Wild Cat (10 page)

Eighteen

“I don’t know what Fiona sees in that guy,” Matt mutters. His cat springs out of his arms, and I don’t think Matt even notices.

“Matt?” I scramble after Squirt. Twice, she squirts through my arms, making me wonder if that’s how she got her name. But when I get hold of her and sit back on the couch, she purrs for me.

“Squirt is a sweetheart.” The more I stroke her, the louder she purrs. “What could possibly be wrong with this cutie cat?”

Matt launches into a list of wrongs, a dozen grievances he and his whole family have against poor Squirt. “You should see what that cat does while we’re gone. Mom gets home from work or I come back from practice and the whole house is a mess.”

“Matt,” I begin, stroking the smooth, black hair on the cat’s skinny body, “what you’ve got here is a latchkey cat.”

“You mean like a latchkey kid? When kids come home after school and lock themselves in because their parents are still at work? Kind of like my brothers and me, I guess.” He cocks his head at me. “I’ve never heard of latchkey cats, though.”

“Well, you’ve got one.” Squirt is purring up a storm in my arms and rubbing her cheek against my hand. “This sweet kitty doesn’t like being left alone. Cats are curious. If you don’t leave fun things for her to get into, she’ll make her own fun. And you probably won’t like it.”

“No kidding,” Matt says. “Well, what fun could I leave her? She’s got more toys than I had when I was a kid. We always leave those out for her. But she’d rather tear up the newspaper or get into the plants.”

“Okay. Try this. Tomorrow, put half of the cat’s toys away where she can’t find them. Leave a couple out. Then hide the rest in places she can find easily. You could put one in a paper bag. My cat could play with a paper bag all day. The next day, switch toys, bringing out the ones she hasn’t seen for a while.”

“Cool.” Matt’s nodding his head. “Kind of a lot of trouble, though.”

“Cats take work. And be sure your cat can see out the window without climbing your plants. Pull a table over, or get a card table and put a pillow on it. Anything that will let Squirt watch the birds and see the outside world. She’ll do that for hours, which means she won’t be getting into trouble, right?”

“Yeah. But I don’t know if Mom will want me moving things around. Sounds like a hassle.”

I feel like giving Matt and his whole family a lecture on taking time to care for pets. “Here’s one I don’t think you’ll feel is too much trouble. Leave your smelliest T-shirt out for Squirt when you go to school in the morning.”

“I can do that,” Matt promises.

When Matt leaves, I feel pretty useless, even to the cats. I’m sure Matt came for Fiona, not for his cat. Maybe Alex did too.

I’m glad to have a few minutes to myself before the last cat shows up. My throat feels sore, but I think it’s because I’m so tired. When I sit down, my knee hurts, and my legs feel like they’re filled with molasses.

“Here she is,” Fiona says, leading Cassie into the porch. “The doctor is in.”

“Aren’t you staying?” Cassie demands.

“Brett and I are busy,” Fiona answers. She hands Cassie an evaluation form. “Don’t forget to give us a good report. I need that back by Friday.”

The whole time Cassie and her cat, August, are with me, I pray that I won’t have to run outside and hurl. It’s hard to focus on August.

“My mother says if August keeps jumping up on her kitchen counters, she’s getting rid of him. She’ll do it, too,” Cassie promises.

I’m grateful this is a pretty easy fix, because I have only half of my brain power for it. The other part of my brain is trying to talk my stomach out of doing what it feels like doing. “Aluminum foil,” I tell her.

“Aluminum foil?” Cassie sounds like she suspects I’m crazy again.

“You cover your kitchen counters with aluminum foil for a couple of days. When August jumps up, he won’t like the sound or the feel of foil. Cats hate the stuff. You should be okay to take the foil off after a day or two.”

“What if my mother doesn’t want to have her counters decorated with foil?” Cassie demands.

“Some people use double-sided sticky tape, but I like foil better. Or you can go with smells, if your mom doesn’t want to do the foil thing. Cats hate the smell of vinegar, raw onions, lemon peel, menthol, and stinky perfumes. Put lemon peels on the counter, and your cat won’t go near them.”

Even thinking about lemon peels makes me want to puke. I bite the inside of my cheek because that helps. Who knows why.

Mrs. Morris comes out to the porch. “I believe your mother’s here for you. Someone’s honking.”

Honking?
I almost run to the van. We make it out of town before Mom has to pull over and let me do the honking by the side of the road.

* * *

Tuesday I stay in bed the whole day. I hate letting Fiona down, but all I can do is sleep the day away. I leave her messages, but she doesn’t call back.

Wednesday morning when I come downstairs, Mom and Dad are talking about our big court date. They fill me in on everything, but I only half listen. I can’t help the feeling I get whenever they talk about the adoption being final, about me being a Coolidge. There’s nothing I want more, but there’s nothing I deserve less.

“We can all fit in the van,” Mom says. “We should drive in early, maybe stop by Nice Donuts first and—”

“Saturday morning?” I don’t know why I haven’t thought of this before now. “Saturday morning I’ve got to be at Fiona’s for our project. Our teacher’s going to be there and everything.”

“What?” Dad sounds horrified. “But the courthouse! Our court date! It’s the only time they do adoptions in this county.”

“Easy, my love,” Mom says. “What time is your project?”

“I’m not sure. Fiona and her mother are planning it.”

“Well, I’m sure it will all work out,” Mom says. “Not to worry. One of us can drive you to Fiona’s and wait for you. You can meet up with us at the courthouse. It will all work out.”

“You are such a level head,” Dad tells her.

I ride to school with Hank and Dakota. All the way there, I stare out the window. I don’t want to stand before a judge and lie about how I deserve to be a real Coolidge. I don’t want to make Mom and Dad lie about it either. Maybe this project at Fiona’s will be my way out.

* * *

Fiona doesn’t hide her feelings about my missing school yesterday. “Kat, I asked you in the beginning if I could count on you, and you said I could.” We’re standing in the middle of the hall before first hour. Kids walk around us and stare.

“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry. I’ll be here the rest of the week.”

“Well, you better. I told yesterday’s cat owners to come back today. I had everything scheduled, and you threw it off by not showing.”

“I can—”

But Fiona’s too mad to hear me out. We don’t talk the rest of the day until we’re sitting in her mother’s car after school.

“Have you set a time for Saturday’s finale?” I ask.

Fiona’s mom answers, “The invitations say 10:00. Fiona, didn’t you give your friend an invitation?”

Fiona sighs for an answer. “She doesn’t need an invitation, Mother. She’s the one they’re coming to hear talk about cats.”

* * *

Cats file in and out of my “cat shrink” office at Fiona’s all afternoon and evening. Cat problems range from a runaway cat to a cat who constantly gets underfoot. I have to phone Mom and ask her to pick me up later than planned.

My last client is Mikayla Noel, a girl who goes to our church. She brings Socrates, a sleek female Siamese.

“You know I love animals,” Mikayla says. “All animals, including the birds Socrates has been killing in our backyard. I can’t stand it anymore. Sometimes she leaves them on our step. Otherwise, she’s such a great cat. I don’t know what to do to get her to stop killing things, though.”

“Cats are hunters,” I tell her. “You can’t change that. But we
can
make Socrates a bad hunter.”

Together, Mikayla and I rig a collar with two bells and a mirror. When we’re done, we put the collar on Socrates.

“There you go, Socrates,” I tell her. “Now those backyard birds are going to get fair warning when you’re on the prowl. Hunting is about to get a whole lot tougher.”

* * *

On Thursday Mrs. Morris picks me up, but Fiona stays for cheerleading practice. I see three cats and get home earlier than usual.

Friday I ride home with Fiona, but she disappears as soon as we get to her house. I see four cats, including Berta, a short-haired gray brought in by Stephen Kirk, an eighth grader.

“I hope it’s okay to come, even though I’m not in your class,” Stephen says. “Alex told me you can cure any cat, and mine needs help.”

I can’t believe Alex told him about me. “I don’t know about curing any cat, but I’ll try. What’s up with Berta?”

“She’s an unwanted alarm clock in our house. Berta jumps on our beds at dawn and won’t stop yowling until we’re up.”

I like the way he’s holding his cat. I can see how much he cares about her. “All I can do is give you some ideas to try. Okay?”

He nods. “I’ll try anything.”

“Play with your cat right before you go to bed. Tire her out. Feed her later too. That way her stomach won’t wake her.”

“Okay,” Stephen says. “Anything else?”

“If that doesn’t work and you’re desperate, you could have a hair dryer by the bed, or one of those little car vacuums. If your cat comes in too early, you can surprise her with a noisy blast of air. Only do it as a last resort. It shouldn’t take more than once or twice. Bottom line, Stephen: it’s cool that your cat wants you up to play with her.”

I actually feel pretty good watching Stephen and Berta leave . . . until I meet Fiona on my way out.

“You know he doesn’t even count, don’t you?” she snaps as soon as she closes the door on him. “He’s not in seventh grade. I couldn’t give him an evaluation.”

“Sorry, Fiona,” I say. But I’m not sorry I got to try to help Stephen and Berta.

“Yeah. Well, look at the bright side. After tomorrow, this whole thing will be over, one way or the other.”

Nineteen

At home, my secret project with Princess is coming right along. Dakota catches me in my room before dinner. “Want to explain to me why I’m sharing the john with a cat?”

I stare at her. “No way. You’re not telling me Princess used the toilet.”

Dakota nods.

“Seriously? You saw her?” I can’t believe it worked.

“Twice,” Dakota answers. “Craziest thing I ever saw. How did you get her to do that, Kat? I mean, I saw the litter box on the toilet Monday. Then I saw when you took that away and covered the seat in plastic wrap. Gave me flashbacks to pranks in one of the foster homes I ran away from.”

“Catman told me how to do it. I only had to put litter on the plastic wrap for one day.”

“Yeah. That was pretty gross.”

“I know. And thanks for letting me use our bathroom for Princess. Can you believe how fast she learned? Yesterday she went with just the plastic wrap on the toilet. I took that off this morning. And she’s got it already? Unbelievable!”

“And all of this so you and I could have a third party share the bathroom with us?” Dakota’s grinning, though. “Seriously, Kat, you’re amazing. I expect Princess to be demanding her own reading material in there before long.”

“Not our problem after tomorrow,” I tell her. Something clenches inside every time I give up one of the rescues. I feel the same way about Princess.

“Well, you did good, kid,” Dakota says.

“Princess did, anyway. And she learned all of this blind and deaf. She must be a really smart cat, Dakota. Fiona and her sister will have to see that now.”

“What did Fiona say when you told her Princess was blind and deaf?” Dakota asks.

I don’t answer.

“You haven’t told her?”

“I was hoping I’d have some good news to go with the bad,” I explain. “And now I do.”

Dakota squats down to stroke Princess. “Good news, bad news, huh? That reminds me . . . Chestnut wasn’t limping at all today.”

“Really? That’s great. He’s finished the bute, too, right? So that’s good news.” But I can tell by her face that the bad news isn’t far behind.

“Hank thinks we might have a buyer for Chestnut,” she says.

Again, there’s that pinching inside me. That’s the way it is when you rescue. Your goal is to get the animal to a place where you can find a great home for him. And when you do, it hurts like crazy.

* * *

After dinner I go out and visit Chestnut. He’s in the pasture with the other horses.

Hank walks up behind me. “He looks good, doesn’t he? He’s not limping at all.”

Chestnut comes up to the fence, and I reach in and pet him. I pull up grass and feed him. “Dakota says you might have a buyer.”

“It’s a family with a little girl who’s crazy about horses. She’s been riding at a stable for two years. It’s a good home. And they’ve got a neighbor who might want the sorrel.”

I pull up more grass and stick it through the fence. Chestnut devours it. It’s the same grass he’s got on his side of the fence, but it always looks greener this way. I’ll miss this pony.

“You getting excited about the adoption deal? I hear Gram wanted to invite the entire state to celebrate.” Hank puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “You’ve been my sister since the day you came here. But I’m glad it will finally be official.”

It’s all I can do not to cry. “I can’t go to the courthouse, Hank.”

“Right,” Hank says. When I don’t chuckle with him, he asks, “You’re not worried about that school thing, are you? Dad got the court date bumped to 11:00.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be done by then.” I don’t look at Hank. I think I’ll fall apart if I do.

“Well,
be
done! This isn’t something you can miss. What if they can’t make it official unless you’re there to speak for yourself or to sign the adoption papers or something? Did you think of that?”

“Yes.”

Hank turns me to face him. “Kat? What are you saying? What’s going on with you?”

I don’t know if I can explain it. I don’t know if I want to. I shrug and look away.

“Is there some reason you don’t want the adoption to be final?” Hank asks. “Are you thinking about your biological parents?”

I frown at him. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. You’re blindsiding me here. But you better get it out. Are you . . . are you having second thoughts about us?” I can hear the pain in his voice.

“Hank, no. That’s not it. Who wouldn’t want to be adopted by your family?”

He doesn’t move.

“I just . . . I don’t want them to do it out of pity.”

“Pity? Kat, they love you. We all love you. How can you not know that?”

“I do know that. But they can love me without giving me their name.
Your
name. It’s too big of a gift. I don’t want them to do it because they think they have to, because they feel sorry for me.”

“Sorry for you?” Hank asks.

“Yeah, sorry for me. I’m too sick and too weak to do anything around here. You should know that better than anybody.”

“Kat, this isn’t you talking.”

“If I could
do
something—something to make me feel like I’m not just a burden to everybody . . .”

Hank shakes his head. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad about this?”

“No. And you have to promise me
you
won’t. Promise me, Hank.”

He’s quiet a minute. “Okay. But have you at least talked to God about it?”

That takes the wind out of me. I’m usually the one telling everybody else to talk to God about stuff.

Out in the pasture, something stirs. The gray mare squeals. One of the other horses has his ears back and looks ready to fight.

Hank leaps into action and vaults the fence. “I’m driving you to that courthouse!” he shouts. “I’m not giving up my sister that easy.”