by Eva Charles
“Kate, I’m not very good at email. I couldn’t open the fancy attachment. What is it called?”
“A zip file.”
“I realize it’s a shameful waste of resources, but could you please bring paper copies on Sunday when you come to Mass? I’m a technological dunce, I’m afraid.”
“Of course.”
He starts down the stairs, turning to me before he reaches the bottom. “Someone left the cat in my care so that I would find a new home for him. I feel it in my bones. You’ll make sure to lavish him with love and attention, won’t you?”
“I’ll take good care of him. I promise.” He nods, and I watch him get into his car before shutting the door.
I traipse back into the kitchen, and peek inside the carrier. “Okay, kitty-cat,” I murmur. “There’s something you should know. I’ve never taken care of a cat, or any pet for that matter. You’ll go easy on me, won’t you?”
The poor thing is still cowering in the corner, even as I speak gently. I’m not sure whether to open the crate or let him be. But I better figure it out soon. I’m sure there’s a ton of information online. I grab my laptop and pull up what seems like a reputable post about bringing home a new cat. Then I call Smith.
“Running late?” he asks above the noisy banter in the background.
“I need to cancel tonight.”
“This better be good, because I’m already at the bar,” he says coolly.
“I’m the proud owner of a cat,” I announce, the smile on my face reflecting a heart bursting with excitement.
“A cat? The kind that meow and claw up everything they can get their little paws on?”
“Yes.”
“When did that happen?”
“About thirty minutes ago. I’ll admit the timing isn’t perfect, but he needs me.”
He grunts. “Cats don’t need babysitters. They’re independent little assholes that are gleeful when you leave so they can destroy your house while you’re out.”
“Will you stop? I realize he can be left alone, but not tonight. The poor little thing is so nervous he’s shaking.” Don’t worry kitty, I’m not leaving you alone.
“Understood,” he says, without any sullenness. “Why don’t I come over and we can figure it out?”
As difficult as he can be, in some ways Smith is easy and flexible. “I would love that. But would you mind stopping by the pet store first? I need some supplies and I don’t want to take him out. Or if you’d rather, I can go and you can stay with him.”
“Have you ever had a cat?”
“No. No pets. You?”
“Enough to make Old MacDonald jealous. Where’s the cat now?”
“Right here. In a carrier on the kitchen counter.”
“First, put the carrier on the floor. If he starts to go crazy, he can knock it off the counter and get hurt. Is there anything laying around in the second bedroom?”
“No. The walk-in closet is packed with storage, but the room itself is empty.”
“Isn’t there a rug?”
“Yes. An area rug.”
“Roll it up and take it out of there. Or leave it in a corner and I’ll take it out when I get there. Remove any curtains and pull the shades or window blinds all the way up. Don’t let the strings dangle. Put the carrier inside the room with the latch closed. That way he can feel safe while he gets used to the smells in the room. I’ll be at your place in less than an hour.”
“Are you going to stop by the pet store or should I plan on going?”
“I’ll stop. The only pussy I’m babysitting tonight is yours.”
Smith shows up fifty minutes later with a cardboard box filled with supplies and a tall carpeted tree limb.
“A scratching post?”
“You’re going to be happy you have it. Every guy needs an outlet.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around him. I can’t get enough of his playful side. “Thank you. I don’t know the first thing about cats.”
“Where is he?”
“In the room, like you told me. I’ve been sitting with him, so he won’t be alone.”
“If you wanted something that gave a shit, you should have gotten a dog.” He hands me two shallow bowls. “Wash these, and rinse them good,” he instructs. “Fill one with fresh water.”
When I get to the bedroom the litter tray is set up on one side and the hitching post on another. Smith is talking to the cat in a gentle voice. “I hope you’re a mouser, and not just some freeloader taking up space. And the redhead’s mine. Don’t get any ideas.”
I grin foolishly as I eavesdrop for another minute. The man can be tough and bristly at times, but it’s all on the outside. Inside, he’s good to the core.
“Here’s the water. Where should I put it?”
“Give it to me.” He places it on the floor a few feet from the carrier next to a bowl with wet food. “You can move the litter tray and the post anywhere you want after a week or so, but just a few feet at a time, so he gets used to it. Eventually they can be closer to the edge of the room.” He opens the carrier door, and motions for me to follow him out of the room.
“Why are you closing the door? We won’t be able to see him. What if he’s terrified with it closed?”
“He’ll be fine. When he’s hungry, the smell of the food will draw him out, and he’ll start to get used to the space.”
“Too bad I don’t have a baby gate. Then we could watch him while he adjusts. I don’t like not being able to see him.”
“He’s a cat. He climbs.”
Of course, I know this. “Right.” Smith must think I’m an idiot—and with good reason.
“What made you decide to get a cat out of the blue?”
“I didn’t exactly decide,” I say, while Smith washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “It was—a gift.”
He glares at me over his shoulder. “A gift? Don’t tell me from the priest.”
28
Kate
I’m not having this discussion with him. He’s already made his feelings about Father Jesse abundantly clear.
“What should we do for dinner?” I ask. “I can make pasta, scrambled eggs, or cereal. That’s all I have in the house. I normally grocery shop on Sunday evenings, but I was busy having my boundaries tested last weekend.” I smile at him while he dries his hands on one of my yellow dish towels. One day soon, I’m going to have a talk with him about not washing his hands in the kitchen sink, and that yellow dish towels are strictly for drying dishes. The blue ones are for hands.
“The priest brought you a cat?” Oh, God. He never lets a damn thing slide.
“Yes,” I say with little patience for what he’s insinuating. “Have you decided about dinner?”
“Chinese from the place on King that delivers. You don’t think it’s odd that a priest gives you presents?”
“No. I’ll order. What do you like?”
“Anything with meat. For the record, I think it’s odd. And if you stopped people in the City Market and asked them about it, they would agree with me. And it wouldn’t matter if they were from Des Moines, LA, Boston, or Charleston. They would all be weirded out by a priest bringing a woman gifts like he was fucking Santa Claus.” He snatches the phone from my hand.
“What are you doing? I’m in the middle of ordering food.”
“Using a lifeline. I’m calling a friend.”
He fiddles with the phone.
“It’s locked. Now give it back and call your own friends.” I hold out my hand.
“Was locked.”
“How did you do that?” I demand while the phone is ringing on speaker. “Who are you calling?”
“Hey! I was just thinking about you,” Fiona says when she answers. I try to grab the phone, but he holds it out of my reach.
“Really?” Smith drawls. “What were you thinkin’, darlin’?” I want to laugh, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Fiona is quiet for a few seconds. “This is Smith Sinclair, Kate’s friend, a
nd don’t pretend you don’t know who I am. I’m sure you already know how big my watch is.”
She snickers, holding back a full laugh. “Is Kate there?”
“Hi, Fi. Do not listen to anything he says.”
“We’re calling for an unbiased opinion. There’s a priest who’s been bringing Kate presents. First, he gave her an expensive TV, and then today, he brought her a cat.”
“What kind of cat?”
“An orange tabby.”
“I want a cat.”
Smith throws his head back. “Focus here, Fiona. Don’t you think it’s strange that a priest brings Kate presents?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?” He shakes his head.
“Kate is comfortable with priests and that makes them comfortable with her. She isn’t like most people.” Thanks, Fi. Why don’t you tell him everything you know about me? “Her childhood home abuts St. Claire’s. She was always over at the rectory. Father Tierney used to babysit her.”
“Babysit her?” Smith pauses, his forehead crinkling like he’s trying to understand what the hell she’s saying. “I don’t know anything about that. And I’m not sure I want to know about it,” he mutters. “But this priest,” he continues, sparing me a scowl, “looks at Kate like he wants to eat her.”
“Bullshit,” I say loudly.
“I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”
“Is it true, Kate?” Fiona asks.
“No. The TV was something a parishioner gave him that he didn’t need. I already told you the story, and when we had dinner to discuss the bulletin I’m helping him with,” I return Smith’s scowl, “I mentioned that I’ve always wanted a pet. So when a cat was abandoned at the church, he immediately thought of me.” I glare at Smith. “What is so hard about that to understand?”
He ignores me. “This isn’t weird to either of you?”
“I don’t care how big your watch is, you sound like a jealous boyfriend. It’s not a good look, Smith,” Fiona says, calmly but firmly.
“You’re just agreeing with her because she’s your friend. I bet if I asked your husband, he’d be thinking exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Two fools do not a genius make. Unless you want to tell me more about your watch, I need to feed my children. Kate, call me tomorrow.”
He disconnects the call and tosses my phone on the counter. “What do you want to do about dinner?”
“I thought we were having Chinese. How did you get into my locked phone? Let me guess, special commando training?”
“No.” He draws out the word, impatient with me. “It’s not part of special operative training. If you can’t get into a locked phone, you’re not getting anywhere near the training program.”
“It’s a neat trick.” Hopefully this is the first time you’ve unlocked my phone. “Do you want a beer?”
“Please.”
Smith disappears while my head is in the fridge. I find him in the bedroom doorway, the door ajar, watching the cat eat. For the first time, I get a good look at the tabby. He’s actually bigger than he looked in the carrier—a bit pudgy, actually. I squeeze Smith’s arm. “Poor thing must have been starving.” Don’t worry sweet kitty. We have plenty of food.
Smith holds a finger to his mouth and shuts the door quietly.
“The cat should see a vet,” he says when we’re back in the kitchen.
“I’ll set something up for a couple weeks from now. Maybe by then he’ll be more accustomed to me and won’t be so scared when I take him out in the car.”
“I don’t think you should wait. She looks pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” I should have known from the way he talked about the male species that Father Jesse wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a male and female. “I thought he was a boy?”
“Did you see a dick anywhere?”
I grin until my cheeks hurt. “Only the big one in the kitchen, but I think he’s hiding a smaller one under his clothes.”
Smith laughs and pulls me into his chest. “I don’t like that priest.”
“Duly noted. But I do. Now let me finish ordering dinner and then you can help me find a vet.”
“You order, and I’ll call the vet—I know a good one who makes house calls.”
“I’m not sure I can afford a vet who makes house calls.”
“Just order dinner. I’m starving.”
We finish dinner, and Dr. Long, the vet, comes by at about nine with a portable ultrasound machine that the cat wasn’t crazy about. “What’s the kitty’s name?” she asks, setting up a small table.
“I was going to call her Fenway when I thought she was a he. Not sure now.”
“Fenway’s a nice name. As long as you love her and say her name with affection, she won’t care what you call her.” She sits on the floor next to the carrier and opens a bag of fishy smelling treats, so pungent they could attract cats from all over the city. “I’m going to give her a few minutes and see if she comes out on her own.”
After a short time, Fenway slowly makes her way into the room, tracking the fishy smell to Dr. Long.
“She’s pregnant, alright. There’s the pinkening,” the vet says pointing to the cat’s underside. “Good call, Smith. She seems healthy and well-cared for. I bet your family misses you, Fenny,” the vet coos.
After a few minutes of treats and gentle petting, the cat lets Dr. Long examine her.
“I can feel the microchip in her neck, but it doesn’t appear to be registered when I scan it. That’s not uncommon. People bring home kittens and puppies that are chipped, but they don’t pay the twenty dollars to activate it.”
“I don’t know about her family. She was left at St. Magdalene’s church.”
“Is that so, Fenny?” the vet says, feeding her a treat. “Sometimes the prospect of kittens is too much for pet owners. I can’t say enough about spaying and neutering. At least they didn’t drop her off in the woods for a predator to find.” I shudder at the thought.
“Do you know when the kittens will be born?” I ask, watching how quickly the cat has warmed up to Dr. Long. I’m thrilled she’s not so scared anymore. Maybe it won’t take her too long to warm up to me, either.
“About a month. She’s a young mama.”
“Is there anything special I need to know to prepare for the kittens?”
“I’ll leave you with some reading material. She’ll mostly take care of business herself. But I wouldn’t let her outside, even if she begs at the door.”
“Can she stay alone while I’m at work?”
“Yes, of course. Although if you can come home during the day for a short visit, that might be a good thing until she has her kittens.” I can definitely rework my schedule to come home at least once during the day.
She gives me some papers and tells me to call the office on Monday to set up an appointment for two weeks. “Unless you want me to do another house call?” she asks, glancing at Smith. “I don’t mind.”
“I can take her into the office. By then I hope she’s more comfortable with me. What do I owe you for today’s visit?”
She gathers her equipment. “Nothing for today.”
“Are you sure? That doesn’t seem right.”
“Take good care of Fenny. That’s all I ask. And don’t worry. Cats are much better prepared for babies than humans are.”
Smith sees Dr. Long out and comes back into the bedroom. Fenny lets me pet her before she crawls back into the safety of her carrier. I think she’s warming up to me.
“I don’t understand why she didn’t want to be paid. Did you work something out with her when you called?”
“I tried. She won’t take money from me.”
“Someone you used to play with?” That’s ugly, Kate.
“Claws away, princess. Never played with her. She had some trouble with an ex-husband that we helped her with. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”
Now I feel like a total ass. Jealous girlfriends aren�
�t any better of a look than jealous boyfriends.
“Let’s leave Fenway in peace,” Smith says. “We can check on her in a little while.” He tugs on my hair as I shut the door quietly. “I wouldn’t like to see it all the time, but a little jealousy is hot on you.”
I smile shyly, the flush of embarrassment coloring my warm cheeks. “Just sayin’,” he adds, with the smug, self-satisfied preen of a peacock that makes my pussy tingle.
“Do you want to watch a movie and have a sleepover? Maybe you’ll show me your watch, if you’re not embarrassed by the tiny thing,” I tease over my shoulder, on the way to the bedroom.
He lunges at me, tossing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. “I’ll show you my watch, princess. And then you’re going to worship it from your knees.”
His words and that voice he uses make me want to rip off his clothes and rub my body against his like a feline desperate for attention. But if history is any indication, I’m going to get all the attention I can handle.
“Now take off your clothes. And be quick about it,” he commands, slapping my ass while dumping me squealing onto the air mattress.
29
Smith
We slept on the floor at Kate’s for the last time two nights ago. She’s going to be pissed about the bed and the sofa, but too bad. I haven’t been there every night, but we’ve still managed to wreck six air mattresses in the last three weeks. Six. Including two that were supposed to be indestructible. Although that kind of advertising is nothing more than a challenge, anyway.
The delivery guys texted me an hour ago to say they were thirty minutes away, so I expect a call from Kate any time now. Bingo. My dashboard lights up with her name. Bring it on, Mary Katherine.
“What possessed you to buy me a bed and a sofa?” She starts, before I even say hello.
“I don’t want to be out-gifted by a priest.”
“Please tell me that’s a joke.”
“Mostly. I’m too old to be sleeping on the floor. So are you. And I like a comfortable place to take a nap and watch the game.” Plus, I’m tired of indulging your I’m just here as a temporary thing bullshit.