by Steve Vernon
JP had started on my tummy again, so I rolled back upwards to demonstrate. Predictably, his hand moved to my back. Then I stood up and faced the boy. He began petting between my ears. Ahh.
“See? Offer different parts, they get the idea.”
“Hmm,” said Patch.
“It might take you a while to get used to it. So when you’re done, you just walk away.” I stood up and padded out of reach of the boy. As predicted, JP’s hand went back to his knee. “The more you trust a human, the longer you’ll feel comfortable letting them pet you. It’s worth the time you put in.”
JP reached for the mouse again. Patch looked like he was going to say something, but then the shed door rattled.
BARK! BARK!
Patch fled to his hidey spot. I jumped to the passageway by the Easter box to see, claws digging into the dusty carpet.
“Who’s in there?” said a voice. “I can smell you. I ain’t dead yet!”
“Baba, hush!” said Marta on the other side of the door.
“You better not be messing with my pack’s stuff!”
Creeeak!
A huge dog charged in.
16
The brown dog’s ears flapped as she zoomed straight for me. She jammed her snout in the gap, sniffing like a vacuum cleaner.
“Um…hi,” I said, once I realized no teeth were coming, just sniffing. “My name’s Gingersnap Cat. What’s yours?”
“Hold on…just a sec…” White fur sprinkled her jowls, which wobbled as she sniffed. Marta hauled on the leash, but the dog wasn’t bothered.
Finally, the sniffing stopped. “Just where are you from, anyhow?” she demanded.
“I’m an angel. From Heaven,” I said.
The dog’s hindquarters thunked to the floor. “Well, I’ll be a flea’s buggy-ride. It was driving me crazy, that smell was—well, not the smell exactly, but the not figurin’ it out. THAT was more annoying than pepper in your jowls. Now, what was it you were saying?” Her tail swung like a branch in a lazy wind.
“I’m Gingersnap, ma’am. That young cat over there is Patch.”
“He ain’t no angel!”
I grinned. “That’s right. He’s a regular cat. But he’s also special. The Lord wants him—I think—to go live with the boy’s sister.” I flicked my tail towards JP. “But Patch has never lived Indoors before and, uh, is working on his human-handling technique.”
“And you’ve been sent to help him! Well, good for you.”
My fur puffed as the huge brown dog leaned over, but all she did was give me a lick—a really gooshy lick, but still, a kindly one.
“I’m Baba O’Reilly, but y’all just call me MeMe. Sonny! C’mon out! Let MeMe have a sniff atcha. Eyes aren’t what they used to be,” she said to me.
I turned to Patch’s shadowy corner and nodded.
“Wow. They’re getting along!” said Marta as the kit crept out.
“Ohh, ain’t he darling,” said Baba the dog. “Like a little sugar cube!” Her tail started wagging again.
Patch raised his nose to her. His hackles were raised, but they sniffed nose to nose without him clawing her. Baba lay down, her long front legs extending into our area. The fur was worn off her elbows from lying on human floors for so many years. The same had happened to me years before I got sick.
She watched as Marta went to pet Patch. Again, the kit maneuvered his back quarters so the girl couldn’t touch him. Baba turned to me, silent, but question clear in her eyes.
I sighed. “I know. He could be better with them.”
Her floppy ears jumped. “Could be better? I’ll say! Young cat. Young cat. Tell me about yourself.”
Patch scampered over. I didn’t think he could talk if he wanted to, but he surprised me and answered: “Um…My name’s—”
“Closer, son! I can’t hear ya!”
He minced a little bit closer, and when he spoke, he spoke louder than usual. “My name’s Patch. My mom got taken away by humans—”
“Oooh,” crooned the dog.
“—but Gingersnap says I’m supposed to live with humans now. He thinks.”
“You ain’t lived with humans yet, sonny?”
Patch shook his head.
“How do you like ’em so far? …Go on!” she added, lowering her head to the floor when he didn’t answer right away. I waited a few seconds, but when he still didn’t reply, I prodded him with my paw. (Marta giggled again.)
“Uh…They’re…Idunno. They’re big! And they pet rough.”
“The children usually do. But they don’t stay small forever.” Baba sighed, looking back at Marta. “No, sir, they sure don’t.”
Marta scratched behind where the big dog’s floppy ears attached. “It’s that better, Baba? See, they’re just kitties. Not raccoons or anything.”
“Well…I guess if they don’t pet rough forever, I could like them. This Indoors stuff isn’t too bad now.”
Deep lines covered the dog’s brow. “How do you figure?”
“Well, there’s”—he kneaded the carpet—“soft stuff. And food! It’s not too bad. I could get used to Indoors. I just don’t know if I like having all the people around, that’s all.”
Baba wuffed, flews flapping. “You think this is living Indoors?” She turned to me. “You been telling him THIS is Indoors?”
“Well, it’s, um, more than Indoors than—”
She turned back to Patch, the quickness of the motion making her ears slap against her teeth. “This ain’t living Indoors!” she said to him. “And this ain’t living with humans!”
Patch glanced at me, alarmed. “It’s not?”
“No! For Heaven’s sake—No offense—”
“None ta—”
“But if you think living in a junk shed is Indoors, you’re crazy. Where’s your bed? Your couch? Your TV set? Where’s the people you cuddle? Or their bed to cuddle on? And TOYS!”
Patch stared up at her, jaw hanging loose. Marta and JP watched the rumbling, barking, wao-waoing dog.
“You haven’t caught the scent of it, not the real notion of living Indoors. Young cat, if you are willing to let humanfolk into your heart, you will have a life bigger and better’n you have room in your head to dream!
“I know you’re scared ‘cuz you been on the alley and everything. I was born in a shelter, but raised in a human pack my whole life. So I can’t say I know I understand you all the way. But if you keep your heart closed like an alley cat, the best you’ll ever get is a shed. Where ferals live. But Heaven saw fit to send you an angel. I reckon that means you’re meant for bigger and better than a shed. You could have a pack—I mean, a real family! Heaven sent you help, so live up to it. Let my girl and her friend handle you a little. They’re good pups. You don’t have to turn into a dog! You’re a cat and you’re different and that’s OK. But think about your heart being open like a door; not solid like a wall. Got it?”
Patch blinked his wide blue eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now come over here and let MeMe give you a kiss.”
The kitten went with his head bowed. He sat in front of the wise hound and received his slurpy lick on top of his head. It rolled him over and she nuzzled his fluffy tummy with her large dark nose. She stood to leave. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my stories are on.”
Without another word, she turned and left for the shed door, Marta trailing on the leash.
JP leaned back against the plastic tubs, watching Baba and Marta leave the shed.
“What the heck was that about?” the boy said to himself.
From then on, Patch didn’t twist his spine out of alignment when JP petted him. He even let Marta put him in her lap, though he crawled out before he warmed her lap any. I hurried over to take his place.
Mmm…Marta’s not half bad at this. I found myself dozing as she massaged my forehead and mouth whi
skers.
I felt little blue eyes on me and peeked open an eye. Patch studied us from a crouch a tail-length away. He didn’t move when JP began scratching his rump again, but he didn’t purr, or acknowledge the boy. Still, it was progress from this morning.
“Does it really feel that good?” he asked me.
“Mmm…hm!”
“And you’re not ‘fraid she’s gonna hurt you?”
“Mmm…nope!” I said through my purr.
“But how do you know?”
I thought that one over a while. Marta rubbing my whiskers had nothing to do with the delay. “I have good instincts. And I trust people.” I stretched a paw in the air and my claws extended out. But Marta didn’t react. Some of Gina’s friends used to, thinking claws out always meant trouble. “You don’t have to trust all people, Patch. But us alley cats have good instincts. What are yours telling you?”
He didn’t answer. But when JP sat next to him, he didn’t move away.
17
Breakfast was late the next day. At first, Patch hadn’t worried. He just turned over to snooze longer. But as the day grew brighter, he began scratching at the plastic tub walls. Cree, cree! went his claws against the plastic. I tried my best to ignore it, but the sound was worse than litter between your toes.
“Are you trying to dig us out?” I asked.
“What if they don’t come back? We’ll be trapped here!”
“They’ll come back, Patch. When humans leave the house for a while like this they’re usually at work or school or the movies. It’s the time for napping, not destroying their stuff like a puppy.” Not that the thick plastic was at all bothered by his needley claws.
“We could starve to death!”
“We won’t starve, Patch. They’re coming back—have faith in them. You’d almost think you liked having humans around.” I brushed my tail against his face. He tried to bite it but I pulled it away easily.
“I like ’em when they bring food, but I NEED them when they’re the only ones who can let us back Outdoors!”
My ear flicked. “You want to live Outdoors again? Hunting your own food and being cold?”
“I don’t…maybe a little…but the dog said I was special, to have an angel!”
He began attacking his own tail.
Poor kit. If he’d just relax and believe us, he’d be fine.
I hopped up and grabbed his toy mousie. “Why don’t you take your mind off things for a while?” I dropped it and batted it into his whirlwind tail fight. He looked up at me, clearly insulted.
“I don’t know why you’re not taking this seri—”
The latch rattled. I sniffed. Basketball rubber, strawberry milkshake…and hesitation, sadness, doubt. Who had the children brought with them?
Creeeak.
“They’re in here,” said JP. “You have to move slow and be quiet. The little one is shy.”
I rushed over to Patch and began licking him down.
“He only really let me pet him yesterday,” JP went on. “And that was only a little…you’ll have to go slow.”
“John Paul…!” said a new voice. I stopped grooming Patch. Was that JP’s name, too?
“John Paul Daly, if you’re tricking me, you’d better watch it! I’ll go straight to Mom. And you know it!”
My ears followed the song of this new voice. It was different than any other human’s voice I’d heard. Not just slower, but with a kind of a drawl that made the sentences weavy.
“No tricks, Nikki. I promise.”
The Easter bin got pushed aside. Nikki was taller—yes, and older!—than both JP and Marta. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail. She looked around, then her gaze dropped to the floor. When she saw me and Patch, a grin spread across her face, on one side more than the other in a way that I’d never seen before. Her eyes didn’t quite focus, either. She looked a little peculiar, to be honest. But she smelled safe, and the first thing she did was sit down slowly.
“Hi, babies!” She had turned her voice into a whisper, one my ears liked. I gave her a slow blink and purred. She leaned forward just a little, so her hands were flat on the floor in front of her.
Next to me, Patch rose up, his hind feet flat on the ground. Nikki’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle a delighted squeal.
“Go on,” I said to him. After a moment, he went back on all fours and padded to her.
“What’s his name?” she asked, petting him with one finger. She touched him as though he were a cloud, the softest handling of all the children so far.
JP and Marta looked at each other.
“We haven’t given either of them names,” said Marta at the same time JP said, “I wanted you to name them.”
Nikki gasped. After a pause that was longer than I was used to, she asked, “I get to name them?”
“Yeah,” said JP.
“JP…” warned Marta, but he waved her off. This whole time his eyes were locked to his sister’s face, and he was smiling. There was no pain in his hope now.
Nikki ran her finger over Patch’s back. She traced the splotch on his back. “He’s got a little…a little…rrrgh…thing that horses wear. What’s the word?!” She hissed the question to herself, under her breath, but it was still loud. A dull, frustrated look settled heavily on Nikki’s face.
“A saddle?” said Marta.
The heavy look disappeared. “Yeah! He has a saddle…and a hat.” Nikki scritched the gray marking between his ears. “He’s a…a cowboy! That’s the word. Hi, Cowboy,” she said to the kit. He looked up at her, straight into her eyes. For three heartbeats, neither of them moved.
I think that was the moment when he got it.
He made no move to leave when she cupped him in her hands and lifted him against her heart to cuddle. Marta gave the softest gasp. But Patch—Cowboy, now—buzzed a happy purr as Nikki ran her hand over his back.
“Nikki. What do you want to name him?” JP pointed to me.
Nikki looked me over with narrow eyes. They darted up, held there. Then she looked at Patch again. “Bronco,” she said with a grin.
JP laughed.
Nikki stuck her chest out. “What? What? You got a problem with that, little bro?”
“No. It’s just…you barely looked at him!”
“Pff.” She held three fingers up, like Gina used to do to show counting. “Whatever!”
“Yeah, you’re right. What’s a cowboy without his horse?”
A bronco is a horse? Damien left TV on for me (well, he did if Marie didn’t catch him and turn it off before work), but I mostly used it to help me fall asleep. So my TV memories were fuzzy—but could you blame me? If I’d known I was coming back and able to understand humans better, I would have paid more attention and napped less!
Maybe.
I padded up to Nikki. Time to give her the sniff over.
The smell of sadness had faded since she saw the kit. Her shampoo smelled like oranges, and her clothes were a little worn. But her lap was warm and comfy. I sprawled across it, purring my approval.
Ka-chink! I looked over to find Marta holding her rectangle up at us.
“I thought that was supposed to be for emergencies,” said JP.
Nikki gave a croak. But when I checked on her I realized it was a wonderful laugh. Patch was sniffing her neck, whiskers brushing against her. My Gina had been ticklish there, too.
Marta shoved her rectangle in JP’s face. “But look how cute! If I didn’t get a pic of that I would’ve died and that would’ve been an emergency.”
“Yeah, JP,” said Nikki. “She could have DIED.”
I yawned. Typical girl exaggeration-for-effect. I’d seen it at all the sleepovers.
JP’s eyes read the rectangle. “I guess if I ever needed proof that these cats are good for Nikki, this’d be it,” he said.
“Hey, um…what’s your name again?�
� said Nikki.
Marta smiled. “Marta.”
“Yeah, Marta, can I see?”
She passed the rectangle to Nikki. What she missed was JP’s stunned expression. From the way he was gawping at his sister, I got the feeling Nikki asking people for things didn’t happen very often.
Nikki touched the rectangle with her finger. “Cowboy,” she said softly. Then, turning the kit around, she showed him the rectangle. “Look, Cowboy. It’s us! And Bronco. Heehee.” She snuggled him again.
“Hey, Nikki?”
“What?”
“You wanna feed ’em?” JP popped the top off a can. Smelled like salmon from here. Near him was a plastic container.
“Yeah!” She set Patch down and listened intently as her brother gave her instructions. I crawled off Nikki’s lap, over to Patch.
“How you doing, kit?”
“She’s my human, isn’t she?” said Patch.
Smiling, I nodded.
“It’s weird…she wants me, just like the others, but…” his tail swished.
“She needs you, too,” I finished for him.
His ears and tail perked. “That’s it! And I know I can help her. I’ll watch over her. Oh, and now she’s feeding me?” He sprang for the food dish Nikki had prepared.
“This is great,” he said between bites. “We can be a family, can’t we, Gingersnap?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but then, the shed door went creeeak!
There in the doorway stood a dark-haired woman. Her arms went to her hips. “Marta Mariana Rivera, what is going on in here?”
18
Patch dove under me. Marta turned red as an ant.
“Mom!” she said. “What are you doing home?”
“Today is our Christmas movie day. I got off work specially for it! But I see you forgot. Young man, who are you, and why are you here in our shed?”
“Um…my name’s JP, Mrs. Rivera.”
“Oh!” I was happy to see the woman’s face softened. “From school?”
He nodded, nodded. She stepped forward and shook his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. Marta talks about you all the time.”