1 The Big Kitty

by Claire Donally

  The image of Ada sitting alone in her house with only the cats for company made Sunny regret her uncharitable thoughts. “What’s the trouble?” she asked.

  Ada gave her an embarrassed smile. “It seems I’ve misplaced a lottery ticket …”

  You start to sympathize with people, and this is what you get, Sunny’s inner reporter scolded. She tried not to roll her eyes at this offbeat turn in the conversation. Before Ada could explain any more, they were interrupted by a hand slapping at the door.

  Sunny looked over to find a guy wearing muddy jeans and the kind of undershirt known in some circles as a “wifebeater,” teetering under an enormous bag of … dry cat food?

  “Mr. Judson in the store orders in bulk for me, and once a week my son picks up our supplies,” Ada explained, noticing the look of confusion on Sunny’s face.

  It took Sunny a moment to recognize the guy under the cat food as Ada’s son, Gordie Spruance. As a kid, she remembered a somewhat more mainstream Ada hopping like a sparrow around her big, slow-moving, egg-shaped son. Gordie was about five years older and had about fifty pounds on Sunny back then—and he’d had a tendency toward bullying that Sunny had curbed with a sharp knee where he’d least expected it.

  Well, he’s lost weight, she found herself thinking. Maybe a little too much.

  The arms and chest revealed under the straps of his un-dershirt were more stringy than scrawny. He’d inherited his mother’s oversized nose, but the skin of his face seemed pulled overly tight to cover that hooter. And the inflamed acne would have been more at home on a teenager’s cheeks than those of a guy pushing forty.

  Gordie edged the door open with his foot. “Ma,” he called, drawing out the word to end with a bit of a whine. After that one word, and without waiting for a response, he turned to a rusty tan pickup parked down the block and manhandled his heavy load toward the tarp-covered truck bed.

  As he moved to wrestle the big bag into place, a low, long gray form came slinking out of the darkness and started twining around Gordie’s ankles.

  Ada started in surprise at the sight of the cat. “Shadow! What are you doing all the way over here?”

  She gave Sunny the sort of look parents might use while describing a rambunctious child. “Ever since he turned up at the house, I’ve called him that because of his color. He’s a bit of a traveler. I never know where I’ll run into him around town.”

  Sunny said nothing, watching Gordie aim a surreptitious kick at the cat as soon as his mother wasn’t looking. Shadow, however, seemed to expect the move. The cat dodged without even seeming to try, prowling off as Gordie, thrown off balance, staggered around under the weight of the industrial-sized feed package.

  “Careful, Gordie,” Ada called, having completely missed the reason behind why her son was dancing down the street trying not to lose his load or his footing.

  The huge bag of cat food looked to weigh almost as much as Gordie did, but after a brief struggle he managed to get his unwieldy burden stowed away in the pickup.

  Ada Spruance stood in silence as her son shuffled toward the front of the truck, jerking his head at her in a “come on” gesture. But as Gordie stood with his back turned, putting his key in the lock, words came in a rush from the Cat Lady. “I’ve been playing that Powerball lottery ever since they picked it up for Maine,” she said, “twice a week for years now, the same six numbers. I need someone to help find my lost ticket.”

  Sunny’s dad threw an occasional dollar at the lottery—usually when the prize got into the nine-figure bracket—and he was always losing his tickets, too. Sunny forced herself not to sigh. A deep inhale didn’t seem like a good idea with the Cat Lady standing so close by.

  “I didn’t even realize I had a winner until I was spreading some old newspaper around the litter boxes today,” she explained. “When I realized those were my numbers, I started looking. I have to find it quickly, you see. Two weeks from tomorrow, a year will have gone by,” Ada continued, “and after that, the ticket’s no good anymore. So I’ve got to turn it up soon.” She shot a pleading glance at Sunny.

  “It’s not a really big winner,” she went on. “I’m not sure what it’s worth anymore—something like six or eight million dollars.”

  2

  Well, that shut up the snarky voice in the back of Sunny’s head. She stood there, stunned, as the Cat Lady bustled toward the door after her son.

  But Sunny managed to get her wits together and sprint to the door before Ada Spruance got into the cab of Gordie’s pickup.

  “If you’d like some help, I could … inspect the premises,” she called out.

  Ada picked up on the offer under Sunny’s words, and her eyes looked grateful as she nodded. “Yes … yes, that would be very helpful. Do you think you could do it this Saturday?”

  Sunny wasn’t exactly filled with delight at the thought of spending her weekend discovering just how many by-products a horde of cats could leave around a house, but she’d already promised to help, so she nodded. “Saturday should be fine. Would you be up at, say, eight-thirty?” Maybe that way she could still salvage a little personal time for Saturday afternoon.

  Ada nodded back and smiled brightly, then boarded the pickup, which started up with a jerk and then roared off as she waved good-bye to Sunny.

  Sunny returned to her monitor and spent another half hour making sure her stranded travelers all landed at their respective B&Bs. Then she rose, stretched, turned off the computer, got her coat, doused the lights, and closed the office. Sunny stepped out into full darkness. Although the weather had been remarkably mild, the days were getting noticeably shorter this far into September.

  With the front door locked behind her, she shot her usual remorseful glance at the metallic blue Mustang parked at the curb. It had been her first new car, perfect for a single reporter in New York City. But it had rear-wheel drive, which didn’t go well with road conditions in a Maine winter. The proof showed on the driver’s-side fender, seriously banged in and roughly pulled out. Every time she opened the door, metal screeched against metal as if the car were in pain.

  For the umpteenth time since coming back to Kittery Harbor, Sunny debated the notion of getting a new set of wheels. The calculations came down to the same disheartening conclusion. With the pittance she was getting from Ollie the Barnacle, she couldn’t afford anything but a used clunker, which would just mean inheriting someone else’s problem.

  She got behind the wheel and sat for a moment, frowning. Sure, finances and hard logic played a part in her decision against replacing her car. But the biggest argument was emotional. If she got rid of the Mustang, she’d be admitting she wasn’t going back to the big city, that she’d accepted being back in Kittery Harbor long term.

  Not that there’s all that much to rush back to at this point, Sunny thought. No job, a busted relationship with the guy who wound up firing me … Holy crow, what’s that?!

  But it wasn’t a crow that leaped onto the hood of her car. It was a cat, a long-bodied, lean gray cat—Ada Spruance’s wanderer … Shadow?

  He walked straight up to the windshield, close enough that Sunny could see the tiger stripes hidden in his gray coat, and rested his right forepaw on the glass, as if testing how solid it was.

  “Get away from there, you crazy cat!” Sunny raised her arms and began making shooing gestures.

  The cat brought down his paw and stood watching her antics as if he’d just found something good on TV.

  “Come on now, get off!” Sunny’s temper rose as the cat continued to watch her with infuriating calm. She smacked the glass with her palm, hoping to startle him off.

  Shadow raised a paw and smacked back.

  He obviously knows I can’t get at him through the windshield, Sunny thought. So how the hell do I persuade him to go away?

  She put her thumb on the horn button and gave it a healthy blast. Shadow jumped up, but not away. He sat on the hood, giving Sunny a wide-eyed “Did you do that?” sort of look.

/>   So much for that clever plan, Sunny thought. I could be here all night, until I get a ticket for disturbing the peace, and still not get rid of this dopey animal.

  Her windshield wipers were not in the best of shape, and she shuddered to think how they’d look if a cat that size started playing with them. She stuck her key in the ignition and turned it, gunning the gas.

  Shadow lay down as if he were preparing to enjoy a nice vibratory massage.

  Sunny clicked the engine off. The damned cat was being annoying, but she couldn’t just drive away with him on the hood. Yeah, he’d probably jump off, but what if he ended up under one of her wheels? She wouldn’t want to feel responsible for any part of that.

  Maybe, Sunny thought, if I opened the window, I could sort of push him … She instantly envisioned herself half out of the car, leaning as far as she could, while Shadow imperturbably positioned himself an inch or two out of her reach.

  This guy’s a comedian, Sunny reminded herself. He thought it was funny to do figure-eights around Gordie’s ankles while he carried that big bag of food.

  Still, she couldn’t sit here all night until the cat tired of amusing himself.

  With yet another sigh, Sunny undid her seat belt and heaved against her door, which opened with a screech. I’ll just have to get out there and move him.

  But when she went to do that, the hood was empty.

  Sunny went to the far side of the car, then squatted down to look underneath.

  No cat.

  The noise of the door must have spooked him, she told herself.

  She turned to get back in the car—and froze.

  Sitting on the passenger seat, giving her another imperturbable look, was Shadow.

  “Oh, come on!” Sunny said.

  She made brushing motions, then beckoning ones, but the big cat didn’t move.

  She went around to the passenger-side door, opened it, and tried to cajole the cat out.

  No way.

  When she tried to pick him up, Shadow finally gave up his statue impersonation. He darted from between her hands and squeezed himself under the passenger seat.

  Sunny foresaw a real battle trying to extricate him from beneath there. Shadow would probably rip up the floor mat—or maybe her arm.

  “Fine, stay under there, you crazy critter.” Sunny slammed the door shut and stomped around the car, already at work on the classified ad. For sale, 2007 metallic blue Ford Mustang, feline passenger included.

  By the time Sunny got back to the driver’s side, Shadow was back on the opposite seat again, sitting and watching her. He suddenly yawned, giving her a view of a pink tongue and surprisingly large, sharp teeth.

  Sunny hesitated. Maybe she should get Animal Control. Shadow wasn’t acting like a typical cat. Could he be sick? This wasn’t exactly the country, but the woods weren’t too far away. Raccoons and other wild animals had been known to turn up. What if Shadow had encountered one with rabies?

  The cat stretched one forepaw onto the driver’s seat and used the other to tap the steering wheel.

  Well, I don’t see any foam around his mouth, Sunny thought. With a shrug, she bent to get in.

  Shadow immediately settled back on his seat as she started the car and headed home. As she drove, she chatted with the cat—it made a welcome change from talk radio. For his part, at least Shadow appeared to listen attentively.

  “You know, most of the roads out here are old farm tracks—they sort of follow the lay of the land,” Sunny told him. “It takes a little getting used to, after spending years living in a place with a grid plan like New York. Although there are parts of Brooklyn and Queens where you can really get lost. They’ve got these streets that curve around—crescents, they call them—”

  She broke off. I must really miss New York if I’m discussing it with a cat, she thought ruefully.

  They rolled on in silence until Sunny made the right onto her street, Wild Goose Drive, and pulled up in front of a shingled Cape-style house, painted white with green shutters. It had the kind of simple design that had made it easy for a much younger Sunny to draw pictures of “My House”—a central door flanked by two windows on the ground floor, gabled windows upstairs. The gable on the right was Sunny’s bedroom. This had been the only home she knew until she went to college. Afterward she’d lived in a string of dorm rooms and apartments, but if she had to draw a picture of “Home,” it wouldn’t be all that different from the scrawls she’d made as a kid.

  “We’re here,” Sunny announced as she opened her door, and Shadow followed her out. He stood for a moment, looking as if he were taking in the cylindrical wire cages filled with mulch, meant to protect the carefully trimmed rosebushes until spring. Since his retirement, her father had made a concerted effort to restore his wife’s garden. Not even the heart attack had stopped him. Sunny had done the work of getting everything ready for winter under her dad’s careful supervision.

  “A word of warning,” Sunny said to the cat. “Stay away from the foundation plantings.” She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Like he’s going to understand what I tell him.”

  After locking her car, she went up the walk with Shadow trailing behind. For a second, Sunny hesitated at the door. Shadow simply sat looking up at her with those curious gold-flecked eyes. Well, he can’t ask for a formal invitation, she thought as she unlocked the door.

  They entered the front hall, with a flight of stairs leading to the bedrooms. Sunny heard television noise off to the left in the living room. “Dad? I’m home.”

  Better not to mention her guest.

  She poked a head through the open archway. Mike Coolidge sat on the couch watching some sort of sitcom, judging from the laugh track. His white hair rose in an unruly mass of curls—he was way past his usual time to get a trim. His face was on the pale side, the heart attack having robbed him of the high color Sunny remembered from days gone by. He’d also picked up a few wrinkles, partly as a result of losing some weight. But his blue eyes were as bright and piercing as ever when he turned to her. “So did Ollie Barnstable have you toting barges or lifting bales?”

  “I was helping a bunch of people with an unscheduled stopover at Pease,” Sunny told him.

  Mike grunted. He didn’t like Ollie. “Make sure he knows about the extra hours you put in. At least next week’s paycheck will be bigger than the one you got today—” He broke off at the expression on her face. “He did give you your pay, didn’t he?”

  Sunny shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “He wasn’t in today.”

  Her dad scowled. “Been doing that a lot lately—usually when payday comes around.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be in tomorrow,” Sunny said.

  “Yeah, or Friday, or whenever he feels like it. I don’t know why you stick with that Barnstable boy. Ever since he came back to town, he’s been strutting around like God’s gift to the local economy.”

  Why do I stay at MAX? Sunny silently responded. Because given the state of the local economy, there aren’t any other jobs out there. And I’m too old to work behind a soda fountain anymore.

  She shook her head noncommittally. “Did you have dinner?” she asked.

  “Made myself a sandwich,” Mike said.

  Sunny went back to the hall and down to the kitchen, this time accompanied by Shadow. “Dad!” she called when she opened the refrigerator. “You ate all the turkey and cheese?” She glanced in the trash bin. “And all the mayo?”

  She’d carefully shopped around for the best low-fat, low-sodium stuff she could find. But that wouldn’t help much if her father ate several days’ worth of supplies in one sitting. “It’s only Tuesday. I didn’t expect we’d need to restock until Friday!”

  “I must be going deaf.” Mike’s voice grew louder as he padded toward the kitchen. “Shouldn’t there be a siren to announce that the food police have arrived?”

  He arrived at the kitchen doorway, stopping in his tracks when Shadow poked his head around Sunny’s ankles to giv
e him an inquisitive stare. “What’s that?” Mike’s blue eyes sparked with annoyance as he glared at Sunny, just as they had in about a million disciplinary encounters over the years. “And don’t act smart, telling me it’s a cat. What’s it doing here?”

  “He followed me home,” Sunny ventured. That at least got a blink out of her dad, breaking his blue laser stare of death. The glare didn’t seem to work on Shadow. He leaned down and licked his shoulder. Having seen the cat annoy Gordie Spruance—and play “catch me if you can” with her in the car—Sunny suspected Shadow was acting a little too innocent.

  She told her dad how Shadow had appeared on the hood of her car and then wrangled himself a seat inside. The cat didn’t show much interest in hearing about his exploits. He just sat quietly, facing the refrigerator, occasionally flicking his whiskers.

  “Probably one of the strays that are always coming over here to do their business in the plantings—especially under my window.” Dad aimed an unfriendly look at Shadow. “So what do you figure on doing with this fool animal?”

  “Ada Spruance said he’s a bit of a wanderer,” Sunny replied, hoping to smooth things over. “He’ll probably just stay for the night and be on his way.”

  “And why were you talking to the crazy Cat Lady in the first place?” Mike wanted to know.

  “She came into the office this evening,” Sunny began.

  Mike regained a little color as he listened to her story—not necessarily a healthy sign, Sunny thought.

  “That dingbat thinks she has a winning lottery ticket? And you’re going to search that cathouse of hers for it?” He shook his head, definitely unhappy. “Better wear the oldest clothes you can find—stuff you can burn in the backyard when you get back here.”

  “I thought you’d be more against it,” Sunny admitted.

  “You already told her you’d do it,” her dad replied. “And you should be as good as your word.” That was a real, strict-construction Kittery Harbor answer. But his voice held a definite “you’ll be sorry” tone as he spoke.

  “Does Gordie still live over there with his mother?” she asked.