation on our way home, we'll go there after the pet shelter.”
The good news was I had found my insurance policies. One for the motorhome and one for the hospital.
The bad news was I might not be able to use either.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As it turned out, there were four pet shelters in Venice. We needed to visit them all. I had hoped we would find Bob quickly; maybe someone had picked him up and dropped him off at the first shelter we'd visit.
In my mind, we would walk in, tell them we were looking for a big, orange, bobtail cat, and they'd say, “Oh sure, we have him.”
But it didn't go like that. All the shelters were underfunded, understaffed and overburdened with too many lost or abandoned pets. Cats, dogs, birds, even snakes.
Walking past the row of cages, listening to the plaintive cries of animals desperate to be found by their owners or adopted by people who would love them, was heartbreaking.
There were so many animals in such tight quarters that had they not been stressed before they arrived, they surely would be when they were put in small cages surrounded by the noise and smell of hundreds of other stressed-out animals.
By the time we left the first shelter, Abby was in tears, and I couldn't blame her.
We hadn't found Bob, and we still had three more shelters to visit before the day was over. At the first shelter, we left a flyer with Bob's picture and our contact info. We promised to give the shelter the full reward if they took Bob in.
But after seeing the condition of the unhappy animals caged there, I wondered if Bob would be better off on his own out in the wild.
Instead of visiting the second shelter on our list, Abby decided we should take a break and go to the sheriff’s substation on Englewood Road to get a copy of the accident report.
We got there around two thirty and parked in the visitors’ lot. I started to get out of the van, but Abby stopped me. She said, “I need to make some calls, so I'm staying out here. You go in, give them the date and location of the accident and get the report. Unless they ask, don't give them your name. But if they do, tell them you're Tony Mendoza.”
She handed me one of the lost cat flyers and said, “Give them this and ask if they've seen him.”
I nodded, folded the flyer and put it in my back pocket. It would have been nice if Abby had gone in with me, I could have used her support. But she’d already dropped everything else going on in her life to be with me full time. I couldn't ask for much more.
She still had other clients, and I understood why she might need to make a few calls in private.
Going inside and getting the accident report was easier than I expected. After I told the female officer behind the desk about the wreck, she smiled and said, “I've seen the video. I can't believe you made it out alive.”
She tapped a few keys on her computer and then spoke a few words into her headset. A moment later, t
he printer behind her began spitting out sheets of paper. Six pages later, it stopped.
She wheeled her office chair to the printer and grabbed the pages. She looked them over and then handed them to me, saying, “This is what you'll need for your insurance company. I'll make a second copy for your records.”
A few keystrokes later, the laser printer went back to work. While we waited for the pages to print, the woman turned her attention to me and said, “Deputy Daniels would like to talk to you about the accident. He's on his way down.”
While I waited for the deputy, I scanned the first page of the accident report. It showed the correct time and date, a summary of the accident and a drawing showing the intersection and path of both vehicles.
The second page had brief witness statements and more details about the accident including a lack of skid marks from the Corvette.
The third page had several black-and-white photos showing the damage to my motorhome.
The fourth page had additional details written by the lead investigator including, “The driver of the motorhome had the right of way and was following the rules of the road. Blood tests show he was not impaired. The driver of the Corvette, while traveling at a high rate of speed, ran the red light and hit the motorhome, causing significant damage.”
Just as I finished reading the report, a deputy wearing a dark green uniform, a heavy gun belt, and a gold badge came up from the back.
When he saw me, he smiled and put out his hand and said, “I'm Deputy Daniels with the Sarasota sheriff’s office. I was first on the scene. I'm the one who wrote up that report.”
I shook his hand and asked, “You were the first one there? That probably means you’re the one who saved my life. I can't thank you enough. If I can ever do anything for you or your department, just ask.”
He smiled. “I might take you up on that one of these days. But it wasn't all me. The EMTs and firemen did most of the work. All I did was control the scene.”
I figured he was being modest, but I wanted to include the firemen and EMTs in my offer, so I said, “Well, if they ever need anything, let me know. I'll help any way I can.”
The deputy nodded and said, “That's good to know. What's even better is you're standing here talking to me. It's hard to believe you survived the accident. The other driver was doing over a hundred when he broadsided you. Most people don't live through those kinds of hits.”
He continued, “How bad were you hurt?”
I pointed to my head. “No broken bones, just a concussion.”
“You're lucky. When I went in and saw you hanging by your shoulder strap, I didn't know whether you were dead or alive. I just cut the belt and dragged you out.
“When I saw the video that showed the other car airborne when it hit you, I was stunned. It cut your motorhome in half, like a knife going through hot butter.”
I nodded and asked, “How did you get there so quickly?”
“I was in the Walmart lot when I heard the crash. I turned my lights on and got there just before the EMTs. I stayed with you until they loaded you into the ambulance. Then I worked the scene, looking for the guy who hit you.”
I nodded. “You find him yet? The guy driving the Corvette?”
He looked over at the woman sitting behind the desk. She shook her head, and mouthed the word, “No.”
Deputy Daniels looked back at me and said, “The official answer to your question is no, we don't know who was driving. We have no suspects at this time.”
He pointed to the accident report. “Give that to your insurance company, and they'll know it wasn't your fault. If they have any questions, have them contact me.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. “Call me anytime.”
I took the card and said, “I will.”
The deputy started to leave, but I stopped him with a question. “Did you find a cat in the wreck?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flyer Abby had given me. I unfolded it and said, “I had a cat in the motorhome with me. A big, orange, bobtail tabby. Any chance you saw him?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn't see any cats. I was focused on getting you out of there alive. After the EMTs took you away and the firemen put the fire out, I went back in to make sure there was no one else inside. There wasn’t, and no cat either.”
He continued, “But don't worry, cats usually survive these kinds of things. They'll run off and look for a safe place to hole up until things settle down.
“My guess is your cat went into the woods on the east side of Forty-One. Or maybe he joined the other ones that hang out behind CVS. There's a woman there who puts out food every morning for the feral cats that live behind the store.
“You should check to see if yours has joined them.”
I nodded. “I will. Keep the flyer and if you see the cat, give me a call. And thanks for your help. I owe you my life.”
Deputy Daniels smiled and said, “Just doing my job.”
He patted me on the back. “Stay safe and good luck finding your cat. I'll put the word out, and if anything comes up, we'll call you.”
Back outside, Abby was finishing a call when I got into the minivan. She was saying, “We'll see about that.” Then she hung up.
I could tell she was upset. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head and said, “No, not really. Just dealing with a stubborn client.”
She changed the subject quickly. “Did you get the accident report?”
“I got it. And I gave them the flyer. The deputy said to look behind CVS. Bob might be there.”
She started the car and headed out of the parking lot.
I waited until she pulled out into traffic and asked, “Where are we going next?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
We still had two hours before the three remaining shelters on Abby's list closed for the day. Her plan was to visit each, in hopes of finding Bob.
If we were lucky, we'd have him before the day was over.
With high hopes, we visited the second shelter. Like the first, what we found was depressing. The shelter was overcrowded, underfunded and understaffed. The animals were kept in cages stacked four high, and most wanted out.
Bob wasn't among them.
The third shelter was a little better. They kept the cats in a room away from the dogs. It was quiet, and when we visited, most of the felines were sleeping or grooming. Unlike the first two shelters, there was a volunteer who showed us around and stayed with us while we were there. She looked to be in her sixties and seemed surprisingly upbeat, considering the conditions she worked in.
When we walked into the cat room, she cautioned us not to reach into any of the cages. “They may look cute and cuddly, but they're under a lot of stress and may not be happy if you invade their space.
“We've had a few visitors bitten. So now we warn people. If you see one you want to adopt, we can get it out and take it over to the play area.”
We explained we were looking for a lost cat and showed her the flyer with Bob's photo and details. She looked at it, read the description and shook her head. “He's not one of ours. But if he turns up, we'll give you a call.”
She tapped the flyer. “He's a good-looking cat. I'll let our people know to keep an eye out for him.”
The fourth shelter was like the first two. Crowded, too many animals in cages and no Bob. We left flyers and headed back home.
On the way, Abby pulled into the Merchant's Crossing shopping center and parked in front of the Winn-Dixie store, next to Dollar Tree.
There were seven other stores in the shopping center, including a Pet Supermarket. She grabbed a handful of flyers, reached for the door and said, “I'm going to post these on the bulletin boards in all the stores. You want to go with me?”
I didn't. I wanted to stay in the van and rest. I was tired and depressed about not finding Bob, and I didn't feel like walking around the shopping center. But when Abby said, “Come on, go
with me. I might need your help,” I couldn't turn her down.
I got out and followed as she headed to the Dollar Tree. She posted the flyer on the inside bulletin board and did the same at every store that would let her.
While we were in Winn-Dixie, she asked if I wanted anything special for dinner. The only thing I could think of was steak. I'd been hungry ever since leaving the hospital and needed more than a salad to keep my strength up.
She said, “One more store to go and then we'll come back and get your steak.”
The Pet Supermarket was the last on our route. We went in, showed them the flyer and they were happy to post it on their “Lost and Found” board. Thinking we were done, I started to leave, but Abby stopped me.
She said, “I need to get a few things while we're here.”
She grabbed a shopping cart and headed over to the cat section. She went up and down the aisles, loading her cart with a litter box, cat litter, dry cat food, and a few toys. I figured she was getting these for Bob. We didn't have any cat supplies back at the house, and when we found him, it would be nice if everything was ready.
I knew he liked treats, so I picked up a package of his favorites, along with a cat brush. If he were in the wild, he'd need a good grooming when he got home.
On our way to the checkout, Abby picked up six cans of kitten food and a smaller litter box. I wasn't sure what she had in mind. Bob wasn't a kitten and he was way too big to fit in the small litter box she was getting. Still, just buying cat supplies with the idea that we would soon find him raised my spirits.
After we checked out, we put all the cat stuff in the back of the minivan and headed back to Winn-Dixie to get my steak.
Abby picked out two boneless New York strips, a green leaf salad, and four small Roma tomatoes. I paid, using one of the credit cards found in my wallet. Outside, we loaded everything into the minivan and headed back to our temporary home.
When we got there, Abby unlocked the door and took one of the grocery bags into the kitchen. I followed, carrying the other one. But instead of going straight to the kitchen, I stopped in my bedroom and took off my shoes.