The Cat That God Sent

by Jim Kraus

  The drop was at least six feet onto hard, sharp gravel.

  The keys jangled and fell when he hit the ground.

  The RV door slammed open.

  “Petey! Petey! Put them down! Now!”

  Dr. Grainger ran at him.

  Though his paw hurt, a lot—the one that had been fixed—he still scrabbled as fast as he could, as efficiently as he could, and got hold of the leather lanyard just as Dr. Grainger reached him. He jumped to the left and ran, with the keys in his mouth, banging against his chest with each step, running as fast as he had ever run, straight toward the open field beyond and then to the tree line beyond that. He ran, hearing the heavy footfalls of Dr. Grainger behind him.

  “Petey! Drop that! Now! Drop it!”

  He ran harder and faster, darting to the left, around and under a thickness of brambles and blackberry bushes, and then under a pine that had branches low to the ground. He ran farther. Dr. Grainger’s voice became quieter, but no less urgent.

  “Petey! Come back here with those! Now!”

  He ran into the cool shade of the trees and did not stop running until he jumped a half-rotted fallen tree. There he turned around, panting.

  There was no one following him. Then he saw Dr. Grainger at the edge of the woods, the field and the church behind her. She looked small from that distance.

  “Petey? Petey? Where are you?”

  Petey let the keys drop. The leather hurt to bite. It felt as solid as wood and tasted of salt and grease.

  He tried to still his panting. He knew it was loud and he knew he could have heard it if he were the one doing the looking.

  But Dr. Grainger did not see him. She obviously did not hear him. He flattened himself as much as he could, only a thin sliver of his eyes visible from behind the fallen tree.

  Tassy joined Dr. Grainger and they both called out to him.

  It hurt not to answer, because he was a good cat, after all, but he had done what he had to do. He was not sure why he had done it. All he knew was, in that moment, it had to be done, and he was the only one left to protect Tassy. He was the only one available. He had to act. He knew that beyond the shadow of any feline doubt.

  Sometimes a good cat has to do a bad thing.

  The two women called and tromped about at the edge of the woods for several more minutes. Petey watched as they both turned and headed back toward the church and the big house on wheels where Tassy lived.

  He looked down at the keys. He looked at the trees around him and paid close attention to what this smelled like. He stood up and looked about, carefully and slowly, breathing in the environment carefully.

  He would remember this. He would.

  And then he began to walk back to the edge of the woods. He would remain in the shadows until Jake returned. Jake would know what to do. Then he would bring the keys back.

  He would wait.

  After all, he was a good cat. He was a smart cat.

  14

  Listen, I know it’s a smart key. Do you have another one at the dealership?”

  Emma paced in the small living room of the RV, holding her cellphone to her ear.

  “Well, when is Frank coming back from lunch?”

  She pivoted on her heel, obviously becoming more upset and anxious by the minute.

  “Could you call his cellphone, please? This is important.”

  She lowered her head and half-cradled it in her free hand, her eyes shut tight.

  “Well, then, do you know where he went for lunch? Come on, this is not that hard, Marjorie.”

  She stopped, tapped her foot, then shook her head.

  “Okay. Okay. He’s incommunicado for the moment. Okay. I get it. But he will be back by 1:00? Are you sure?”

  Dr. Grainger snapped her phone shut.

  “Only one person at the dealership who can access the records needed to program new keys. That is, if they have any spare keys on hand. What I wouldn’t give to live in a city inhabited by people other than incompetent bumpkins,” she hissed.

  Tassy sat on the couch, holding herself tightly, making small rocking motions, almost imperceptible.

  “Tassy, you don’t know where Pastor Jake is, do you?”

  “He didn’t stop by when he left this morning. He usually does. But he didn’t today.”

  Emma stabbed at his cellphone numbers again.

  Even Tassy could hear the automatic “No Service” recording.

  “Okay. Okay. What now?” Emma said, as if there was no one else in the room.

  Dr. Grainger drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

  “Okay, I know,” she said, answering herself.

  Dr. Grainger slipped her cellphone in her pocket. She zipped up her light jacket.

  “Tassy, how long does it take you to bike to town from here?”

  “Fifteen minutes. Maybe a little longer, if I don’t push as hard.”

  “Okay. I’m taking your bike. I’ll ride into town and to the dealership and I’ll be there when Frank gets back from lunch, and he’ll get me a new key and I’ll be back by 1:30. That still leaves us enough time. Okay?”

  Tassy looked up, her eyes only a few moments from tears, and nodded.

  “Okay, Dr. Grainger. Okay.”

  She did not say thank you as Emma thought she might.

  Emma got on the bike and wobbled out of the parking lot. She began pedaling as fast as her legs would allow. It had been a number of years since she had been on a bike, and she knew that she would pay for it with stiff and sore muscles the following day.

  “Well, can you hot-wire it—or whatever they do on TV? Seems like a pretty simple operation.”

  Frank, a short man in a formerly white short-sleeved shirt and a short tie, shook his head. He appeared to be sad.

  “No, Dr. Grainger. I bet Harlan in the back could do it. He’s from up toward Shinglehouse—and I think they teach that in shop class up there.”

  Frank smiled as he said that, then frowned again.

  “But that would void your warranty. And since I know about your predicament, well, I would have to hold you to it. Voided. That’s not good. Not good at all. And you don’t want to void a warranty. Your car is only a year old. Not worth it at all. We’ll have a new key tomorrow morning, Dr. Grainger. Of course, if you have a dog or cat emergency, I’d be happy to drive you there.”

  Dr. Grainger inhaled, obviously exasperated.

  “And no loaners? No rentals?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “What if I take a test drive in a new car and bring it back by dinnertime?”

  Frank’s laugh was short, choppy, and hacked.

  “Dr. Grainger, you are a kidder, aren’t you? Like I said, I’ll be happy to take you anywhere now. But our two loaners are out. And the owner of the dealership is gone until late—some sales meeting in Kane. Or was it Bradford? I’m not sure. I could check. Anyhow, so I don’t have anything available right now. This evening, I’ll have one of them loaners back. Six, I think he said. Would that help?”

  Emma shook her head no.

  “I wish them smart keys never got invented,” Frank said. “People lose ’em and it’s real expensive to replace ’em. Can’t just go to the hardware store to cut a new one anymore.”

  Dr. Grainger had misplaced one set of keys already. The set that Petey made off with was her second, emergency set. Her mother didn’t own a car anymore. She could call a friend, or one of her cousins—but how would she explain that she needed to take Tassy to New York and why they were going? No . . . that would not work. Anything other than using her own car would simply be too risky and too fraught with someone insisting to hear the reason for the trip. That would mean one untruthful explanation piled onto another, and Emma was certain that it would all fall apart. It would force her to tell her secret, which was something she vowed never to share with anyone.

  “Can’t you take your trip tomorrow, Dr. Grainger?”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “Maybe. Maybe I ca
n. You’re sure the key will be in tomorrow morning?”

  “Yep. I just called the parts warehouse and the key will be in our shipment. Stanley always gets here by 9:00 in the morning. He comes all the way from McKeesport, but he leaves real early. He’ll be here, all right.”

  Well . . . if we have to wait one more day . . . we can do that. One more day won’t change anything.

  Petey remained hidden under a thick laurel bush. He would wait for Jake to return. Jake would know what to do.

  While he waited, he remembered.

  He had hidden beneath bushes before.

  It was a time he did not want to recall.

  His first memories were pleasant. He remembered his mother and how sweet she smelled. He remembered a young woman with blonde hair selecting him and taking him to live with her. He remembered her name but refused to bring the name into his awareness. It was better not to remember. Petey was happy there. He had another name then, but he chose not to remember it, even though he could if needed.

  She was a nice person. When she left for work in the morning, she left the radio on for Petey. Sometimes she left the television on instead. That was the reason—one of the reasons—that Petey was now so smart. He watched the house from the windows. She did not let him outside. Petey did not mind not going outside. He did not like the birds that flittered about in the trees. He did not like the squirrels; they seemed to be rude and inconsiderate. But those problems were not insurmountable. Petey imagined that every cat had some problems in their life. His did not seem that bad.

  The woman really, really liked Petey and let him sleep on her bed every night. He made sure there were no birds or squirrels in her room.

  When that man came into their lives, everything changed.

  Petey did not like him, even at the first meeting. He seemed harsh, tall and harsh.

  The man and the woman seemed happy at first, but some time later they began to argue and fight. The woman would cry sometimes, and Petey tried his best to cheer her up. This was before he knew about God. He learned about God on the radio.

  One time they were arguing, and the man kicked Petey. He hit the wall—hard. The woman ran to pick him up. He was fine, but very, very sore. The man never apologized.

  It happened again. But this time, the man hit the woman and threw her against a wall. When Petey tried to step in between them, the man kicked him again.

  Three days later, the woman took Petey in her car and they drove for a long time. She stopped the car, opened the door, and pushed Petey outside. She was crying. He did not hear what she said, but she was crying very hard.

  Then she closed her door and drove away.

  Petey spent two days at that spot, waiting for her to return.

  She did not return.

  He knew now he had to fend for himself. God helped. Petey found mice and water and safe places to sleep. He walked and walked. He lived on his own for a long time. He could not remember how long it was. But it was a long time. And then, one day, he heard where he must go and who he must find.

  And that’s when he found Jake. And Tassy.

  It seems we all are abandoned.

  Except by God.

  Petey must have dozed off. He awoke to see Tassy and Jake in the parking lot. Tassy was speaking, then she gestured in Petey’s direction. Jake stared and squinted. Petey felt sure Jake could not see him, but Jake started to walk toward him.

  And he began to call out his name.

  When he was a few dozen yards away, Petey came out from under the bush, meowing loudly. Jake stopped.

  “What did you do, Petey?” His words were very harsh. He sounded like that man who Petey did not like to think about.

  Petey stood and walked away from Jake, very deliberately, into the woods—not running, but walking fast, looking over his shoulder, making sure that Jake was following, making sure that Jake saw where he was going, keeping yards between them.

  He came to the fallen tree and jumped, and turned to face Jake, sitting just behind Dr. Grainger’s car keys, his front paws almost touching the thick, leather lanyard.

  “Petey! What are you . . .”

  Jake stopped talking when he saw the keys.

  “What? Why did you bring them here?”

  Petey meowed, trying to explain. It was obvious that it was a more complicated situation than a cat could easily talk through.

  “You brought them here?”

  Petey chirped. That usually meant yes.

  “You hid them from Emma?”

  Another chirp.

  “Why?”

  Petey remained silent.

  “Does Tassy know why?”

  Petey chirped once, then once more, then one final time. Then he got up, waited until Jake picked up the keys, and started walking back to the house with wheels on it.

  Of course, as Petey imagined he would, Jake followed, walking fast. Muttering to himself.

  Tassy was waiting outside the RV, her arms crossed over her chest, a worried look in her eyes, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.

  “Tassy, what happened here? Where is Emma? Where is Dr. Grainger?”

  “We . . . we were talking and Petey came in and stole her keys, and then she had to take my bike to town to try and get a new car key.”

  “Petey took her keys? Why?”

  Tassy shrugged.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

  Jake looked down at the cat.

  “Why did you take the keys, Petey?”

  Petey meowed and stared back at Jake. Then he looked at Tassy and refused to look away, even when she looked away and even when she stepped backward a step. His eyes followed her as she turned and walked back inside the house with wheels.

  “Petey?”

  “Jake!”

  Jake looked up and watched as Emma coasted the bike across the parking lot. She came to a stop and simply let the bike fall to its side.

  “Did you hear what your stupid cat did? He stole my keys. My very expensive-to-replace keys.”

  Jake held out the keys Petey had led him to.

  “These keys?”

  Emma snatched them from Jake.

  “Where did you find them? He took off like a rabbit into the woods. We didn’t even see what direction he took once he hit the tree line.”

  “He led me right to them,” Jake answered. “Like he was proud of having taken them but didn’t know what to do with them once he had them.”

  “Stupid cat. You should really train him better. Or keep him out of Tassy’s place. It was like he was possessed or something.”

  Emma thumbed through her keys, counting them, as if she thought maybe Petey took one off the ring and hid it somewhere else in the woods.

  “What were you here for, Emma? I thought Tassy wasn’t feeling well today.”

  Emma glared back.

  “That’s really none of your business, is it?” she said, her tone sharp and brittle.

  If Jake had been surprised by her attitude, he did not show it. He had learned how to stand up to his mother. He could stand up to Emma.

  “It is my business. A little. She goes to this church. I’m her pastor. I’m concerned about her, that’s all.”

  Emma’s face went cold, like ice forming on a pond.

  “Yeah, you’re a pastor, all right. You’re a pastor.”

  Jake stepped back a half step.

  “What do you mean by that? What brought this on?”

  Emma stepped forward, leading with her chin.

  “Listen . . . Jake. I talked to your ex-girlfriend. Your former fiancée, Barbara Ann Bentley. Remember her? You never said anything about her, did you?”

  Jake did not retreat. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

  “I called her, Jake. I was interested in how you wound up in this backwater, here in isolated Coudersport. Well, Jake, she told me that you were fired from your church in Butler. Something about not having any faith. That ring a bell?”

  “She ca
lled you?”

  “She didn’t call me, Jake. Come on, now. I called her. I wanted to know more about you. Why you’re here, for one.”

  “And she told you?”

  “She did. And you call yourself Tassy’s pastor? Please, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves. You say you don’t even have faith in God. How can you be anyone’s pastor? Really, now.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Emma.”

  “I do, too. My question is what are you doing—pretending you’re a pastor if you don’t believe any of it? Petey probably has more faith than you do.”

  And with that, Emma ended the argument. She jumped into her car, slammed the door, and started the car. Tassy must have heard them arguing and stepped out of the RV.

  “I’ll send you the bill for my new keys I had to order because of your stupid cat. And no clergy discount this time, Jake.”

  Her tires spun and roared and a cascade of gravel bounced off the side of the RV.

  The three of them—Tassy, Jake, and Petey—watched Emma drive off, watched her fishtail out of the parking lot with squealing tires, and speed onto the two-lane road back toward Coudersport. No one said anything for a few moments. Petey was the first. He meowed loudly.

  It was obvious, to Jake at least, that he was confused.

  “I don’t know, Petey.”

  Jake turned to Tassy.

  “Do you have any idea of what’s going on?”

  And with that, Tassy ran back into the RV, leaving the door open. Jake was fairly sure she was crying as she ran. They both followed her inside. She had collapsed onto the couch and curled herself into a ball, her head hidden in her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.

  She was crying.

  Petey jumped on the couch and butted against her side, chirping and meowing. Eventually, she uncoiled, and he climbed into her lap, purring so loudly that Jake could hear him. Jake sat in the chair opposite.

  “Tassy,” he said with care, “something is going on. I would like to be able to help. Please let me help.”