Undercover Psychic

by Lisa Freed

  Victor was constantly on my mind. I missed him. Missed his sudden rants, his stubborn persistent nature, his teasing, just his presence. I missed him, and it was tearing at me in ways I couldn't deal with.

  A black Challenger whipped into my lane, startling me out of the deep pit of depressed thinking I was beginning to spiral down. I hadn't been paying as much attention as I should have been, yet I knew that sleek car hadn't been in my review mirror just a moment ago. A faint tingle blasted through me but was gone before I could process it.

  I hit the volume button to blare the radio even louder, determined to drown out my thoughts and enjoy the gorgeous day and the job that lay ahead. An animal hoarder had surrendered her pets and Whisker Kisses was getting three of the cats deemed most socialized. I had pushed for more, the more we and other rescues could take meant fewer would be sent to animal shelters. We all had a job to do, but even cats without hope deserved a chance and many shelters evaluated them too soon, deeming them un-adoptable. No cat was ever given that term at Whisker Kisses, a cat either found a home away from us or with us.

  Traffic slowed, then stopped. The road which had been so empty minutes ago was now crammed with impatient drivers, eye-watering exhaust fumes and a mixture of radio stations trying to drown each other out. I pushed the window up button, but not fast enough to escape the smell.

  Slowly we merged two lanes into a single creeping one, the flash of blue and red lights hurting my eyes but I still couldn't see the cause of the traffic jam despite craning my neck five different ways.

  Several long minutes passed before the police and ambulance vehicles came into view. Strangely, the black challenger from earlier was pulled over on the shoulder, near a police cruiser. He really had blown by me, but how did he end up there?

  The workers were loading up a gurney into the ambulance, several EMTs crowded all around, but a young woman stood by crying. A man in a bright red and yellow Hawaiian print shirt, the driver of the challenger, I had no doubt, had his hand on her shoulder, offering comfort. As I slowly inched by, his head swiveled away from the weeping woman and for a second our eyes locked. Death.

  The chill I got from those gray orbs caused goosebumps to break out all over my body. My hands tightened on the steering wheel enough that I heard a few knuckles pop. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

  I had never directly dealt with Death, but I had come across him a few times over the years and always had a panicky reaction. Being in a locked truck, stuck in traffic, surrounded by dozens of other vehicles somehow didn’t comfort me and instead blocked my escape keeping me from fleeing as I desperately longed to.

  He never approached me, spoke with me or directly interacted with me, so I couldn't say what caused my response other than the very idea of seeing the specter of Death was just downright creepy. Even for me.

  Thankfully, once all the rubbernecking ceased, I was able to break away from the pack when the lanes opened back up to two and the traffic started moving again. The electric tingle that had returned faded and I was able to put my brief eye lock with the Grim Reaper behind me. The next hour passed in tranquility as rock music blasted my eardrums and was a gentle balm to my troubled mind. Sometimes there was nothing like some old school Ozzy and Skynyrd to make everything all right again.

  After a few wrong turns, I finally admitted defeat and asked the ever-faithful Google for help. Which told me what I already knew, I sucked at directions. Ten minutes of backtracking and I arrived, eager to meet the cats that would be joining our Whisker Kisses family.

  A tall, thin, older woman with the brightest orange hair I have ever seen outside of the circus greeted my knock upon the door.

  “Ms. Ashford?” she asked with the mumbling accent most Marylanders are blessed with so it took my brain a few seconds to decipher what she said.

  “Just Teresa, please,” I said with a smile.

  “Teresa, I'm Mrs. Barnhart director of the outreach here.” I noticed she didn’t offer her first name. She extended a dry, hard hand and pumped mine twice before guiding me through a door leading to a room of caged cats.

  “All of these were from the situation we spoke of on the phone. Of the seventy-eight taken, sadly only these twenty-two are going to be placed.”

  My gut clenched hearing that, but I was equally disturbed by the waves of blackness coming off of her. It was almost as nauseating as the puke green color the walls of the room were painted.

  I swallowed hard.

  A slim woman with long jet-black hair and multiple facial piercings entered the room carrying a carton of tuna that was bigger than her. Many of the cats recognized her or the carton because they began yowling loudly.

  “Destiny!” Mrs. Barnhart snapped her fingers at the worker. “That can wait, the lady from the Whisker Kisses Rescue is here to pick up some of the cats, grab her carriers and give us a hand.”

  With Destiny's help, we put three small kittens into the carriers I had brought but seeing how they cried I decided it would be better if they rode together in one. Mrs. Barnhart waved a disinterested hand when I stated my intent.

  With two empty carriers and countless scared eyes looking at me, I couldn't help but try to advocate for a few more cats to take with me.

  “Mrs. Barnhart, have all these cats been spoken for?”

  Destiny, scooping tuna into the plastic dishes, answered, “No, a few of the older ones are still waiting for placement.”

  Barnhart threw her a look that I couldn't interpret. I jumped at what Destiny said, not waiting for Barnhart’s reply.

  “I would love to take two more. I wish we could take them all.”

  The pulsating darkness that had been surrounding Mrs. Barnhart lashed out at me, stealing my breath and that was when I was finally able to realize what it was. Not anger or rage, but pain and loss- almost physical anguish.

  “I do too. I was so devastated when they had to destroy those other cats. They were so sick and hurt, I know it was the right decision but it was so senseless. We were calling all last week trying to find other rescues to help us out. I don't want them going to the shelters. I wanted assurances that these would be cared for and not put down.

  “Absolutely!” I interjected before Mrs. Barnhart continued.

  “We're already at full capacity, past it really.” She sniffed and then faced me fully.

  “I don't even know why I'm sharing this, but our budget is stretched so thin I don't think we're going to make it to the new year. I'm running on a team of volunteers and a local veterinarian that can't keep up with our demand and do it completely pro-bono. I simply don't know what's going to happen.”

  Destiny had stopped scooping tuna and even the cats had gone quiet.

  “What about patrons? Any big supporters?”

  “That's the only way we're keeping our kitties in tuna and litter, we have a wonderful ladies group that donates monthly.”

  “Well, I think it's kismet us meeting. I have a very nice PR lady that could do wonders for you and I also happen to know of a benefactor that loves rescues.”

  Mrs. Barnhart perked up, pulling a paper towel down from the wall mounted roll she blew a mighty honk and then smiled a lipstick on teeth relieved smile.

  “Oh, my! That would be so wonderful! This benefactor, that wouldn't be taking away from your group?”

  “No, this person loves to help and honestly has already done so much for us I couldn't accept any more knowing that others are struggling.” And it was true, we had received so many donations and pledges of help outside of the ones already in place that I hadn't needed to trickle in any additional funds from myself. That was the most rewarding part about having money, the good I could do with it.

  “Now, how about we pick two more cats to go with me and I'll get you Melody's information to you. That’s my PR lady.”

  Destiny got bitten trying to take a large orange male out of his cage before he was finished with his tuna, so we decided it best to let him continue dining.

  Ne
xt up was a simply lovely Siamese that was fifteen. I adored her from the moment she let out an unholy yowl that tested my eardrums. Who needed a man? I was quite content to be the cat lady. I had visions of bringing this outspoken senior lady home with me but knew Anges would never tolerate the noise and Maverick and Daisy might shun me completely. Oh well, I knew exactly who needed this talkative girl.

  Mr. Orange had licked his bowl clean and was much more agreeable to being moved so he got placed in the carrier and the three of us carried them out to my truck. Once they were buckled safely in and I had fished out Melody's card, I got an unexpected heartfelt hug from Mrs. Barnhart.

  “Thank you so much, Teresa! Please let me know if you ever need anything.”

  “No worries, we rescues have to stick together. Please let me know if any of the others need placement.”

  With a wave we were off. The kittens didn't make a peep the entire drive, while Maxine, as I had affectionately named the Siamese, commented almost the whole way on what she thought of my driving, the music and the odor drifting from Mr. Orange. The tuna must have gone right through that gentleman.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Pulling up to the twenty-five hundred square foot house that was home to Whisker Kisses never failed to thrill me. Winning the lottery allowed me many freedoms, but mostly it financed my passion, cats.

  I had always been an animal lover. Growing up my older sister Megan and I had a pair of kittens given to us. Megan's became Princess and mine became Jellybean, because at the time that was my favorite food. We loved those cats and their sweet purrs. When Jellybean got sick we broke our piggy banks and begged a neighbor to take us to the vet. We didn't even bother asking our parents, at that time I think they were at the beach anyway.

  Our parents had been born a few years too late to be true hippies, but they had never let that stop them. To this day I'm amazed Megan and I weren't Moonbeam and Dandelion. Megan had told me once in a whisper that Great Aunt Prudy had stepped in and insisted on normal names for the babies she was footing the bill for, my parents also not being believers in jobs or health insurance.

  What they did believe in was that children should be free to experience and experiment to grow in harmony and peace- all a bullshit excuse that allowed them to do whatever they wanted while not worrying about the annoying little aspects of raising mini-humans.

  Currently they were in Colorado high on life, making their own clothes, rallying for whatever cause drifted their way and blissfully happy to forget they had two daughters. Thank goodness for Megan, she raised me as best as an older sister by six years could, with some help from Great-Aunt Prudy and helpful, loving neighbors the Tinmens, who we had turned to for help with Jellybean.

  By the time Mr. Tinmen had taken us to the vet, it was too late for Jellybean, she died. It was at that moment I determined to give other cats the care that Jellybean had deserved.

  For years that dream lingered in my heart, and as my abilities pushed more to the surface I took advantage of their positives while trying to squash the negatives. I always counted Victor as one of the negatives, but in truth, it had been his suggestion to win the mega jackpot.

  Megan had been urging me to consider college, to get an education and a career, but I had dug my feet in. School had been an escape from home and while my grades had been effortless B's and occasional A's, I simply had not felt the need to apply myself nor did I know what I would even go to school for. Megan had zoomed through double majors in business and communications, had her MBA, and was working on her PhD. I think the smart genes were all in her.

  During the day Megan had worked on me about college, nights Victor took over, his words weaving in and out of my dreams. With a seductive pull he spoke of money and how money could solve all my problems. Money opened doors, with money I would never have to worry about tomorrow.

  And it was all so simple he stated one night, all I needed to do was close my eyes and picture those balls popping out, one by one and then write the numbers down. But he cautioned I should make it count, make it a large amount, a sum so jaw-dropping that I would need several lifetimes to spend it. Go big or go home, he loved all the witty expressions.

  The day I turned eighteen I bought my ticket, and it went exactly as Victor said it would. I pictured all those little ping-pong balls dancing around and being pulled out and I hit every number. My ticket was the only winner of what is still the largest jackpot the state of Delaware has ever seen. I kept it completely anonymous, handled by a law firm, with my winnings going into numerous accounts.

  Megan was the only person I told at first. All she did was slowly shake her head. She never once told me I disappointed her, she didn't need to, it was all over her face. But the sadness in her eyes was what really got me and made me want to hang my head in shame.

  To this day Megan refuses to take a penny from me. I offered to pay her student loans, tried to treat her and her husband Dan to a honeymoon in Hawaii, and even attempted to sneak some money into their business. All rebuffed. The only thing Megan had let me do was set up a college fund for her daughter Amber.

  I planned to buy Amber a horse for her upcoming birthday, I knew that would drive my sister crazy. Just the thought of that made me grin.

  I walked in through the turquoise front door, being in a beach community was the only way you could get away with such bright colors and I loved it. Loved the positive energy that came with them.

  Sandy was seated at the front desk, her blonde head bopping in time to the music coming from her computer speakers. She hopped up when she saw it was me.

  “Got them?” she asked needlessly. If I hadn't, I would have called and been cursing the entire drive back.

  “Yes, and Mr. Orange made a mess, grab some paper towels and disinfectant, would you?”

  “Mr. Orange? Uh-oh, will Manny be jealous?” Sandy turned and grabbed one of our emergency clean-up kits that we kept tucked all around the house.

  “Nah, Manny has nothing to worry about.” Manny was the resident orange cat who weighed an eye-popping twenty-eight pounds and was a lap cat whether you wanted him there or not. He had been brought directly to us when he was found looting the trashcans behind the steak joint on the highway. Highly matted, he smelled dreadful from a combination of trashcan living, decayed teeth, and less than stellar grooming habits. Now a gorgeous orange fluff ball he was a love machine whose size and shedding deterred interested families. He had a forever home at Whisker Kisses, but I still remained positive that the right person just hadn't seen Manny yet.

  Minutes later, with Mr. Orange cleaned up and the other four cats brought in, Sandy was on the phone with our veterinarian Ashley O'Shea. Ashley was an amazing vet and also happened to be one of the most striking women I have ever seen. At six feet two she towered over most of the local population and the lion's share of that height was in her legs. I had asked once if she had done any modeling and she had simply laughed then went about squeezing the anal glands of one extremely unhappy male senior cat.

  Ashley was also one of the sweetest, kindest animal lovers who had worked out a great discount for Whisker Kisses. She volunteered her time as well as her talent on multiple occasions, though I tried to keep her on the books for the veterinarian expenses, she needed to pay her bills too!

  “Ashley will be over after the clinic closes, are you staying or do you want me to call Aaron in?”

  “Anyone but Aaron! He'll drool over Ashley and annoy her.” And I wasn't joking, poor Aaron had a hard time keeping his mouth closed when the leggy, blonde vet was present. He was a great volunteer, but still a hormone-driven teenager.

  “Gwennie and Dana have the overnight shift but they're not due in until eight.” Sandy paused and pondered, I could see some mental juggling going on behind her bright blue eyes before she shifted gears. “I guess I could stay until they get here, I had soft plans...” She let her voice trail off and looked to see if her guilt trip was working. It was.

  “Okay, I'll be back be
fore Ashley comes. What are soft plans? Versus hard plans?”

  “I kinda have a date, but I'm not sure.”

  Sandy’s dates were legendary around here. Men seemed to fall over themselves to date her, but none ever stuck around.

  “Well, you enjoy your maybe date.”

  That settled, I left Sandy to the front desk and went visiting.

  Whisker Kisses housed anywhere from twenty to fifty cats at a time. A few, like Manny, were long-term residents that occupied the bottom floor, they were pretty much free to roam the entire building but they seemed to prefer the lower level for sleeping and lounging. The huge bay windows had a lot to do with that and I found five cats stretched out in the sun in front of one in the large main room that would have traditionally been the living room.

  Jasper, a beautiful ebony cat with green eyes, meowed a greeting as I squatted to pet his hot fur. After three strokes I pulled back right before he went to nip my hand. Jasper loved affection and attention, but on his terms. That had made him hard to place and we were still searching for the right family who would love him for him.

  Chloe and Cleo, senior sisters who had been surrendered by a family after their elderly mother passed and nobody wanted to continue their care, snoozed peacefully in a mound of brown and white fluffy fur. I couldn't tell where Chloe began and Cleo ended.

  Pumpkin, our resident Manx cat, hopped up to bat at my shoelaces and be rubbed, and I joyfully complied. Pumpkin was completely blind, but she didn't know or care. Sadly, her lack of sight deterred many potential owners, though she required no extra or special care.

  Old Zeke slapped his tail a few times to acknowledge and warn me. At twenty-two, he was the oldest cat we housed and it boggled my mind that I was only two years older than him.

  I moved on to check in the kitchen and spied a few more long-time tenants enjoying their food. A quick glance at the medicine schedule taped to the fridge showed that everyone had received their afternoon meds.