Basically, she spilled her guts.
And then on Sunday night, the cat didn’t come.
She waited and waited, hovering at the front window until it was too dark to see and then turning on the outside light, but no little black face appeared, no soft padding steps were heard. She watched until almost midnight before she gave up and went sadly to bed, to sleep a thin, unsatisfying sleep, waking every hour to toss restlessly and shed a few hopeless, meagre tears. It didn’t help that there seemed to be a lot of cars driving up to Vanessa’s house. Every time a door slammed, it jolted her back into wakefulness.
By the time her phone alarm burst into cheerful song on Monday morning, Tammy was a wreck. She dragged herself to the bathroom and stared hopelessly at the dark circles under her eyes. God, she looked like she’d been on a three day drunk. She had to start work at Safeway in less than two hours. Bloody Vanessa with all her visitors. The last one had left at three a.m. What the hell was she doing entertaining men at that hour with her husband away? The three cars Tammy had seen had each contained one man, who went quietly round to the back of the house. Weird. Tammy could envisage her having a bit on the side while her husband was on a long trip, but three different men? Vanessa seemed far too fastidious to be an out-and-out slag like Neville. She wondered if he’d ever discovered the prawns.
***
After a gruelling day stacking shelves under the eagle eye of Shona the supervisor, Tammy felt like running a hot bath and slitting her wrists. Shona was a psychopath, Tammy was sure of it. All day she had followed Tammy about, staring critically at everything she did, which made Tammy nervous and caused her to drop things. Who could have imagined that it was imperative to line up the cans so that all the pictures on the fronts were perfectly aligned? Every time Shona had wanted to ‘correct’ her, she’d moved in to stand so close she was almost touching her, and stroked her arm, smiling in that nauseatingly passive aggressive way that means ‘I hate you and I am going to make your life a misery’ and wafting great drafts of sickly chemical chewing-gum breath into her face. Tammy was in despair at the thought of having to go back there tomorrow, let alone every day for the foreseeable future.
She looked around at her empty, bare house, breathing with relief the strong scent of tea tree oil that still lingered. At least it was clean. And hers, or would be as soon as settlement went through. It seemed a sad little triumph now. Why had she imagined it would be so easy to reboot her life? How had she planned to earn a living, if not by this kind of menial job? The dole office man had been right; a degree in Fine Arts didn’t fit one for economic survival all by itself. If only she’d a teaching qualification, she might have got on at one of the schools. There were three high schools in Yarrangong. Teaching English to snotty teenagers hadn’t been her life’s dream either, but it would certainly have been a big improvement on Shona and the science of baked bean alignment.
What had her life’s dream been, exactly? Tammy found she couldn’t really remember. She’d met Neville straight out of uni, and then it had all been about him, really. At the time she’d thought it was love’s dream, like a movie, and she’d tried so hard, learning to cook and liking all his Navy friends, even the most empty-headed of them. In the first year of their marriage, she’d missed the coffee bars and late, late talk-fests with her university friends with an intensity that had been almost physical. Sometimes the need to talk about something other than football and childcare had burned in her like a cancer. She had tried a few times to connect with people on the base, but they’d never read anything, and when she’d mentioned the Romance of the Rose to one new friend and been told her friend ‘didn’t have time for reading Mills and Boon’ and that neither would Tammy once she had a baby, she had given up. Gradually, without noticing, she had stopped reading anything meatier than James Patterson. Her brain, once the envy of her Post-Modernists class, lay fallow.
She needed to take charge again, she realised as she lay back in the bath. She’d thought she’d done that, but she’d only been reacting. Have to leave the marital home, get a house. Have to earn money, get a job. Reacting. Not proacting, if that was indeed a word. She needed to proact. Take charge, properly, of her life. Having a goal, that was the thing. All through uni, she’d had the goal of her ultimate graduation with First Class Honours. She’d achieved that, so she wasn’t a complete failure. Her trouble had been laziness, she realised with a pang. She’d allowed Neville to take over her world, accepting a secondary role in her own life.
She needed a life goal again, to make her a full person. But she was so tired, and the hot water was so good... the cat. That was something. She’d passively let her come and go, and she’d just gone, and left her, evidently finding her wanting just as Neville had done.
“Right,” Tammy said out loud, sitting up and reaching for the soap. If the cat ever did come again, she would keep her there, and take her to the vet. Get her microchip read. She’d be able to find out whose cat she was then, and if the owner couldn’t be contacted, she’d have defacto possession and could look into getting it transferred to herself. It was a plan, not a very big one, but it felt good all the same.
As she cooked her solitary stirfry, though, it seemed like a rather empty victory. Once again there was no sign of the cat. Just in case, though, Tammy dragged one of the still-not-unpacked boxes of books from the spare bedroom and positioned it next to the front door. If the cat did reappear, she’d quickly slide it in front of the hole, trapping the cat inside. It could stay the night and she’d take it to a vet the next day, as soon as she got off from work.
The cat didn’t come back that night, though, or the next, and Tammy had almost given up when the little black head slipped quietly through the broken pane and the cat poured itself into the room and padded quietly over to the sofa.
Quick as a flash, Tammy was over to the door, shoving the box in front of the pane with her foot, a wide, wide grin splitting her face. What a blessing that she’d prepared for this moment, she exulted as she hauled out from the pantry cupboard the plastic litter box and sack of kittyflakes she’d brought home from the supermarket, using her staff discount. Now, where to set it up? Not in the kitchen, she thought. Not right where she cooked and ate. The bathroom would be the best place. No, the lavatory. She didn’t want to smell fresh cat poo while she was brushing her teeth in the morning. There was just enough room in the lavatory, and that was, after all, the correct place for calls of nature.
Now, food. Princess would require breakfast and would have to spend the day before Tammy got out of work and could take her to the vet, so she’d bought a sample packet of eight small boxes of different flavours of cat biscuits, and a selection of Fancy Feast tins. Surely something would take the cat’s fancy, and if not, it would only be less than twenty-four hours before she was in touch with her family, and they could come and get her.
Princess, as usual, disdained every food she was offered, but settled happily enough on the sofa with Tammy. She must already have eaten, Tammy supposed. Anyway, she’d shown her the litter box, and later on she’d show her the bed.
At eleven-thirty, Princess suddenly left off washing her paws, sat up and stared alertly towards the door. Presently she ran to the door and pawed at the box, looking back at Tammy and letting out a plaintive mew. That was sudden, Tammy thought. It was almost as if she’d heard something. Could her owner be calling her a few streets away, out of earshot to humans but clearly audible to a cat’s superior senses? Well, never mind. It was only one night, and then they’d know where she was, and Tammy could relax. Uneasily, she suppressed the thought that once they knew she’d been with Tammy every night, they’d keep her in and stop her from visiting. That wasn’t her problem. Her problem was to make sure Princess was being properly looked after, and then if she had to say goodbye, well, so be it.
Princess continued in an agitated state, on and off, until two in the morning, and then seemed to accept her confinement. Tammy took her off to bed, and woke in the
morning to a face full of warmly heaving black fur.
She left for work by the back door, so as not to disturb her arrangement of the box at the front, and counted every minute until her shift finished, not even minding the sleazy stroking of her arms and the blasts of chemical strawberry from Shona’s toxic breath, hardly noticing them in fact, because her mind was full of the fact that she had someone to go home to, even if it was for just this once.
***
The vet surgery was not busy, and Tammy was able to go straight in. Not having a cat carrier, she’d put Princess in the laundry hamper and tied the lid down with a bit of string. It was awkward lugging it in from the car, and the receptionist gave her an odd look, but Tammy was On A Mission. What were these minor inconveniences? She disregarded them.
The vet, a kindly-looking older man, greeted her warmly as she lifted Princess from the basket. “Hello, Tom! What have you been up to, eh?”
“It’s Tammy,” she corrected him.
The vet looked up from Princess. “What, sorry?”
“It’s Tammy. My name. Not Tom.”
The vet laughed. “Oh, sorry, I was talking to Tom, here. We know him well, he’s been a patient all his life. You must be new on the squad.”
“Squad? What squad? I just brought her in to get her microchip read so I can contact her people. She’s been hanging out at my house every night for a week, and I worry that she’s lost or something.”
The vet ran the microchip reader over the cat. “Well, in the first place, it’s he, not she. Tom by name and Tom by nature.” He chuckled. “He really ought to have been desexed, but you know what young men are like.” A small printer in the corner whirred and spat out a sheet of paper, which he handed to Tammy. “There you go. All present and correct, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to know where he’s been spending his time.”
“So, you know the people?” Numbly, she took the paper. All the time, she realised, she’d been hoping for a negative result. Hoping that Princess (Tom, she sadly corrected herself) could stay with her forever. That she’d have someone of her own, someone to love again. Someone who wouldn’t cheat on her on her kitchen table with her so-called best friend. Who would, in fact, be her best friend. Someone of her own. Tears blurring her eyes, she looked at the paper.
“Hang on, this can’t be right. It says she’s – he’s – registered to the police. How can that be? The police don’t own cats. Dogs, yeah, but cats?”
“It’s some kind of special operation taskforce. Don’t ask me how it works, in fifty years of practice I don’t remember hearing a single instance of a cat doing useful work, other than the odd bit of pest control, of course. Work just isn’t what cats do.”
***
The sheet the vet had given her had a mobile number, and a contact name. Detective Senior Constable Ben Jackson. Tammy fortified herself with a strong cup of tea before dialling.
“You have called Detective Senior Constable Ben Jackson. I’m unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave your name and number. If you require urgent police assistance, hang up now and dial triple zero. Thank you.” Beep.
“Um, hi, this is Tammy, Tammy Norman. Look, I’m calling because I’ve got this cat here, Tom, you were listed on his details, on his microchip. Can you give me a call back, please. Thanks. Bye.”
She had hung up, sweating with embarrassment, before she remembered she hadn’t left her number, and had to ring up again.
***
The call came shortly before eleven next morning, but Tammy couldn’t answer it, with Shona spying on her as usual from the end of the aisle. She had to wait until her twelve-thirty lunch break before she could play back the message.
Detective Senior Constable Ben Jackson had received her message and wanted to come and fetch his cat. He hoped she hadn’t been inconvenienced. If she could phone him back with the address, he’d be right over.
Tammy called back and arranged for him to come at six. She’d be able to get home easily by five, but secretly, she wanted to have one last hour with Princess. Tom, she reminded herself. She’d probably never see him again once the cop took him away. She sniffed back her feelings and went back inside to stack the dairy case. At least he sounded nice, she tried to comfort herself. The voice on the phone had sounded young and pleasant, even friendly. She hoped she hadn’t committed some criminal offence by retaining his cat.
***
By driving as fast as she dared, she made it home at twenty to five. Good; she’d have those extra minutes with Tom before the man came to take him away. She let herself in the back door, calling out for him until he came bounding out of the kitchen. She snatched him up and buried her nose in the soft fur, huffing his strong cat scent until she thought her lungs would burst.
Eighty minutes, she had with him. Eighty minutes. They’d make the most of it.
A game of string occupied the first half hour, and then they settled on the sofa for a cuddle. After the first few times, Tammy refused to look at her watch. She wasn’t going to spoil their last hour together by overthinking. She took off the watch and stuffed it into her pocket, out of temptation’s way. Time passed unremarked as she closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation of soft fur pressed against her cheek, and the rumbling vibration of purrs, and the sharp, almost-but-not-quite painful pinpricks of kneading on her chest. Tears leaked unnoticed from the corners of her eyes, but Tammy didn’t feel sad. She had locked onto the present moment, and was hanging on to it for her life.
She jumped when the doorbell rang, and Tom leapt off her, gouging small, stinging tracks on her stomach where he’d been lying. Scrubbing her hands over her face and through her uncombed hair, she tried to collect herself, but the jolt of adrenalin had settled in the pit of her stomach and made her knees feel wobbly as she forced herself up off the sofa and walked the few steps (the long mile) to the door. Time seemed to stretch out as she fumbled with the handle, and opened it to reveal....
Oh. My. God. The stranger standing on her doorstep was not at all what she’d expected. Tammy’s idea of a police detective was a fattish, middle-aged man, badly dressed and not very handsome. But this one... oh, wow. Tall but not too tall, dressed in a suit and open-collared shirt. Sexy Clark Kent glasses offset a fine-boned, almost too delicate face, and just a hint of manly stubble. And a long, flat stomach, going down to a low-slung belt without even a hint of paunch.
The stranger opened his perfect, chiselled lips. Intent on the flash of toothpaste-commercial teeth, Tammy missed what he actually said. She was sure she caught ‘Jackson’, though. That was the cop’s name, wasn’t it?
Tammy’s mind was a blank. What was she... oh, yes. He’d come to take Tom away. She fumbled for the words. “Come... come in....” She stepped back to allow him entrance. “He’s right here.”
“So I see, so I see, the little mongrel.” He addressed himself to Tom, sprawled upside down on the sofa. “What’s the idea, eh? Goofing off on the job. Putting this nice lady to all this trouble. Although,” he grinned up at Tammy, “I can’t really say I blame you.”
They’d be out of here in a moment. Tom, her little friend, would be out of her life forever, and this glorious man... Tammy found she wasn’t ready to let the vision of loveliness go, either. Now that she’d got her heart rate down and her eyes focusing again, he was just the prettiest thing she’d seen in ages, except for Tom, of course, she hurriedly corrected herself. After all, no one is ever as beautiful as a cat. Stands to reason, after all.... Shut up, stupid, she chastised herself. Stop babbling and get your act together.
“Would you like... a coffee? I was just about to....”
Jackson looked up from the tummy rubs he was giving Tom. “Never say no to a coffee! That’d be great, thanks.” His smile was as wide as the ocean, his eyes guileless.
“So,” he went on as he settled himself at the kitchen table, “I see you’ve moved into the old Booker house.”
“Booker... oh, the people. I didn’t know them. This
house... it was all I could afford. It was cheap....”
“I’ll bet it was, the state it must have been in. Some of my mates were on the raid. So you didn’t know them then, the Bookers?” He leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax.
“Not at all, I’ve just come up from Melbourne, I don’t really know anyone here.” The coffee machine screeched its cry of bounty and she ejected the pod and reloaded for her own cup. “I looked all over, and I really picked this town because of the cheap house, I have to admit. I mean, it was incredibly cheap, and I couldn’t afford much after....”
“What? Hey, nice coffee. Divorce, was it?”
Operation Tomcat Page 2