by Rosa Jordan
Wendy tried to pull the kitten away from her chest, but already it had its twenty tiny claws latched onto her shirt. So she let it stay there and felt around its body as best she could. She didn’t feel any broken bones. “Seems okay. I wonder if we can get it to eat.” Wendy pried the kitten off her shirt and handed it to Danny. “You hold it while I go downstairs and fix a bottle for it. If I can get past Buzzsaw Bob into my own fridge.”
When Wendy reached the living room she found Bob sprawled on the sofa like a cat that had been living in this house and sleeping in that particular spot all his life. She slipped into the kitchen and, very quietly, opened the refrigerator door, grabbed the milk, and slammed it shut.
Just in time! Even that slight noise had been enough to wake the young bobcat, who came flying into the kitchen. When the refrigerator door slammed shut, he screeched to a stop, sat down on the linoleum floor, and started at her with a disappointed expression.
“No!” Wendy pointed to the refrigerator. “No!” Then burst out laughing. After all, this wasn’t a dog. Maybe cats understood “no” as well as dogs did, but where most dogs wanted to please their owner, a cat, especially this cat, only wanted to please itself.
She chose one of the smaller bottles and mixed the kitten formula. Then she carried it back to her office and showed Danny how to feed the baby bobcat. “When she finishes eating she’ll want to sleep,” Wendy told him. “I’ll go downstairs and fix up a place for her.”
“Let’s see,” Wendy mumbled to herself. “Not on the back porch, because of all the other animals out there. Not in the main part of the house because of Buzzsaw Bob. Not in one of the bedrooms, because of the carpets.”
She could put the kitten in the upstairs bathroom, but Kyle would really complain if she used both bathrooms as holding pens for wildlife.
She pushed open the door to the downstairs bathroom and looked at the fawn, curled up quietly on its pile of towels. It occurred to her that the fawn couldn’t get into the bathtub, so she could make a bed for the kitten in the tub. “That way,” she told the fawn, “whatever mess you babies make, it’ll be easy to clean up in the morning.”
By the time Danny had finished feeding the baby bobcat, Wendy had a soft nest of towels for it in the bathtub. They tucked the kitten into it, then took the fawn out for a walk. When they returned, the kitten was sleeping. Buzzsaw Bob was wide awake, though, so Danny took him out for a walk while Wendy went into the kitchen to prepare meals for all the animals. After that, Danny had to go home.
Later, as she was getting ready to go to bed, Wendy went around checking all the animals to make sure they were okay. The ones on the back porch were quiet, and Buzzsaw Bob was asleep on the sofa.
She peeked into the bathroom, and saw that the fawn was again curled up on the pile of towels. Next to the fawn was the tiny bobcat kitten. Their small bodies were entwined, as close together as they could get. Somehow the kitten had got out of the tub, probably by climbing the shower curtain. No doubt it had gone all around the bathroom, and when it couldn’t find its mother it had snuggled in next to the sleeping fawn — the only warm body available.
Oh poor babies, Wendy thought. You don’t know how politically incorrect you are! If the rehab people heard about this, they’d probably take my license away from me!
But even knowing that a fawn should not learn to trust a bobcat, any more than it should learn to trust humans, Wendy could not bring herself to separate the two little orphans. Of course they couldn’t be raised together, because within three or four months this tiny bobcat would be as big as the one out in the kitchen, and could easily hurt the fawn just playing with it. After all, how would a young bobcat know that fawns don’t play chase, pounce, and chew games? But for this one night, why not let them have each other’s warm body for comfort?
18
WITHOUT FEAR
Wendy intended to stay awake until Kyle came home so she could tell him about the bobcat kittens, but after showering that evening, she made the mistake of lying down on her bed and falling asleep. She was wakened by a crashing sound coming from the kitchen, and some choice swear words coming from her husband.
Wendy went flying down the stairs, pulling on the thick cowhide gloves as she ran. Kyle stood at the open refrigerator door staring at the bobcat on the bottom shelf, while food pushed out of that space rolled around him on the floor. Wendy ignored the ferocious grow, which in bobcat language meant, “Mine!” She grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and as she jerked him out, said to Kyle, “Quick, shut the fridge door!”
The refrigerator door clicked shut, but Kyle’s mouth was still hanging open. “I thought I’d seen everything,” he said. “But a bobcat in the refrigerator? Where did you get that thing?”
“From Dr. Singh,” Wendy said apologetically. “I couldn’t say no. And he didn’t tell me about BB’s refrigerator fetish.”
“BB?”
“Buzzsaw Bob,” Wendy explained. “BB for short.”
Kyle picked up a can of Coke from the floor, and absently popped the top. The Coke, having rolled across the floor, spewed into the air. Shaking his head, Kyle went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Wendy followed him, carrying BB.
“What’s that noise?” Kyle asked.
“What noise? Oh, that.” Wendy smiled. “That’s BB. He’s purring. He’s really very affectionate. As soon as he adjusts —”
“Wendy,” Kyle interrupted. “Is there any chance that he could adjust to living somewhere other than in our refrigerator? How about somewhere other than in our house?”
“Oh, he’s not going to stay in the house! Just until I can build him a proper enclosure. By tomorrow, or the next day for sure, he’ll be out of here.”
For a few minutes Kyle was quiet, watching BB, who lounged contentedly against Wendy’s chest, his oversized paws draped over her shoulders. Then he smiled. “Have I ever told you how cute you are when you’re wearing a bobcat?”
• • •
For the next two days Wendy rose at daybreak, fed the animals, then headed out to the field to work on a pen for BB. Danny came after school and helped with building the pen and feeding the animals.
By the weekend the large enclosure was ready. It was twice the size of her living room, with something like a flat-roofed doghouse in one corner to serve as a den. BB could either lie on the roof and watch what was going on around, or, if he wanted privacy, hide inside. They had been careful not to trample down all the vegetation in the pen, so the young bobcat could sneak through the grass and pretend to be hunting field mice. Or he could hunt actual mice, if any were reckless enough to come inside his enclosure. There was even a small sapling he could climb.
Danny had been taking BB for walks every day, so all they had to do to get him in the pen was for Danny to walk in. BB came leaping after him through the high grass, not quite able to keep up because, not yet half grown, his legs were still very short. Once inside the enclosure, BB explored every inch of it, including the den box. The whole enclosure seemed to interest him — until Danny slipped out and closed the gate behind him. BB climbed partway up the wire and made a pathetic noise, which in bobcat language surely meant, “Hey! Don’t leave me in here all by myself!”
“He’s mad because we didn’t put a refrigerator in it,” Wendy joked.
“Will he have to stay there forever?” Danny asked. He obviously felt guilty about having tricked the kitten into the pen, then abandoning him there.
“I’m afraid so. Otherwise he’ll wander off. The first time he spooks somebody’s horses or tangles with the neighbour’s hunting dogs, out will come the shotgun and that will be the end of young BB. Besides,” Wendy added, “although bobcats aren’t normally a threat to humans, one that isn’t afraid can be dangerous.”
“Not if people would leave him alone.”
“It
’s not that simple, Danny. What if the neighbours’ five-year-old went to put a bowl of kibble on the back porch for her puppy, and BB made a grab for it? The child would certainly be frightened and could easily be injured. BB wouldn’t realize he had done anything wrong — in fact, he would probably think the kibble was meant for him, just like he thinks that what’s in our fridge is for him. So he wouldn’t run. He’d stay right there on the porch eating that kibble until the child’s dad put a bullet in his brain.”
They were halfway back to the house before Danny spoke. “Velvet’s not afraid of people, either.”
“I know,” Wendy said sadly. “What we’ve done for BB and Velvet is the best we can do for them, Danny. Humans and wild animals don’t mix, and when they do, the result is often a disaster for the animals. All we can do is pick up the pieces.”
Wendy didn’t mention how much it had cost to pick up these particular pieces. But that night, going over her bills, she saw that the materials for BB’s big enclosure had cost over a thousand dollars. And she hadn’t even started on Velvet’s yet.
She sat there staring at the blank computer screen, trying to figure out what to do. In the past, the wild animals she had taken in, if they survived, were eventually returned to the wild. Now she had one that she would be responsible for — how long? She did not even know how long bobcats lived. Ten years? Twenty?
And what about the bobcat kitten? Wendy had already decided that Lucky, as Danny had named her, would be switched to solid food as soon as possible and moved to an outdoor pen. But it would be weeks before she was old enough for that. In the meantime, the tiny thing had to be bottle-fed. Wendy was almost sure that Lucky would end up like BB, thinking she was part of the human family, and that people, not the forest, should provide her with food.
The door to Wendy’s office cracked open behind her, but she didn’t notice, not until a small damp nose nuzzled her. She turned from her desk and touched the soft tan skin, flecked with the white spots of a fawn.
“And then there’s you, Velvet. Just like Kyle predicted. You’ve figured out how to climb the stairs, and here you are, reminding Mommy Wendy that you’re hungry and she should stop what she’s doing and feed you. How am I ever going to teach you to be afraid of humans?”
19
A NECESSARY CHANGE
Wendy sat in the middle of the living-room floor, giving Lucky her bottle. Kyle appeared in the doorway, holding a piece of paper. “Wendy,” he asked in a worried voice, “can this be right?”
“What?”
“You spent $1,978 at Home Depot last week?”
“I’m afraid so.” Wendy looked down at Lucky, who seemed to have had enough milk and was now trying to climb out of her lap. She carried the kitten back to the bathroom and put her in the litter box, to teach her that one doesn’t go pee-pee just anywhere. She also gave her a couple of pats on the rectum with a piece of tissue, to remind her that there are other things kittens are supposed to do in a litter box, too.
Then she went back into the living room to discuss the bill with Kyle. “I’m sorry I had to take it out of our account. I’ll replace it as soon as possible. I’ve already talked to more small business owners in town about doing their accounts for them.”
“It’s not the money,” Kyle said. “I mean, it is the money, of course. But I just don’t understand …” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“What? You wanted BB out of the house, so now he’s out of the house. That bill also includes materials for Velvet’s enclosure, which I’ll build this week.”
“What I don’t understand,” Kyle said, “is when this change came about.”
“What change?”
“You always said that wild animals belonged in the wild, and if they got taken out of their natural habitat for some reason, they should be returned there as soon as possible.”
“I still believe that,” Wendy said. “That’s why I went to the trouble of becoming a licensed wildlife rehabber.”
“Yeah, but now all of a sudden we’ve got these animals that have to have permanent places to live. Big, permanent, expensive places.”
“That’s because all of a sudden we’ve got animals that can’t be released back into the wild.”
“The deer and the bobcats, you mean?”
“Yes, because they’ve lost their fear of humans.” Wendy pointed at Velvet, who was butting against Kyle’s knee. “If a hunter pointed a gun at Velvet, she’d probably think the gun had milk in it, and run toward him.”
“What about that state park where you let the raccoons go?” Kyle asked.
“That works for animals that are still more wild than not. But what’s to keep ones like Velvet or BB from wandering out of the park? And they would, specifically to find people, because they’ve come to associate people with food.”
“I guess there’s nothing to keep them from wandering off our place, either,” Kyle concluded. “Unless they’re kept in some kind of pen.”
“True,” Wendy admitted. “Right now Velvet is so small that she could crawl under the barbed-wire fence that runs around the edge of our place. And in another few months, she’ll be big enough to jump the fence. She’ll need a special corral.”
Kyle sat on the footstool, folding and refolding the bill from Home Depot. Finally he said, “So, does this mean that instead of the farm being a wildlife hospital, with patients released as soon as they’re well, you’re turning it into a wildlife orphanage, where animals will live permanently?”
“I guess,” Wendy said. “Only in wildlife circles, they don’t call it an orphanage. They call it a sanctuary. A place for wild animals that for one reason or another can’t be released back into the wild. I’ve done a lot of research on the web.” She paused, then said guiltily, “I was going to talk to you about it, but you’ve been working such long hours, and coming home so tired …”
“And you figured I’d freak when you told me how much this so-called ‘sanctuary’ is going to cost.”
“Well, yeah,” Wendy admitted, and added hurriedly, “but I’m working on that.”
“So you said.” Kyle glanced at his watch, and seeing that it was time to leave for work, went to the closet for his holster and gun. “You’re going to start doing accounts for more businesses.”
“And I’ve talked to the wildlife conservation people about getting free venison that they confiscate from hunters who’ve shot animals out of season. That way it won’t cost so much to feed BB. And Lucky, when she’s old enough to eat meat.”
When Kyle didn’t answer, Wendy followed him to the door. “Kyle?”
He turned to face her. “What?”
“Are you mad?”
“Not if this is what you want. But I hope you understand what it means.”
“In what sense?” Wendy asked.
“Meaning, the money we might have used for a vacation is going to be spent on animal pens and animal food and whatever else it takes to run an animal orphanage.”
Wendy put her hands on her hips. “Kyle Collins, we’ve been married almost three years. And how many vacations have we taken?”
“Well, none, because — well, you know how hard it is for me to get time off.”
“Because you won’t take time off. Admit it, Kyle. You’re a workaholic.” Wendy paused, and gave him a crooked smile. “That’s because, like me, your work is more interesting to you than doing nothing on a so-called vacation.”
“I guess.” Kyle gave Wendy a kiss and headed for the door. As he stepped out onto the porch, he said over his shoulder, “But I get paid for the work I do.”
Wendy knelt to hug the fawn. “You hear that, Velvet? Kyle hasn’t twigged to the fact that keeping a sweet thing like you alive is all the pay I need. Danny would understand, though, that being surrounded by animals is my idea of a perfect vacatio
n.”
She rose and looked around the living room, at the little black pellets scattered across the hardwood floor. “Except for the fact that everywhere you go you leave your poop, and I have run around after you cleaning up! That’s no vacation.”
20
THE BAD GUYS
Kyle, who had already started out to the garage, turned around and came back. “Wendy,” he said. “There’s something else I meant to mention to you.”
Wendy stepped over a pile of pellet-poop that Velvet had deposited in the entryway and went out on to the front porch. She expected another lecture about spending so much money on the animals. But that wasn’t what Kyle had come back to tell her.
“A call came in to the station yesterday. They picked up a couple of ex-cons in Florida who might’ve been the guys who held you up.”
“Great!” Wendy exclaimed. “How did they identify them?”
Kyle frowned. “I don’t think they did.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The captain took the call. What they told him — ‘they’ being the FBI — was that they had a big-time drug trafficker in Florida under surveillance. They were about to arrest him when two guys showed up wanting to buy his boat. Figuring the buyers might also be involved in the drug trade, they picked them up, too. When they ran a background check on this pair, they discovered that they’d recently been released from prison.”
“And these were the same two who held me up? Here I was running around paranoid of every man who glanced my way and they’ve been in jail all this time?” Wendy didn’t know whether to feel relieved or exasperated with herself for having let fear get the best of her like that.
“Maybe they’re the same guys,” Kyle said carefully. “They were arrested not long after the robbery here, charged with driving a stolen car, and having a gun like the one you described. Plus two ski masks. Not what people normally wear in Florida in the middle of summer. So they might’ve been planning a bank robbery there, but got arrested before they could pull it off. When they came to trial, the judge gave them four years on the weapons charge and stolen car. They got early release, and right after that, showed up in Miami with a lot of cash, wanting to buy this boat.”