Catwalk (8 page)

sixteen

Saturday promised to be
crazy busy, so Tom and I were up before six. Indian summer had rolled back in and the forecast was for unusually warm and sunny fifties all weekend. That was odd
weather for November in northern Indiana, but a relief for everyone involved with the agility trial, because we were hoping to run outdoors. The sponsoring club had lost their usual indoor facility due to a late-summer storm that had damaged the roof. They hadn't had time to find another, so the trial was being held at Dog Dayz. Marietta Santini, the owner, was prepared to make it work indoors if we had freezing rain or other seasonal unpleasantness, but we would have been jammed in tight. It seemed we had lucked out
.

Tom and I also lucked out with a great parking place about thirty feet from the agility course so we decided to leave the dogs' crates in the van and set our chairs up right there. Leo was fine in his crates on the back seat. I had clipped two small wire crates together and put his bed and water in one and a disposable litter box in the other. I stuck my fingers through the wires to scratch his cheek and then went inside to be sure everything was set up for the demonstration during the break.

Alberta was already there setting up a display about feline TNR—Trap, Neuter, Release—as a way of managing feral populations. She had the money to back an informative, high-tech display, and she had used it to create a video, informational brochures, and a gallery of cat photos, many of which I had taken.

“Oh, Janet! There you are!” Her face was flushed and she was wheezing, but that was normal for Alberta. She pointed at the feline agility area that we had set up in the middle of the building. “That's going to be so much fun!”

“I hope so. We've been practicing, but Leo has never performed anywhere but home.”

“But the other cats have, yes? So even if you mess up, the others will be great.”

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,
I thought. My inner demon didn't take it so mildly, though, and I felt her heat up and whisper,
Leo will show you! Jay's not the only furry hero in the family!
I did imagine Leo having a perfect run around the course that would wow the crowd, many of whom probably thought that cat training was an oxymoron, but mostly I hoped he wouldn't be frightened by the whole crazy thing.

Alberta emerged from behind her display table and, her arm looping around my waist, pulled me toward the open center of the room. I wondered why, since we were the only ones there. Then she spoke so softly I could barely hear her even at short range. “Janet, you'll never guess what happened.” She waited as if she thought I should try.

“You're right. I'll never guess. What happened?”

“Louise came by last evening. She was roaring mad and said she's
hired an attorney!”

Alberta still had her arm around my middle and it was making me uncomfortable. I squirmed free as politely as I could while she continued in a more normal voice. “Louise said that Charles threatened her father and that was the final straw.” Alberta made a sound remarkably like
harumph
and went on. “Not enough that he bullied her for the past twenty years, I guess. Her and everyone else he could boss around.”

People were starting to drift into the building to set up displays, so I wanted to cut this conversation short. I'm not paranoid, but Norm's warning echoed in my mind, so I checked that no one was close enough to listen in before I asked, “He threatened her father? What do you mean?”

“She said that Charles was having him moved from his assisted living place to a different one, which would take him away from his friends.”

Cymbals started to clang in my brain. What were the odds? “Do you know his last name maybe?” I asked. “You know, her maiden name?”

Alberta gave me a funny look, then searched the ceiling. “Martini? Martoni?”

“Marconi?”

“Could be. Something like that. Why?”

Three women pushed a cart holding a big plastic container and two wire cat cages to the table next to Alberta's. A big gray Persian stared at us from one of the cages, and two short-haired kittens, one black and one black-and-white, curled up and clung together in the other.

I gave Alberta what I hoped was a conspiratorial look and said, “Tell you later.”

“Okay.” I turned to leave but Alberta called, “Oh, Janet, wait! Hang this on the door, will you?” She handed me two signs and a nearly empty roll of tape. One said “PLEASE—NO DOGS” in big red letters. The other announced “Agility—it isn't just for dogs! Feline Agility Demo after the morning competition.”

I spotted lots of people I knew either by name or, in a shocking number of cases, by their dogs' names. There was Rhonda Lake and
her Golden Retriever Eleanor, and Josie the Border Collie's dad, and
Candace Sweetwater with her perky Papillon and sullen teenager. I wondered why she was dragging him around with her when he so clearly didn't want to be there. It couldn't have been fun for her,
either.

An hour later I was on deck to run Jay in the twenty-inch jumpers class. Tom and Drake had already qualified in the twenty-four inch class. Tom was hoping for another Q, or qualifying run, on Sunday to finish Drake's AXJ—Agility Excellent Jumpers—title. Jay and I were just starting to compete in excellent, which everyone assured me was a giant step beyond the open classes.

They were right. It was a tight course with lots of quick turns. Jay ran perfectly. Me? Not so much. I got in his way on the second turn and accidentally sent him over the wrong jump right after he nailed the weave poles. But here's the thing with dogs. Just when my mental demon started to call me a bumbling idjit and worse, Jay raced to me and bounced up and down as if to say, “Wasn't that great? We played together and we ran and jumped and had fun and I'm so
happy
and I love you so much!” I caught him in my arms on the next bounce, buried my face in his coat for a couple of heartbeats, and let him down to put his leash back. We left the ring laughing and walked to the far end of the field.

“Can't stay out here long, Bubby,” I told him. “Leo gets to run today, too.” Jay's upper lip was caught on his tooth when he looked at me, giving him a “say what?” expression. “Yep, Catman is going to show 'em how it's done. And you're going to rest for a bit.”

We ran into Jorge Gomez, Marietta's groundskeeper, about half-way back to the van. “
Hola, Jorge. ¿Cómo está?”
That's about all I
re
member from high school Spanish, but Jorge seems to get a kick out
of my feeble effort.

“
Hola
, Señora Janet.” He pronounces my name with a soft, breathy
“j”. “Haff you seen a cat here?”

I thought he was asking whether I had brought a cat. “Yes, my cat is here. You should come watch him do agility after the dog classes finish this morning. Will you be here?”

“Oh, yes,
bueno
. But did you see a cat here? The little colored cat?” He gestured with one hand along the tree-lined fence that defined the limits of the Dog Dayz's property. “Little cat, many
colores
?” Jay wriggled up to him, nose lifted and sniffing like a shop vac. Jorge raised the other hand out of the dog's reach and made a clucking sound at him. “Oh, no, Mister Jay. You no get the little cat's lunch.”

I had Jay lie down and mind his manners, and asked Jorge, “Is it your
cat, Jorge?”

“No, no my cat, but I feed. I think she have
gatitos
somewhere.”

“Oh, my.” I thought of Gypsy and her kittens, and how much harder it was to raise them outside than in the safety of a house. “I'll watch for her, Jorge. You said she has many colors?”

“Yes, many colors, like
arcoiris
.” He saw that he had passed my vocabulary limits. “Like, you know,” he made a wide up-and-down motion with his arm, “like
rainboo
.” He grinned at me. “Yes, she is little rainboo.”

seventeen

The other three agility
cats had arrived with their people by the time I carried Leo into the building in his travel carrier. I knew Sue and Dave O'Brien and their Abyssinians, Dessie and Jimma, from photo shoots I had done at several cat shows. They introduced me to Jared Spencer, eleven years old, his mother, Dawn, and his well-named Maine Coon, Moose.

The demonstration would take place inside a portable enclosure that the local cat club owned. The sides were made of eight-foot-square PVC frames with netting stretched across them linked four to each side to form a square. Long strips of netting were stretched at the top edges of the panels and extended about eighteen inches toward the center to block any cat who tried to climb out. Heavy blue fabric hung along the bottom three feet to block the cats'-eye view of people's feet outside the ring. For extra security, Marietta had set up a portable kennel as a sort of foyer at the enclosure's entrance. We kept our cats in their carriers until we were inside the closed kennel and then got them out one at a time. No one wanted a loose cat running out the door.

The others seemed to have decided the running order earlier, and Leo and I were first. No one said so, but I had the distinct feeling they all expected Team Janet to botch the thing. I looked at Leo, and felt my throat thicken with pride when I saw how calmly he was taking the whole weird situation. Marietta appeared outside the kennel-cum-staging area.

“Classes are finished, so we're spreading the word about the demo. Dave, you'll say something by way of introduction?” Dave nodded, and Marietta checked her watch. “Good. Let's start in ten minutes.”

I checked that I had my tube of stinky fish paste in my training pouch and then set the pouch on top of Leo's carrier. The O'Briens looked a bit surprised at my gear, and Sue wrinkled her nose when I opened the fish-paste tube. “It's pretty stinky, I know, but Leo loves the stuff,” I said as I unzipped the carrier and lifted Leo to my face. He pushed his cheek into my chin and
mmmrrrowwllled
. “No fish paste until after you run, Leo
mio
.”

Tom caught my eye and waved from behind the growing group of spectators and pointed at Norm, who also waved. We had agreed that they should stay out of Leo's sight until after the performance.

“Where's your teaser?” asked Dave. His voice had a worried edge.

“My what?”

“Your teaser. To lure him over the obstacles?”

“I don't use one,” I said. “I trained him with a clicker and, well, the stinky fish paste.”

Sue and Dave exchanged a look, and Dave said, “So you've trained
him like a dog.”

I started to respond, but when I looked at Dave I saw Jared standing behind him with a big grin on his face and a clicker held up in one hand. He gave me a thumbs up with the other. I smiled back and said nothing.

At the appointed hour, Dave introduced himself as vice-president of the Fast Cat Feline Agility Club and explained the basics of the sport. He directed those who wanted more information to the club's display and promised to be there to answer questions after the demo.

“Okay, Catman, we're up next,” I whispered to Leo. “You know what to do, and remember, you run for the random-bred cats of the world.”

I stepped to the arena entrance and Leo went rigid when he saw the obstacles. He squirmed and let out a loud
Mmrrrowwlll!
A soft laugh rippled through the spectators outside the enclosure and I heard a voice say, “He's ready.”

I set him down at the start line and said, “Stay.” More laughter, but it quickly morphed into an appreciative murmur when people saw that Leo stayed put and watched me while I got into position. Then I pointed to the first obstacle, the stairs, and said, “Leo, stairs!” He scurried up the three steps and down the other side. From there I signaled him over the one-bar and two-bar hurdles, around a left turn, through the tunnel and then a hoop. “Easy, easy,” I said, signaling him with my palm to slow down as he approached the weave poles. “Weave, weave,” I said out of habit, but he didn't need me to tell him. From there he shot forward over the three- and four-bar jumps, through the second tunnel, and through the final hoop. “Leo
mio
!” I squealed. He turned toward my voice and launched himself, and I caught him in my arms. He draped himself over my shoulder and let out a loud “Mmrrowwwllll,” which I understood to mean “Fish paste now!”

People started to clap and cheer, and I heard “Wow! That was amazing” and other comments, and then Alberta asking people to hold down the volume because it might make the cats nervous. Leo didn't seem bothered by the racket, and I carried him back to the kennel and squeezed out a jackpot stretch of fish paste for him.

“You guys totally rocked it!” said Jared, his grin even bigger than the one he'd flashed in support of clicker training. “You gotta compete with him!”

“He's entered next week,” I said, grinning, and then I kneeled to put Leo in his carrier with another smear of fishy nomness.

“Nicely done, Janet,” said Dave.

“Outstanding!” came a familiar voice, and I turned to see Tom grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I had no idea he would run like that!”

“That was so exciting!” said Norm. “I wish Bill were here.”

I couldn't stop smiling.

Sue didn't say a word, but she was busy getting Dessie ready for her turn. She picked up the lithe little cat in one hand, a feather teaser in the other, and went to the course enclosure. Dessie started out fine, but when she exited the first tunnel, she leapt into the air and spun around as if something had startled her, then streaked to the far side of the course and straight up the netting to the top of the panel. She hung there, eyes wide and tail flicking, until Marietta brought a ladder into the enclosure and Dave climbed it and brought her down. Sue's face was crimson when she came back to the staging area.

I scanned the audience while the O'Briens put one cat away and got the other out. Alberta had her back to me and seemed to be hugging someone. When she let her loose and turned around, I saw that it was Louise Rasmussen. She had sunglasses on, which seemed odd until I remembered that Alberta thought the woman's husband had given her the makings of a black eye. As I watched, Louise appeared to introduce a man to Alberta. Her father, I guessed. He was turned sideways to me and I couldn't get a proper view of his face. Marconi? I'd soon know.

Dave and Jimma had a nice run. Jimma did all the obstacles and got a few extra leaps in as he tried to catch the odd creature dangling from Dave's teaser wand. I got a look at it when they finished, and confirmed that it was indeed a feathered mouse. I decided that an afternoon stroll through the vendor stalls would be in order. Leo would enjoy a mouse with feathers.

As soon as Dave had Jimma back in his carrier, Jared brought Moose out. He was big even for a Maine Coon, and I was sure he must outweigh Leo, Dessie, and Jimma together. Stretched full length he was probably as tall as Jared. He was a brown tabby with yellow-green eyes, and he wore the fur around his head and neck like a king's mantle. Long tufts of fur stood out beyond the tips of his ears, giving him a wild look that belied his gentle demeanor. Jared lugged him into the course enclosure and set him down. The big cat flicked his left front paw, then the right, for all the world like a sprinter loosening up at the starting blocks. Moose held his long tail high in the air and fluffed out wide as my forearm. He was not a cat you'd want to cross. Jared said, “Moose, go!” and they were off. The boy and his cat were a team, and my eyes went wet as I watched them run.

“Stunning,” said a low voice behind me. Tom smiled when I turned
my head, and the lump in my throat got bigger when I saw that his eyes were moist, too. Was it Saint-Exupery who said, “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction”? I thought so. And there was no denying that we saw animals, and good bonds between animals and people, in the same light.

Beyond Tom I saw that Alberta was still talking to Louise Rasmussen. The man with Louise was now in full view, and I saw that we'd already met. It was indeed Anthony Marconi, my mother's new love, Louise Rasmussen's father, and that odious Charles Rasmussen's father-in-law.