by Patricia Fry
“Yes,” Margaret said while following Lily around the kitchen again. She grinned. “Boy, is she walking well. She can out-walk me.” Margaret looked at Savannah. “Yeah, you met the little tabby family. They are so cute. I had high hopes for them.”
“Oh, you have high hopes for all of the rescues that come to us,” Max said, grinning.
“Well, they’re all special,” she insisted.
“You got that right,” Max agreed.
“Speaking of special cats,” Margaret said when she saw Buffy enter the room. “How are you, pretty girl?” she cooed.
“Ki-ki,” Lily said, pointing at the Himalayan-mix. “Ki-ki.”
Margaret picked up the baby and laughed. “Yes, that’s a kitty.” She turned to Michael and Savannah. “Wouldn’t you know one of her first words would be ‘kitty’?”
“Of course,” Savannah said. “Rags wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Michael smiled at his daughter, then said to Max, “How about we go out and snoop around—see if we can find those kittens.”
“Take Rags with you,” Savannah suggested. “If they’re here on our property, he’ll find them.”
“Good idea,” Michael said. “Rags,” he called, “wanna go for a walk?”
Everyone laughed when they saw the lanky grey-and-white cat roll out of Buffy’s pink canopy bed, stretch, and yawn.
“He sure knows how to make himself comfortable, don’t you, boy?” Margaret said, watching him stroll past her toward Michael.
“Ki-ki,” Lily said excitedly, pointing at Rags. The baby watched as Michael strapped Rags into his harness, but she wasn’t the only one watching.
When Lexie, their part-Afghan hound, saw the harness go on Rags, she rushed to the wall where her leash hung and began dancing around, nosing it.
“I’m sorry, girl,” Michael said. “No dogs allowed on this pursuit. You’ll scare the kitties.”
“Come here, Lexie,” Savannah said. “I’ll get you a treat and we’ll go for a walk later.” She shivered. “…when the sun comes out.”
“Bye-bye,” Lily said, when she saw her daddy and uncle Max walk out through the kitchen door with the cat.
Both men responded with a smile and a wave.
“You are just talking up a storm, aren’t you, little one?” Margaret said, hugging the baby, who struggled to get down. When Margaret eased her to the floor, Lily walked toward Buffy, who had reclaimed her bed. Before Lily reached the little cat, however, Savannah enticed the toddler with a toy.
“Wasn’t it easier before she could crawl and walk?” Margaret asked, watching the baby head back toward the pets’ water dishes.
“Oh yes,” Savannah said, scooping Lily up in her arms. “Let’s go play in the living room far, far away from the water bowls and sleeping kitties.”
Margaret followed. “Wanna make some music?” she asked as she lowered herself onto a large quilt on the floor next to where Savannah had placed the baby. She picked up one of Lily’s musical toys. “Here pretty girl, let’s play a tune.”
****
In the meantime, Michael and Max walked around the Iveys’ acre with Rags on his leash, looking for signs of the missing kittens. “Let’s check the tack room,” Michael suggested. “If they made it this far, they might have curled up in the hay.”
“Hey there, Peaches,” Max said, greeting Savannah’s horse. He then gazed at the small building. “How would they get in there?”
Michael chuckled. “Oh they could get in; squirrels and rabbits do. They’ve managed to gnaw their way through the walls and floorboards.”
“You don’t mind if critters break in?” Max asked. “Won’t they chew up your tack?”
“That could be a problem, for sure. I patch the holes fairly often. So far we haven’t had any damaged tack; they seem to be after the grain,” Michael explained as he unlatched the tack room door. When he opened it and started to step inside, Rags balked. The cat raised his nose and sniffed the air. “Must be something in here,” Michael said quietly. He flipped the light switch. “Do you see anything?”
“There.” Max pointed. “What’s that?”
As if on cue, Rags darted forward and pounced on a small pile of hay.
Michael pulled back on the leash. “No Rags.” He then said, “A field mouse,” as the two men and the cat watched it skitter across the floor and disappear in the stack of hay. “Better feed Peaches while I’m out here,” he said, handing the cat’s leash to Max and skimming a few flakes of hay from an open bale.
Max continued to scan the area in search of the missing kittens.
“Nothing, huh?” Michael asked.
“Nope.”
“Well, let’s keep looking. Come on, Rags,” he urged, taking the leash and heading toward their small orchard. Shortly, Michael nodded. “There’s our new neighbor.”
“Mr. Crankyshaw?” Max said under his breath.
Michael chuckled, then called out, “Good morning, Mr. Crankshaw. A might chilly out today, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, downright cold; but the dog needs walkin’ anyhow.” He narrowed his eyes under thick white brows and said, shaking his head, “Walkin’ yer cat? If that ain’t the oddest thing I seen.”
Michael reached out and petted the Crankshaws’ standard poodle. “We’re looking for a litter of kittens. Have you seen any out and about this morning?”
“No, and there’d better not be any cats showin’ up at my place, neither, or I’ll...”
“You’ll do what, Mr. Crankshaw?” Max asked.
The man scowled. “I’ll chase ‘em away, that’s what. Cats don’t need no handouts. They kin fend fer themselves.” He glared down at Rags. “I don’t know why you treat that cat like a dog. He ain’t no dog. Turn ‘im loose, I say—let ‘im be a cat, for cripe’s sake. Humph! If cats was meant to be pets, they’d be more obligin’.”
“Thank you for your suggestion, Mr. Crankshaw,” Michael said, trying not to sound too patronizing. He nodded toward the house in the distance. “Are you enjoying your new home there?”
The man glanced back at his place before responding. “It’s all right. I’d rather be in the city where you can get a shoeshine or a bratwurst on any corner. But the missus, she wanted the peace and quiet of country livin’.” He leaned toward the men. “It’s too quiet, if you ask me, except when the hawks screech and the coyotes howl. God, how I hate hearing those animals. I hate animals.”
“You seem to like your dog,” Max said, nodding toward the poodle.
Mr. Crankshaw squinted up at Max. “Who says? This here’s my wife’s dog. She makes me take her out walkin’…says I drive ‘er crazy and she wants me outta the house.” He leaned toward the men. “Truth be told, I like gettin’ away from ‘er. That’s the reason I agree ta walk the damn dog. Only, I don’t stay gone long enough for her to spend all my money.”
“Spend your money?” Michael questioned.
“Yeah. She watches those commercials on TV and can’t resist ordering all that damn stuff.”
“Well, Mr. Crankshaw. It’s been nice talking to you. Tell the missus ‘hello’. And do let us know if you see those kittens, will you? Max, show him a picture so he’ll know what we’re looking for.”
The older man peered at the cell-phone photo. “Yeah, yeah. A cat’s a cat. All the same to me.” He glared at Rags. “And they should be turned loose, not kept on a tether like a dog or a horse.” He shook his head in disgust as he walked away, muttering, “What’s this world comin’ to?”
“Mr. Crankyshaw, indeed,” Michael said as the two men continued on their path toward the orchard.
Max chuckled, “‘If cats was meant to be pets, they’d be more obligin’,” he said, mimicking the old man. “I gotta remember that one. That’s classic.”
“Yeah, classic drivel,” Michael said.
“Agreed, but couldn’t you see that on one of those bumper stickers or calendar photos? I mean, it is rather funn
y, like the one about dogs being obedient and cats wanting to be served.”
“Dogs have owners, cats have staff,” Michael quoted.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
The two men walked in silence for a few moments, then Max asked, “You don’t mind him cutting through your yard? I mean with that snarky attitude of his?”
Michael chuckled. “Oh, I don’t take him seriously. Who knows; I may have the same temperament when I’m his age.” He looked at Max. “He cuts through your yard, too, doesn’t he? I’ve seen him over near your place.”
Max nodded. “Yeah, it gives the housecats a thrill. Gizmo, Gretchen, Sammy, and Jack like watching the poodle through the windows as she goes by…especially Jack, the newest member of our family.”
“So he has a forever home with you guys, huh?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Max said, smiling. “He’s a keeper, that’s for sure.” He turned solemn. “You know how hard it is to place a cat with a chronic illness.”
“Yeah, it’s a responsibility not many are willing to take on, that’s for sure,” Michael agreed. He turned to look at Max. “You know, he’ll live a long and comfortable life with the right care.”
By the time the men had scoured the orchard, the gardener’s raised vegetable beds, and the shrubs around the house, they were ready to return to the warm kitchen, where Margaret met them eager to hear good news. When she saw the look on her husband’s face, she said, “No kitties, huh?”
Max shook his head. “I just hope the new neighbor didn’t eat them for breakfast.”
“What?” Margaret asked, her mouth gaping.
“Oh, you ran into Mr. Crankshaw?” Savannah asked while rinsing a dish at the sink.
Michael chuckled. “Yeah, Max calls him ‘Mr. Crankyshaw.’”
Savannah and Margaret both laughed.
“He is grouchy,” Savannah agreed. “But his wife seems nice.”
“Rags found a mouse in the hay,” Max announced.
Savannah smiled. “Leave it to Rags.” Her smile faded quickly. “You didn’t let him have it, did you?”
“No,” Michael assured her. He removed the cat’s harness, took off his jacket, and poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Max.
“Could the kitties be under the house?” Savannah asked.
“No,” Michael said.” Remember last year when I repaired all the screens around the foundation after we discovered that Rags was escaping? There’s no place for cats to get in or out anymore.” He turned to Max. “What about your place? Could they get under your house?”
He grimaced. “I don’t know. Didn’t think to check.”
“How about we finish our coffee, then I’ll walk over with you and we’ll look around.”
“I’d appreciate that, Michael. Thanks.”
****
Upon their arrival at Max and Margaret Sheridan’s place, the two men entered the former commercial greenhouse that Max had converted into a cat-rescue shelter. They checked the pen where the kittens had been. “I left it open in case they return,” Max explained, looking inside. He checked their covered litter box and the elaborate kitty condo. “Doesn’t look like they did.” He motioned toward the gate latch. “See here, Michael, nothing’s broken. Like I said, either we left the pen open or someone opened it deliberately to let the cats out. We don’t lock the pens…too risky in case of emergency.”
“And the cathouse isn’t secure?” Michael asked, looking around the spacious enclosure.
Max frowned. “Not really. That’s why we keep the cats in these pens. We don’t turn cats loose out here.”
“Man, if I was a cat, I wouldn’t want to leave this place. You really make it nice for them.”
Max smiled. “That’s the objective. It’s disheartening to know there are so many cats without homes, but I try not to think about that. Maggie and I—well, we just do the best we can for the cats that come to us. Of course, a forever home for each of them is our ultimate goal,” he said as the two men stepped out through the old greenhouse door.
“Okay,” Michael said, glancing around the property, “if I were a cat where would I go? Let’s check around the house foundation, shall we?”After they’d walked the entire perimeter, Michael suddenly stopped. “What was that?”
“Did you see something?”
“Yeah, I think it’s one of your escapees. He dashed into that big old shrub there. Perfect hiding place for a skittish litter.” Michael motioned to Max. “Come on; let’s check it out.”
“Wait,” Max said. “If we close in on them, we’ll just scare them. They’ll run. I want to catch them and make sure they get safely back in their pen.”
“Of course,” Michael said, adjusting his knit cap. He spoke more quietly. “After being out all night, they’re probably hungry. Wanna bring one of your traps over here closer and bait it with their favorite food?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do. Let’s make sure they’re in there first.”
Michael looked at Max. “You’re used to dealing with ferals—why don’t you take a look?”
Max grinned. “You’re younger and more agile.” He swept one arm toward the shrub. “…if you don’t mind?”
“Sure,” Michael said, easing down to his knees and moving slowly toward the shrub. Shortly, he pulled back, stood, and whispered, “Yup, they’re in there—looks like all three of them.”
“What a relief,” Max said. “Thank you.” He let out a sigh. “I’ll go get a trap.” When he returned with the have-a-heart trap, he looked askance. “I just hope they don’t remember their first encounter with one of these contraptions or they won’t take the bait.”
Once the trap was set, the two men headed back toward the Iveys’ home when Michael said, “I’ve never paid much attention to the construction of your house before, Max; it’s interesting.”
Max cocked his head. “How so?”
“I don’t know; it just looks as if it was added onto in some kinda crazy ways—little additions here and there all done, presumably, at different times.”
“Well, as you know, it was a nursery. When I bought it, the owners were living in the back part of the house with offices in the front. They must have had plants everywhere. I had to clean up a lot of dirt.”
“What were they using the basement for?” Michael asked.
“Basement? What makes you think there’s a basement?”
Michael chuckled. “How long have you lived there, Max?”
“Uh…about seven…almost eight years.”
“And you didn’t know you had a basement?”
Max hesitated. “No. Never noticed one.” He faced Michael. “You saw a basement?”“Well, the door is pretty well hidden, actually.”
“Where?”
“Behind that shrub where the kittens are staying warm.”
Max groaned and peered back at his home. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Michael’s grin widened. “Once we get those kittens back into their pen, want to go exploring?”
Max hesitated. He then said, “Sure, Michael. I’m game, only…”
“Only what?”
“Oh nothing,” Max said. “I’m sure it will turn out okay.”
Michael frowned. “What are you talking about, Max?”
He slapped Michael on the back with his gloved hand. “The thought of exploring with one of the Iveys is rather…”
“Rather what?” Michael challenged.
“Shall we say, unpredictable and often perilous?”
“Perilous?” Michael said, laughing out loud. “What could possibly be perilous about checking out the basement of your own home…a basement, in fact, you didn’t even know existed?”
Chapter 2
“We found the tabbies,” Max announced upon stepping into the living room of the Iveys’ home.
Margaret looked up from where she sat on the floor playing with Lily. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh good! Where?”
<
br /> “Close to their pen, actually. They didn’t wander far.”
“Did you catch them?” Savannah asked.
Max shook his head. “Didn’t try to.”
She looked at the men inquisitively. “Why not?”
“They’re too unsettled yet,” Max explained. “We didn’t want to spook them. I’m hoping to trap them—and soon.” He grimaced. “Then I’ll have a talk with the volunteers and make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Good idea,” Margaret said. “Sure hope those little guys will surrender.” Her face brightened and she said, “Hey, Uncle Max, watch this.” She prompted the baby, “Say auntie, auntie, auntie,” she repeated.
Lily looked at Margaret, waved her doll in the air a couple of times, and slammed it on the floor.
“Auntie. Lily, say, auntie.”
“Ma-ma,” Lily said, waving in Savannah’s direction.
“Who’s this?” Margaret asked, pointing to herself. “Auntie? Auntie?”
Lily simply stared at her and began to jabber.
Chuckling, Max said, “Didn’t sound like auntie to me. I think she said, ‘I want a burrito.’”
“What?” Savannah said frowning. “A burrito?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like to me.”
“How are her birthday-party plans coming?” Margaret asked.
Michael and Savannah glanced at one another as he lowered himself onto the sofa next to her. Max perched on the ottoman and began stacking some of Lily’s blocks on the floor in front of him.
“Pretty well, I guess,” Savannah responded. “The guest list is kinda long, but I can’t imagine cutting it down. Every single guest has been such a big part of her life.”
Max laughed when Lily crawled over and toppled the stack of blocks. “Good job,” he told her. Then he asked Savannah, “Will there be any kids? Does she have any little friends?”
“My son, Adam,” Michael said, “and little Rose.”
“Oh, Rose—Adam’s other sister.” Margaret said. “How old is she now?”
“About five, I think.”
“And Adam’s, what, ten?”