The Christmas Cat (14 page)

“Great.” Garrison stood and shook his hand. “Looks like Muzzy is just fine.”

David nodded. “Yep. No problems.”

Garrison reached into his pocket for the envelope, handing it to David. “This is a thank-you from my grandmother—for taking in Muzzy.”

“Huh?” David studied the envelope.

“Go ahead,” Garrison encouraged. Reaching over to ruffle Jackson’s curly hair, he added, “It’s for both of you.”

“No way.” David held the check in the air. “Are you kidding me?”

Garrison shook his head.

“Wow.” David stared at the check. “I’m stunned.”

“Merry Christmas,” Garrison said, turning to leave.

“So do you have plans for Christmas?” David asked suddenly.

“Well, I—”

“Dad is cooking turkey,” Jackson said with enthusiasm. “Cara is coming too.”

At the name
Cara
, Garrison froze. “I need to go see someone,” he said awkwardly. “But thanks for the invite.”

“Sure.” David still looked shocked as he held the check in his hand. “And thanks for this.”

Garrison gulped in the cold air outside, trying to forget what they’d just said . . . that Cara was spending Christmas with them. Well, of course, she was. Why shouldn’t she? Without looking over toward the gingerbread house, he climbed back into the Pontiac. One last stop—and it was only a few blocks away—and then he could go home . . . to his lovely but lonely house.

T
he Maxwells’ place was easy to spot—even from a couple blocks away. With so many strings of lights on their house, Garrison hated to imagine their electric bill next month. Maybe this check would help. His plan was to get in and get out ASAP. The less interaction with Handsome Harry, the better. Just the thought of looking into those pale green eyes was unnerving. In and out—and then go home.

“Hello?” A tall, sandy-haired woman answered the door. Behind her was the sound of jarring music, a video game that was turned too loud, and, in Garrison’s opinion, total turmoil. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Maxwell?” he asked, hoping that he’d come to the wrong house.

“Yes. Do I know you?”

He quickly introduced himself. “I’m the one who gave Harry to your husband a few weeks ago.”

“Harry?” she said absently.

“
A large Maine Coon cat
,” he said with growing concern. “About three weeks ago.”

“Oh, you mean Snoop-Cat.”

“Snoop-Cat?” Garrison was confused—and irritated.

“Well, his name was Harry when he got here,” she said. “But TJ—that’s my oldest—he decided to name him Snoop-Cat. Cute huh?”

Controlling himself, he made a stiff smile. “So, is he—is Snoop-Cat here?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Sorry, he’s not.”

“He’s not here?”

“No.” She grimly shook her head. “Truth is we haven’t seen him for—TJ,” she yelled loudly, “when was the last time you saw Snoop-Cat?”

A preadolescent boy wearing braces came to the door, examining Garrison with a dull expression. “Huh?”

“Snoop-Cat. When did you last see him?”

“I dunno. Awhile back. Last week maybe.”

“Last week?” Garrison felt a wave of panic. “Where did he go?”

“Who knows?” She tipped her head to the chaos going on behind her. “I can barely keep track of these kids—and then their friends come over—honestly, does this look like a house that could keep track of a cat?”

“So you have no idea where Harry went?” Garrison demanded.

The woman rolled her eyes. “God only knows why Tom thought we needed a cat. I thought he’d lost his mind.”

“Dad got us the cat to get the money,” TJ told her. “Remember?”

She laughed sarcastically. “Oh yeah. That’s right. Tommy Boy got it into his head that he was taking in a million-dollar cat.” She fixed her eyes on Garrison with an alarmed expression. “That wasn’t true, was it?”

“No, no, of course not. Please, excuse me,” he said quickly. “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait a minute—was it true?” She followed him out to the porch. “Please, tell me it wasn’t true.” As Garrison hurried through the fast-falling snow, he could still hear the woman yelling, telling her son how she was going to “kill Tom when he got home.”

Inside the protection of the car, Garrison thought about Harry. Good grief, who could blame the poor cat from running away from that madhouse? Garrison would’ve hit the trail too. But where would Harry have run to? He hadn’t gone home. Garrison was sure of that. He’d been through the house. And he’d been to see Ruby—surely she would have told him if Harry had come back.

Garrison put down all the windows of his car, slowly cruising through the neighborhood, calling out Harry’s name over and over. Okay, he knew this was ridiculous. How likely was it that Harry would be out roaming the streets in weather like this? Or would he? Garrison drove all around, going down every street and even a few alleys until he got worried that he might be disturbing some of the neighbors.

Fearful that Harry had been injured somehow, he pulled over and got out his phone, dialing information and getting the numbers of the local veterinarians. He called each of them, inquiring about missing Maine Coon cats whenever a live person answered and leaving a message with his num
ber when they didn’t. Wherever Harry was—Garrison was determined to find him.

With the windows open, snow had blown into the car and, despite the heater running full bore, Garrison was chilled to the bone. “Oh, Harry,” he said desperately as he turned toward Gram’s house, “please, come home, old boy. I’m sorry I gave you to those horrid people. I didn’t know they were like that.” And then, although he knew some would declare it wrong to pray for an animal—he didn’t care what they thought—he shot up an earnest prayer on Harry’s behalf. He made no apologies as he begged God to keep his furry friend safe and to bring him home.

He parked the Pontiac in the driveway and cranked up all the windows. Then, since he was already cold and wet, he did a quick trip around the perimeter of the house, calling out Harry’s name. He even checked in Gram’s garden shed. But no Harry.

Feeling like he’d lost his best friend, Garrison went back into the house and peeled off his wet coat, hanging it by the kitchen door. Then, remembering the check, he removed it from his coat pocket. It would need to be returned to Mr. Miller.

Thinking of Gram’s MIA attorney was troubling. How was it possible that Mr. Miller had totally forgotten the “surprise visit” to the Maxwells’? Garrison knew that if Mr. Miller had gone as promised, he never would have approved that family. Indeed, if he’d gone, he likely would have discovered Harry was missing back then.

Garrison was just putting the check back in the large white envelope when he realized there was a slender folder inside. He pulled it out to discover it contained the title to the house and
a couple of envelopes. He recognized Gram’s lacy handwriting on the first envelope. Feeling a lump in his throat—and as if he’d let her down—he slowly opened it, removing several pages of fine stationery.

Dear Garrison,

If you are reading this, I must be departed to my heavenly home. I felt rather certain that my time was near. For that reason I’ve met with Mr. Miller, but you must know that by now. First of all, my dear boy, I want to tell you how much I love you. I fear that you may temporarily misinterpret my devotion to you because of my desire to find my cats good homes. So I want you to know that, along with my dear husband and son, you have been one of the loves of my life. You may not know how lost I felt when you came to me. I was grieving for your grandfather and for leaving Kenya. And then I was grieving for your father. But you brought life back to me. Your youth and energy forced me to participate in the community. I got involved in your school and church and the neighborhood. You, my dear boy, brought me back to life.

But when you went back east to college, I felt a bit lost again. I missed you more than you will ever know and I did not want you to know. That is when I got a cat. Genevieve was a wonderful companion to me. I was aware of your allergies and I knew I’d willingly find the dear cat a new home if you chose to come back, but I suspected that you would not. Then, when you went to Uganda (which made me so happy) I got another cat. Well, you know how this story goes. One good cat led to another. But I never went out looking for them. No,
they came to me. And while you were so far away, they were my family.

Because you are reading this I know that you have successfully found good homes for all six of my “children.” I thank you for that, Garrison. You may have guessed that one part of my plan was to keep you in your old neighborhood for a spell. I hoped that you might reconnect and perhaps even discover where it is the Good Lord is leading you next. I have to say that you’ve sounded a bit lost in our phone conversations. But I understand that. I felt lost too.

Now, lest you think I loved my cats more than I loved you, you will find another envelope in this package that Mr. Miller has prepared in the event of my demise. In that package you will find the title to my house and a check for the remainder of my inheritance. As you can see, you are receiving a much greater portion than the kitties. I know that you will use the money wisely—to help yourself and your fellow man. I pray that it will be a blessing and not a curse. Most of all I pray that you will find someone as dear to you as your grandfather was to me. It is hard to go this life alone. But if you must, perhaps you should get yourself a dog.

Always remember that your heavenly Father and your grandmother are watching over you, dear Garrison.

All my love,
Gram

With tears in his eyes, Garrison opened up the last envelope and removed a cashier’s check. He stared at the figure, then,
blinking to clear his eyes, he looked again. No, he was not a millionaire, but it was more money than Garrison could possibly earn in ten years. He shook his head in disbelief. But as he slid the check back into the envelope he felt unworthy of it. After all, it was his fault that one of Gram’s beloved cats was missing. Sure, he knew she would understand and forgive him. She’d have to forgive her attorney too. As did Garrison.

Even so, Garrison wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. How had he been so shortsighted? Why hadn’t he investigated the Maxwells more carefully on that first day? And why had he left Harry—of all the cats—with what appeared to be a “gold digging” family? Poor Harry!

Still feeling chilled and blue, he went into the living room, and seeing that some birch logs were laid in the fireplace, probably for show, he struck a long match to light them, watching as the papery bark slowly caught fire. And not wanting to turn on the lights, he decided to light the candles along the mantel as well. It seemed a little silly to light candles with no one else around to enjoy them, but he hoped that it would put him in a better Christmas spirit.

In an attempt to distract himself from obsessing over Harry, he tried to focus his attention on the changes Barb had made to the house. Really, it was amazing, and perfect for Christmas, even if it was an illusion. The house truly looked festive—as if it should be hosting friends gathering around food with Christmas tunes playing in the background. He wished he could feel as festive as his surroundings looked.

He tried to recall the happy faces he’d witnessed while delivering the unexpected checks around the neighborhood. Surely his stint as “Santa” should be enough to erase the
Christmas Scrooge feelings that were darkening his heart. He reminded himself of his own check. Anyone else receiving a windfall like that would probably be over the moon.

He held his hands over the crackling flames, remembering Gram’s sweet letter and how she’d wanted him to know how much she loved him. Okay, that warmed his heart. No denying it. But thinking of Gram reminded him of the cats . . . and how he’d let her down. How he’d let Harry down. Suddenly he felt blue again.

He could hear car doors closing out front. Glancing out, he watched as several people got out and hurried up to Ruby’s house. She always hosted Christmas for her relatives, packing them into her little house and stuffing them with all the good foods she’d been preparing for days. Ruby had always included Gram and him as well, and he knew he would be welcome there tonight. He also knew he was in no condition to put on his game face and make small talk. Better to just lay low.

If he got hungry, he could nuke another microwave meal. He’d probably go to bed early and try to sleep. Perhaps he’d hear from one of the veterinarians tomorrow. If not, he would post “missing cat” signs all over town. He’d even offer a generous reward. That should help stir things up.

He was just heading for the kitchen when he heard the doorbell. Had one of Ruby’s guests mistaken this house for hers? He hurried to open it, ready to redirect them next door, when to his surprise he saw Cara. With her bright red scarf circling her neck and white lacy flakes falling on her dark hair, she was truly a vision. For a moment he almost thought he was halucinating. But it was what she held in her arms that made him blink twice. Was this for real?

“
Harry!”
he exclaimed, reaching for the long-lost cat. “It’s you!”

“Hello, Garrison,” Cara said with an uneasy expression.

“Cara, hello! You found Harry!”

“Yes.”

“Harry, old boy.” Garrison held the cat close, looking down into his face. “I was so worried about you. I looked all over the neighborhood. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Suddenly he looked back at Cara. “I’m sorry. Do you want to come in?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He opened the door wide. “Come in and get warm. I even made a fire.” He closed the door and set Harry down, then took her coat and led her to the fireplace.

“The house looks great,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. Do you want to see the whole thing? I can turn the lights on and—”

“I’ve actually seen it already,” she confessed. “I slipped in while your real estate agent was doing the open house.”

“Right . . .” Garrison bent down and picked up Harry again. “I can’t believe you found him, Cara. How did you? Where did you? When did you?”

“One question at a time,” she said patiently. “I was on one of my regular afternoon walks several days ago. I was passing a vacant house on Washington Street—you know that old Victorian that’s in really bad shape?”

“Yeah. The old Brinson place.”

“Anyway I thought I saw a cat on the porch. I thought that was weird since no one lived there. And, as you know, I’ve been wanting a cat. As I walked up to the porch, I thought it was probably a feral cat because it looked kind of matted and straggly and wet, but it had been raining. I called out
‘here, kitty-kitty’ and it came running toward me. At first I was kind of worried—what if it had rabies or something? Then I looked into those green eyes and I thought it looked just like Harry, but I didn’t think that was possible.”