Cats Triumphant (9 page)

The dog charged at the cat. The two animals circled, growling at one another, while their owners shouted.

“C’mon, Shadow,” Gil urged. “I’ll hold down Augustus so you can beat him up.”

“You will not!” Charlotte sputtered. “Augustus! Charge!”

Setting his jaw, the bulldog sprang to obey his mistress’s order. Shadow had evidently had enough of Augustus. As the dog thundered forward, Shadow sprang up into Gil’s arms, climbed onto his head, and leaped into the swinging chandelier.

“Now look what your stupid dog did!”

“Good boy, Augustus,” Charlotte said, gloating. “C’mon, let’s search while they’re stuck.”

Torn between curiosity and concern, Gil stared up, wondering what to do. The chandelier was priceless, but Shadow was his cat. Shadow wiggled higher until he was standing at the junction of the arms beside the chain. The whole thing swayed alarmingly.

“Come on down, kitty,” Gil said, holding his arms up. Shadow settled himself, his whiskers twitching. “Come on, we’ll go get something to eat.”

Shadow paid no attention. Instead, he pawed at part of the fancy ceiling. The white plaster curlicue moved aside, revealing a black gap, which Shadow jumped up into. A secret passage! Gil almost broke his neck beating Charlotte to one of the gilt chairs that stood along the walls. He climbed up and pulled himself into the ceiling. The little attic was dim, but beside the boss holding the chandelier he could see a small, tarnished box. Gil brushed off a wealth of cobwebs and clutched it, hardly believing it was real. It had probably been hidden in this very spot when the house had been wired for electricity in 1890. Gil looked down through the hole in the ceiling. The chair seemed to be very far away. He looked at Shadow in dismay. That was what the cat had been trying to tell him in the drawing room. He’d wanted him to bring the ladder!

“There’s no way down!” he shouted.

“Throw down the box,” Charlotte said, stretching up her arms. “I’ll hold it while you carry Shadow.” Gil saw the glint in her eye. She’d be gone in a minute, probably even move the chair out of reach. He couldn’t trust her.

“Nothing doing,” he said, eying the distance to the floor. Could he jump it without breaking his neck? While he was trying to decide what to do, Shadow shot away and fled along the ceiling beams. “Come back here!”

Clasping the precious box to his chest, Gil tiptoed over the trusses, afraid he would step between them and fall through the ceiling. Charlotte and Augustus, whom he could hear muttering along below, would win by default. “Darn it, cat, where are you?”

Gil heard Shadow’s joyous cry from a dark corner of the attic. Gil was covered with cobwebs when he caught up with him. Shadow prowled up and back at the top of his discovery. The cat had led him to another hidden staircase! Thanking the shades of Great-great-grandpa and his architect, Gil descended, box under one arm and cat under the other, and emerged in the drawing room, to the astonishment of his half-drunken cousins.

Triumphantly, Gil and Shadow led a procession into the drawing room to see Aunt Erma.

“Congratulations, Gilbert,” Aunt Erma said, over the protests. “Now, don’t all of you grumble. He won, fair and square. I’m not intending to cut everyone else off completely. The rest of you will get ten thousand dollars apiece, but the rest of the pie is Gilbert’s. He earned it.”

“Hmph,” snorted Charlotte. Augustus looked crestfallen. He had disappointed his mistress.

Shadow rubbed against Aunt Erma’s chair, then marched up to the hanging curtains, turned his back on it, and marked them. Gil groaned, as the others snickered.

“It’s all right,” Aunt Erma said, eyes glinting. “He’s just staking his claim. It’s an old family tradition.”

Karen heard the sound outside of the window just about twilight. Her eyes were dazed from looking at the computer screen, so she nearly missed the little gray cat huddled against the slate blue wall for warmth. Though it was always cooler here after the sun went down, it was an exceptionally cool night for a California June. When Karen leaned way over the sill and down to pick up the thin kitten, she found it was shivering.

She cuddled it against her sweater until it felt warmer. She knew how it felt. There wasn’t much extra meat on her slim bones, either. Karen let her curtain of light brown hair fall across the kitten’s back like a blanket. “Aw, poor kitty.”

Chirping curiously, the kitten struggled to get loose. It crawled up her shoulder and jumped down her back, prickling her skin with tiny claws, all the way to the floor, where it started an exploration of the room, its hazel eyes large in its triangular face.

“Oh, all right,” Karen said, watching it in doting amusement. “Just don’t do anything on the carpet, okay?” She turned away and squinted out of the window into the patio. “How did you get into the back yard? Even the mice have to knock. Uncle Barry has every board so tight... I bet you were thrown over the wall, huh? It’s a good thing kittens are indestructible.”

She turned back to the gray kitten for affirmation. It had finished looking around, and was seated atop her computer disk drive washing its paw with vigorous licks of its minute pink tongue. Karen smiled.

“You made yourself right at home, kitty. I think I’ll keep you. I could use the company.” The kitten sneezed, shaking its head. “Terminally cute,” said Karen, shaking hers. She sat down at the computer and stared at the screen until she remembered what she’d been doing. Frowning at her forgetfulness, she went back to work.

Assignments. Work study. Trouble-shooting. Sometimes between her class work and her part time job, she forgot what the hell she was working on. On the other hand, doing temp work for one of the big companies in Silicon Valley was a good way to get an in, for summer work and after graduation. This job was saving her life. Karen had never had a job that paid better, and she could do it at home in her own time. And she had plenty of that on her hands, too.

All her life Karen had had trouble taking chances. If it hadn’t been for the partial scholarship to UCSC, and her married friend promising help finding her work, Karen would never have left Maplewood, Missouri, and she knew it.

Taking chances extended to making friends, too. In other words, she hadn’t made any. When she realized she was wearing out her welcome with Carolyn and Carolyn’s husband, she simply started staying home.

Home was a spare room and bath she rented for $400 a month from her mother’s uncle Barry. When she had realized she would be unable to afford dorm space or an apartment, she had written in a panic to all of her relatives on the West Coast, asking if any of them had extra room, or knew someone who did. Uncle Barry was the only one near enough to her choice of schools. She had always been terrified of him as a child, and in fact had not sent him a request. It was passed on to him by Karen’s Aunt Pat.

Karen received an imperious letter, all but commanding her to come out and live with him. Her mother urged her to accept, convinced that the old man was lonely since her Aunt Phoebe died. Under the circumstances, Karen didn’t dare turn him down.

She was also a little shocked about the size of the rent he proposed to charge her. He insisted, and he was right, that what he asked was less than half the rent for a shared apartment in the Cupertino area. Uncle Barry argued that once she started working, she’d be able to afford better, and this rent would seem cheap later on. Maybe, but it was going to be a thin year in the meantime. Uncle Barry was unsympathetic. He told her to learn to work with resources at hand, and meet challenges as they came, head on. Karen was too frightened of him to do anything but say yes. The room was nice, painted a soothing sunset-pink, with plenty of bookshelves.

She hit the Save command, and the disk drive whirred under the kitten, sending it whipping into a dance to find out where the big noise came from. It batted a cotton-ball paw at Karen when she reached over to pet it. “Yeah, you meant to do that. I know.” It purred.

She scooped it up. “You need a name. I can’t call you ‘it’ forever.

“Meeh!” it said, indignantly, trying to get down.

“Shadow? Eliza?” She did a quick check under the tail. “Clyde.”

The front door of the house banged closed. “Karen?” Uncle Barry called.

“Dinnertime,” said Karen. She tossed Clyde into the yellow-painted bathroom and shut the door on him. “I’ll bring you something to eat in a while, kitty. Be quiet.”

Barry hung up his jacket in the hall and peered into the kitchen. Karen ran in, and snatched a casserole out of the refrigerator.

“Hi,” she said, looking up at him timidly. Barry was a big man, but Karen seemed unusually thin and small. She took after his late wife’s side of the family. They all reminded him of mice.

“This’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she said. “I made it this morning. It just needs to be microwaved. It’s Irish stew.”

“Fine. How is your work going? Your rent is due in a few days.” He smiled at her, obviously making a joke. She shivered. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. Karen sat down, not meeting his eyes.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all. I’ve got just a little left to do on this program. There weren’t too many bugs.”

“Good.”

They sat down to eat in silence. Karen never talked at the table. Barry regarded her with concern. No social talents at all in her family. No family feeling to speak of. At nineteen she still couldn’t understand the consequences of her actions – or inaction. It was as if she was brought up in a sterile carton and released only to go to school. Her mother was a nincompoop. Karen could be quite a person if there was anything to her. He attacked his food, taking out his frustration on a chunk of meat.

“Do you like animals, Uncle Barry?”

He put down his knife and fork, and stared up at her. “What brought that on?”

“Do you? Did you ever have a pet?” Karen persisted.

“Yes, I like animals. At a distance. Why?”

Karen took a deep breath. “Well, someone threw a kitten into the backyard tonight, and I’d like to keep it.”

“What?”

“I’d ... like to keep it.” Karen swallowed, visibly.

“Well, you can’t,” Barry said, flatly. “After dinner you can put it out.”

“I’d just keep it in my room. You’d never see it.”

“I’d smell it.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Karen protested. “I’m very thorough at cleaning. You know how good I am with details. I’ll scoop out its box day and night. I’ll vacuum every day.”

“I am allergic to cats, Karen. You can’t keep it.”

“I want to!”

Barry stared. By God, she said something positive and direct for once. If only he could have obliged her.

“I’m sorry, Karen. I have a violent allergy to cats. You can get a cat when you get an apartment of your own.”

“I want to keep this one,” she insisted, leaning close. She almost put a hand on his arm. “Please. He’ll die if I don’t take care of him. I can make it work. Troubleshooting is what I’m good at, remember?” She was pleading. The whine in her voice annoyed her uncle.

“That’s enough!” Barry threw back his chair so it hit the wall, and stood up. “Where is it? Come on! We’ll get rid of it right now.” He stood over Karen threateningly until she flinched back into her seat.

“In my bathroom,” she mumbled. The assertive woman was gone, and the little girl was back.

Barry strode down the hall to the back of the house. He pushed open the door to the bathroom and looked in. With a glad chirp, Clyde, starved for attention, threw himself upon the nearest representative of humankind. He made it about halfway up Barry’s arm.

“Whachoo!” He brushed the kitten off. Clyde landed on the round yellow rug. Immediately, he flung his little body against Barry’s ankles in supplication.

“Get him out of here!” Barry yelled, his eyes streaming. He sneezed again and again.

Karen pushed past him and knelt to pick up the kitten. It crawled up her shoulder and hung around her neck, rumbling happily.

Barry backed out and ran for his own bathroom. He fumbled in the medicine cabinet for his prescription allergy tablets. He gulped two down without water, and popped a third into his mouth to make sure the attack wouldn’t progress further. He sniffed and peered into the mirror. No spots yet, but his eyes were red already and swelling fast. He dabbed at them with a handful of tissues. He could feel his throat closing. Glancing over his reflection’s shoulder, he noticed Karen in the doorway, protectively clutching the gray cat.

“He’s so friendly,” she said, meekly. “And he likes you; you saw how he rubbed against your legs. He’s got a beautiful face. Cats are such beautiful animals. I’m calling him Clyde ... ”

Barry sneezed again, from the bottom of his feet. He threw down the wad of sodden tissues, snatched the kitten off Karen’s arm and made for the front door.

“No!” Karen shrilled, running after him. “Please! He’ll starve out there. He’ll get killed.”

“Get hold of yourself. He’s an alley cat. He’ll get along.” Barry bent to set the kitten down on the pavement. It purred at him trustingly. He sighed.

“Stop!” Karen shrieked. “Please! Give him to me.”

Karen pitched herself at his back, trying to get Clyde away from him. Barry, surprised, lost his grip, and Clyde shot out of his hands like a pool ball, over the curb and into the street. A van with only its fog lights on rolled past them in the twilight. There was a hideous shriek.

The van drove on without stopping.

Karen and Barry hesitated, shocked.

“Murderer,” Karen hissed, and ran for the curb.

But it was Barry who picked up the limp little scrap of fur from the street. “Look, honey. He’s not dead. One of his paws was crushed, and he’s unconscious. He was lucky. Why don’t you take him to the vet? I’ll call ahead for you.”

* * *

Clyde came to, whimpering and terrified, about halfway to the animal hospital. He was obviously in too much pain to get down off his towel on the car seat and hide, but he hissed weakly at Karen when she tried to pick him up. The vet, a brisk blonde woman of fifty, met her at the door of the hospital.

“Your uncle told me to expect you, dear. I’m Dr. Vaughan. We close at 6:00. My service caught me just before I went out. Very lucky.”

“Yes. Thank you, ma’am,” Karen whispered.

“Let’s see the patient. Mmm. Nasty. What do you want to play in the traffic for, eh, kitty-baby? Why don’t you sit down? I’ll just take him in here.” The doctor disappeared with Clyde behind a swinging stainless steel door.

“He didn’t want to play in the traffic,” Karen told the creaking door. “He was pushed. My uncle tried to kill him.”

Dr. Vaughan emerged into the waiting room, drying her hands on a paper towel. “Well, dear, your kitty-baby will have to stay with us for a while. He’s all right. He’s shocky, but you’d expect that. I had to remove part of his back left foot, but he’ll never miss it. Cats adapt very well. He had a narrow escape, you know. Most traffic accidents are deaths.”

“Yes,” Karen said, mechanically. “I know. Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Forty dollars. No extra charge for the emergency call.”

Karen paid her and walked out. On her way across the parking lot, she stopped, possessed with an idea. She turned back to the animal hospital. The doctor came out after her and locked the waiting room door.

“Doctor? Can a person die from an allergy?”

* * *

Barry was upset. If Karen had been antisocial before, she was an automaton now. She expressed more emotion toward her computer than she did toward him. Whatever was wrong with her, she did manage to go on with her chores, paid her rent, and kept up with her schooling. The sulk couldn’t last forever.

He sniffled, and reached for a handkerchief. Much as he hated to, he was going to have to tell her to vacuum more carefully. Barry hated to criticize people for tasks he himself disliked, but he was still reacting to the cat, even though it had been gone more than a week. His eyes felt constantly as though there was grit in them, and he had a continually expanding headache situated just behind his sinuses. Right now it was the size of a grapefruit, but it was growing by leaps and . . . ACHOO!

His eyes were too watery to read comfortably, and television gave him a headache. His skin felt irritated under his clothing. Every nerve felt itchy. He found that he was pacing all over the living room, and he was angry at everything. He was just as happy that Karen wasn’t home that evening. She flinched if he said boo.

During the last week, Karen had been spending a lot of time out. She said she’d found she had quite a bit in common with the veterinarian. She was doing volunteer work at the animal hospital. Well, he considered it to be an acceptable substitute for owning a pet, under the circumstances. So must she, he hoped. He was just getting to be lonely without her. Still, Karen probably needed to work out some guilt feelings for nearly getting that cat killed.