by Clancy Nacht
YOU’RE WELCOME.
LOVE, YOUR CAT
Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid
www.einekleinepress.com
You’re Welcome. Love, Your Cat
Copyright © August 2013 by Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
eISBN
Editor: Rory Olsen
Cover Artist: Clancy Nacht
Published by
Eine Kleine Press
P.O. Box 3671
Pflugerville, TX 78691
USA
My childhood Maine coon cat, Cheski, on whom Francesca is based, inspired this story. She’s been gone a lifetime now, but she’s always in my heart. Animals touch our lives in special ways we can’t quantify or qualify, breaking through all our scars and baggage to reach our innermost selves. They become our familiars, our shadows, our ambulatory hearts. In the loneliest times of our lives, they stay close and keep us company, and when the loneliness passes, they share in our joy. Thanks, Cheski.—TE
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Shall we?” Edwin double-checked the pockets of his cardigan for billfold, keys, and phone. He smoothed back his thick hair, a token effort at tidiness, before opening the front door of his bungalow. Since he’d started going gray, the already messy waves had grown untamable.
Only his cat, Francesca, kept him from venturing out with it sticking up like a lion’s mane. Her delicate sensibilities dictated decorum. He scooped up the Maine coon who had been winding around his ankles. She purred and nestled against his chest as he locked the door behind him.
In the yard, Francesca’s elderly cat sitter gave them an indulgent smile as she started up the walk for the morning handoff. Garish, floral-print house shoes—a sweatshop’s sad attempt at capturing the beauty of Edwin’s garden—adorned her shuffling feet. Despite Mrs. Hines’s choice in footwear, Francesca liked her, and she rarely liked anyone.
“Say good morning to Mrs. Hines, Francesca.”
Francesca swatted a paw through the air with an aristocrat’s languid arrogance.
“That was well done.” Edwin smiled, kissed the cat’s forehead, and reluctantly settled her in the woman’s frail arms.
Francesca purred like a motorboat and blinked her pale green eyes as if she couldn’t be bothered by his leaving.
With a playful scowl, Edwin dangled his keys in front of her. When she batted at them, he yanked them back and stuck out his tongue. He forced a grin and followed the driveway behind the small, cornflower-blue bungalow to the carport.
As he unlocked the door of his prized possession, he stroked the gentle slope of its roof. Over the weekend, he’d buffed the two-tone green-and-white paint to a perfect gleam, but a stray leaf had landed on the hood overnight. When Edwin spotted it, he plucked it from his car and polished the tiny scratch in the wax with the sleeve of his cardigan.
The ancient gray vinyl, though well preserved, creaked as he slid in. Francesca’s cat cabin occupied the passenger seat, but his briefcase waited on the floorboard. When he turned over the engine, it rumbled with V-8 force.
The 1956 Studebaker Golden Hawk—much like Francesca—rewarded his devotion audibly.
From the sidewalk, Mrs. Hines and Francesca waved good-bye as Edwin pulled around the side of the bungalow and edged onto the quiet street. As he turned onto the main drag and headed toward the university, he tried not to think about what it meant that he felt compelled to hide his attachment to Francesca even from the neighborhood cat lady.
Still, the day began well enough once he arrived in his office. Stacks of books, paper printouts of student essays, and tests awaiting scores comforted him. Everything sat in organized clutter that made sense to him and no one else.
After more than a decade as faculty, the University of Texas campus felt like Edwin’s domain. He reveled in his walks from building to building and the way the librarians knew not only his name but also the names of his best students. Edwin’s demanding syllabus required immense time spent in the stacks. If he couldn’t be home with Francesca, campus was the only place he wanted to be.
Colleagues nodded and smiled as he walked the corridors and crossed the commons, greeting him with the cordial distance he preferred. Edwin recalled their families, birthdays, and important events with a historian’s memory, and in return, they overlooked his polite refusals of dinner parties, backyard barbecues, coffee klatches, and weekend brunches. Though none of them mattered to him, he allowed their illusions of personal importance.
It was best that way. Those who demanded he get more personal or explain his distance inevitably ran headfirst into his long-standing vow of celibacy, and none of them ever understood. Even when the solitude pained him, it kept him focused on what mattered.
Edwin devoted the morning to grading papers, conferring with aides, and reading academic journals to stay abreast of developing theories in his field: ancient Mediterranean history. He ate lunch in his office. When he had leftover tuna sandwich and no Frannie to share it with, his heart twinged.
It still hurt as he stepped into his classroom to prepare for the afternoon’s first lecture.
“Dr. Blais?”
Edwin turned from his chalkboard to see an early arrival standing a few yards away, his handsome features knotted in an expression of anxiety. Edwin recognized him at once: frat boy, rich parents, took afternoon lectures so he could sleep off hangovers.
That earned a frosty greeting. “Mr. Hendricks. How may I help you?”
The young man shifted from one well-heeled foot to the other. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hendricks said, “It looks like I might need to drop this class.”
Edwin shrugged. It wasn’t far into the academic year, but students like this one couldn’t be expected to last until midterms. “Very well, Mr. Hendricks. Enjoy your free time, and please do support our local breweries.”
Hendricks’s face burned red as if Edwin had
slapped it. “I really tried! It’s not my fault you give us so much reading. How am I supposed to remember all these tiny details?”
Edwin leveled an evaluative gaze at him. “I recommend contextual mnemonics over rote memorization. Resources are mentioned in my syllabus, on my faculty Web site, and during every lecture. I am afraid, however, I cannot do anything for your entitlement issues except fail to give a damn that you’re dropping me.”
Hendricks glowered and moved closer, his manner threatening. Though Edwin had three inches on the younger man, Hendricks outweighed him by twenty-odd pounds of muscle. No one else would show up for a few minutes.
“I know what you are,” Hendricks growled. “This is still Texas. You think you’re so smart, but not that long ago, they’d have thrown you in prison for the sick things you do.”
Edwin chuckled and then stopped, not because he was afraid but because he didn’t have enough energy. The earlier ache in his chest had turned to hollowness. With the reckless calm of a man who had nothing left to lose, Edwin turned his back and resumed scrawling the next period’s key phrases on the chalkboard. “I see your passion for local history eclipses your interest in the ancient Mesopotamians. Perhaps you should look into such a course next semester, assuming you haven’t dropped out to devote your full attentions to keeping Sixth Street in business. You’re excused.”
Edwin half hoped, half expected that Hendricks would hit him, but after a moment, he heard expensive shoes squeak away across the polished floor. When it was obvious Hendricks wasn’t coming back, Edwin allowed himself a shaky exhalation. Then he resumed his game face and settled at the lectern just in time for the first wave of students to appear.
They ambled in clustered in self-absorbed knots of two or three, locked in quiet conversation. Watching them, Edwin remembered being that young: the excitement of learning combined with the thrill of sitting close to someone special, unable to talk until the lecture ended. He remembered rushing out after class to find the closest semiprivate nook just to put his hands all over that coveted body once again, babbling about his theories on the lecture between kisses and gasps.
The seats filled, a hush fell, and he forgot his personal past in favor of one far more significant. Edwin’s life meant nothing to the universe, but here were fertile, young minds to sow with understanding of the great rhythms and patterns of time. He would never have children or leave any great mark on the world, but he could do this. Someday, when he was gone, they might remember the man who gave them the perspective to process the movements of the world around them.
Class ran long, as his often did. The sun was setting when Edwin made his way to faculty parking and climbed into his car. He stopped by Whole Foods to buy fresh fish for dinner and was in his own neighborhood a few minutes later.
The Studebaker crept into Mrs. Hines’s driveway, Edwin riding the brake in case any of her dozen cats felt suicidal. He parked, flashed headlights at the windows, and pulled her fee from his billfold to exchange for Francesca.
As he waited for them to emerge, Edwin went around to the passenger side to fiddle with the cat cabin. At the sound of Mrs. Hines’s distinctive footfalls on the gravel path behind him, he turned from his efforts.
Her arms were empty. She looked brittle, a mixture of bright eyes and grimly set jaw.
Edwin’s heart shot into his throat.
“Dr. Blais…”
He flinched at the placating tone, the careful way she called him doctor. “Where’s Francesca?”
When she recoiled, he realized his usually stooped shoulders had squared. He towered over the tiny woman. Her fear shamed him. He wasn’t a bully like Hendricks; he was an academic, a pacifist.
Swallowing bile, he drew an uneven breath. “Just tell me what happened. Please.”
In the eleven years since Howard had died, Edwin had been waiting for Francesca to follow him. Fourteen was old, even for a cat as pampered as her.
“Well, Dr. Blais, she just…”
Unshed tears stung his eyes. His untrimmed nails cut his palms as he clenched his fists. “She just what, Mrs. Hines?”
“Well, when Lucinda and Thomas went running out the back door, Miss Francesca took off after ’em! With my arthritis and my—”
“When was this? Did you search the tall grass? The neighborhood? Which way did she go?” Edwin fired the questions like bullets from a tommy gun.
“Twenty minutes. I tried to call you! I didn’t see which way she ran, and you know I can’t be going out in that tall grass with my bad knee.” The last sentence begged him to remember she was old and unwell.
Edwin relented with a terse nod. “I’ll look for her myself.”
“I’m real sorry, Dr. Blais.” Mrs. Hines vanished into her house, trailed by her cats.
Edwin brushed aside the apology. Fighting the panic churning his guts, he stepped around the back of the house to search its unkempt yard. Francesca had been a show cat and lived indoors all her life; she wasn’t suited to outdoor adventures. Wild ideas flitted through his head, but he focused on a methodical search for his lost little girl. The sky was pale, twilit purple, darkening into night; he couldn’t waste time.
“Frannie?” He pitched his voice low to hide the tremor. What if she was stuck? Hurt?
“Francesca?” The name burst from his lips with more desperation this time, his self-control weakening. He struggled to move through the tall grass.
Twenty minutes. She could be anywhere by now.
The neighborhood was still. Nothing moved when he called her name. The evening chill pierced his cardigan. Damp grass soaked the legs of his slacks until they stuck to his skin.
It wasn’t until the crescent moon’s sliver was high overhead that he ended his search. He could accomplish nothing else tonight, and he knew it, but what hope did he have of sleep while his only family was lost in the dark?
Little more than a zombie, Edwin shambled to his car and climbed in. He drove the block to his house at a crawl, watching for a brief flash of Francesca’s long, tortoiseshell coat or gleaming eyes from under a bush or behind a parked car. As hard as he tried not to get his hopes up, he couldn’t shake the fantasy that he’d pull into his driveway and see her on the porch in their favorite wicker chair, waiting for him to read to her from one of his books.
But she wasn’t there.
It was all he could do to go inside. The place felt empty without her, even emptier than when his partner had died. At least then, he’d had Francesca. Without her quiet demands and fragile warmth, Edwin felt more alone than ever.
He sat at the computer in the home office with a vague intention of mailing an alert to the homeowners’ association. The next thing he knew, sunshine slanted through the oak leaves outside the window.
It was Saturday, and Edwin tried to dive back down into sleep despite how uncomfortable his desk chair was. All too soon, Francesca would be walking on top of his head to demand breakfast, and he just needed a few more minutes…
Francesca.
Edwin sat up so fast he almost unbalanced his chair; he had to grab the edge of his desk to keep from toppling.
Trying to pull it together, he jiggled his mouse to wake the computer. A missing cat flier filled the monitor. It held head shots of Francesca from profile and front, a full-body shot, her name, age, coloring, breed, weight, and height down to the decimal, plus her allergies, favorite foods, five contact methods, and an eloquent plea to return her in exchange for five thousand dollars.
Edwin fed some neon paper into his printer. A few minutes later, he set out on foot wearing yesterday’s clothes, arms filled with a sheaf of fliers. He neither ate breakfast nor relieved himself. Without Frannie to anchor him, he existed somewhere outside his body.
At the end of the driveway, Edwin tacked up the first flier. He didn’t stop until their street, the adjacent streets, the convenience store, and the nearby park were plastered with them. Only then did he return home, exhausted and clinging to hope for her safe return.
As the day wore on, he showered, with his phone’s ringer at max volume an arm’s length away, changed into his jammies, and helped himself to an entire bottle of wine with his cheese and crackers.
Chapter Two
When the phone finally rang, the living room glowed with morning sunlight. After a brief scuffle, Edwin managed to grip the handset and bring it to his ear without opening his eyes or dislodging the stack of books resting on his chest.
“Hello? Blais residence.”
“Yeah, um, I’m callin’ about the cat. I have her.” The voice on the other end was thick with the distinctive Texan drawl common to the area, and Edwin thought he heard a freeway nearby.
As he sat, his smudged glasses fell to the floor along with the books. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, too tipsy to bother with bed. Grunting, he dug the damaged spectacles from under the heavy texts and tried to formulate coherent thoughts.
“Is she safe? Where are you? I’ll come get her immediately. Will you accept a check for the reward? I’m not certain I can acquire cash on a Sunday.” He staggered to his feet before he finished speaking, grabbed the keys from the table, and headed to the car.
“She’s fine, but she got into one of the engines, so she’s real dirty. Don’t worry about money.” There was a moment of silence in which he must’ve heard Edwin’s car start up. “You want the address?”
“Please. I’ll be there right away. I’m leaving now.” Edwin pulled to the end of his driveway. His mouth felt dry, his eyes scratchy, but Francesca was safe. It was all okay.
Words rose from deep within: heartfelt gratitude, renewed hope for the future. He held them back; no stranger needed to hear such self-indulgent foolishness.
The address the man gave wasn’t far—North Lamar—but it was a major thoroughfare. What might’ve happened to Francesca before she was found? What might have happened while she crawled around in an engine? If she was injured, it explained why the man didn’t want compensation.