Family Affair

Several years ago I was asked to write a story involving a cat. No problem. As it happened our children have owned several cats through the years. Wayne’s and my first pet was a cat named, appropriately enough, Kitty. For the first few years of our marriage it was Cats “R” Us. Then, along with the children, came the hamsters, guinea pigs, several dogs, a snake or two, an injured crow, and even a horse. That was when the household became Animals “R” Us. Four children, born within five years, and an entire menagerie of pets . . . oh, those were the days!

I titled my story
Family Affair
for reasons you will come to understand once you start reading. The book made a small blip in the publishing world and then was laid to rest in the out-of-print section of some computer database until now. . .

Apparently my cat Cleo, the heroine of
Family Affair,
has more than one life. Cleo is back and eager to share her story with you. As you’ll soon discover, love in the cat world is almost as complicated as it is with humans.

I hope you enjoy this romantic comedy, raised from the ashes like the phoenix to live and charm again. Pour yourself a cup of tea, cuddle up in a comfortable chair, and if one is at hand, put a cat in your lap to pet while you’re reading. I always found it comforting to hold an animal in my lap.

I enjoy hearing from my readers. You can reach me through my web site at www.DebbieMacomber.com or by writing me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

Warmest regards,

Debbie Macomber

One

“I
’ve got the backbone of a worm,” Lacey Lancaster muttered as she let herself into her apartment. She tossed her mail onto an end table and glared at Cleo. “I didn’t say a word to Mr. Sullivan, not a single word.”

Cleo, her Abyssinian cat, affectionately wove her golden-brown body between Lacey’s ankles. Her long tail coiled around Lacey’s calf like a feather boa, soft, sleek, and soothing.

“I had the perfect opportunity to ask for a raise and did I do it?” Lacey demanded, kicking her feet so that her shoes sailed in opposite directions. “Oh, no, I let it pass by. And do you know why?”

Cleo apparently didn’t. Lacey took off her bright green vinyl raincoat, opened the closet door, and shoved it inside. “Because I’m a coward, that’s why.”

Walking into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and stuck her head inside, rooting out some sorry-looking leftovers, two boxes of take-out Chinese, and the tulip bulbs she’d meant to plant in her balcony flower box last October.

“I’m starved.” She opened the vegetable bin and took out a limp stalk of celery. “You know my problem, don’t you?”

Cleo meowed and wove her way between Lacey’s ankles once more.

“Oh, sorry. You’re probably hungry too.” Lacey reached inside the cupboard and pulled out a can of gourmet cat food. To her surprise, Cleo didn’t show the least bit of interest. Instead, she raised her tail and stuck her rear end in the air.

“What’s going on with you? Trust me, Cleo, this isn’t the time to go all weird on me. I need to talk.” Taking her celery stick with her, she moved into the living room and fell onto the love seat.

“I work and slave and put in all kinds of overtime—without pay, I might add—and for what? Mr. Sullivan doesn’t appreciate me. Yet it’s
my
decorating ideas he uses. The worst part is, he doesn’t even bother to give me the credit.” She chomped off the end of the celery and chewed with a vengeance. The stalk teetered from the attack and then slowly curved downward.

Lacey studied the celery. “This might as well be my backbone,” she muttered. Unable to sit still any longer, she paced her compact living room. “I haven’t had a raise in the whole year I’ve worked for him, and in that time I’ve taken on much more responsibility and completed projects Mr. Sullivan couldn’t or wouldn’t do. Good grief, if it weren’t for me, Mr. Sullivan wouldn’t know what was going on in his own business.” By this time she was breathless and irate. “I do more work than he does, and he’s the owner, for heaven’s sake!”

Clearly Cleo agreed, because she let out a low, wailing moan. Lacey had never owned a cat before, but after a devastating divorce she’d needed someone. Or some thing. The thing had turned out to be Cleo.

She’d first spotted Cleo in a pet-shop window, looking forlorn. Cleo’s brother and sister had been sold two weeks earlier, and Cleo was all alone. Abandoned, the half-grown kitten gazed, dejected and miserable, onto the world that passed her by.

Lacey had been suffering from the same emotions herself, and once they met the two had become fast friends. No fool, the pet-store owner knew a sale when he saw one. He’d made some fast soft-shoe moves to convince Lacey what a good investment Cleo would be. If she bred her and sold off the litter, within a year or so, he claimed, her original investment would be returned to her.

Lacey hadn’t been so keen on the breeding aspect of the deal, but it had sounded like something she should try. She wanted companionship, and after her disastrous marriage she was through with men. A cat wouldn’t lie or cheat or cause hurt. Peter had done all three with bone-cutting accuracy.

Good ol’ Peter, Lacey mused. She should be grateful for all the lessons he’d taught her. Perhaps someday she would be able to look back on her marriage without the crushing pain she felt now. He’d vowed to love and cherish her but then calmly announced one Sunday afternoon, without warning, that he was leaving her for someone else.

Someone else
was a tall blonde with baby blue eyes and a voluptuous figure. Lacey had sized up the competition, decided she didn’t stand a chance, and signed the divorce papers. Oh, there’d been some haggling, but she’d left that to her attorney and stayed out of it as much as possible. As soon as her divorce was final, she’d uprooted herself, moved to San Francisco, located a job she loved, and started life all over again.

Sort of.

This time, she was playing it smart. Men were completely out of the picture. For the first time, she was supporting herself. For the first time, she didn’t need anyone else. Because it could happen all over again. Another blonde with a
Playboy
figure could disrupt her life a second time. It was best to play it safe. Who needed that kind of grief? Not her!

Lacey wasn’t discounting her assets. With her straight brown hair sculpted around her ears, and equally dark eyes, she resembled a lovable pixie. She was barely five feet tall, while her brother, who was five years older, was nearly six feet. Why nature had short-changed her in the height department, she would never understand.

After the divorce, Lacey had felt emotionally battered and lost. Bringing Cleo into her life had helped tremendously, so much that Lacey figured she could do without a man. Her cat provided all the companionship she needed.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Lacey said, glancing down at her fidgeting feline friend. “I couldn’t agree with you more. I’m a gutless wonder. The real problem is I don’t want to quit my job. All I’m looking for is to be paid what I’m worth, which is a whole lot more than I’m making now.” She’d come out of the divorce with a hefty settlement; otherwise she’d be in dire financial straights.

Cleo concurred with a low wail, unlike any sound Lacey could ever remember her making.

Lacey studied her cat. “You all right, girl? You don’t sound right.”

Cleo thrust her hind end into the air again and shot across the room to attack her catnip mouse. Whatever was troubling her had passed. At least Lacey hoped it had.

Muttering to herself, Lacey returned to the kitchen and reexamined the contents of her refrigerator. There wasn’t anything there she’d seriously consider eating. The leftover Chinese containers were filled with hard, dried-out rice and a thick red sauce with what had once been sweet-and-sour pork. The meat had long since disappeared, and the sauce resembled cherry gelatin. The only edible items were the tulip bulbs, not that she’d seriously consider dining on them.

She’d hoped to treat herself to something extravagant to celebrate her raise. Domino’s Pizza was about as extravagant as she got. But she wasn’t doing any celebrating this night. If she wanted dinner, she’d need to fix it herself.

Her cupboards weren’t promising: a couple of cans of soup mingled with fifteen of gourmet cat food.

Soup.

Her life had deteriorated to a choice between cream of mushroom and vegetarian vegetable. Blindly she reached for a can and brought out the vegetable. The freezer held a loaf of bread. Her choice of sandwiches was limited to either peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese.

“Sometimes I think I hate you!” The words came through the kitchen wall as clearly as if the person saying them were standing in the same room.

Lacey sighed. Her neighbor, Jack Walker, and his girlfriend were at it again. She hadn’t formally met the man who lived next door, which was fine with her. The guy suffered from severe woman problems; from what she’d heard through the wall, it sounded as if the pair was badly in need of therapy. Lacey avoided Jack like the plague, despite his numerous attempts at striking up an acquaintance. She was polite but firm, even discouraging. She had to give him credit. He didn’t accept
no
easily. Over the months, his methods had become increasingly imaginative. He’d tried flowers, tacked notes to her door, and had once attempted to lure her into his apartment with the offer of dinner. Of all his tactics, the promise of a meal had been the most tempting, but Lacey knew trouble when she saw it and resisted.

As far as she was concerned, dating Jack was out of the question, especially since he was already involved with someone else. Lacey had lost count of the times she’d heard him arguing with his girlfriend. Some nights she was forced to turn on her stereo to block out the noise.

But being the polite, don’t-cause-problems sort of person she was, Lacey had never complained. She might as well throw herself down on the carpet and instruct people to walk all over her.

“I wasn’t always a worm,” she complained to Cleo. “It’s only in the last year or so that I’ve lost my self-confidence. I’d like to blame Mr. Sullivan, but I can’t. Not when I’m the one who’s at fault. You’d think it’d be easy to ask for a little thing like a raise, wouldn’t you? It isn’t, yet I’m left feeling like Oliver Twist. At least he had the courage to ask for more.

“Mr. Sullivan should thank his lucky stars. I’m good at what I do, but does he notice? Oh, no. He just takes me for granted.”

Having finished this tirade, she noticed that Cleo had disappeared. Even her cat had deserted her. She found Cleo on the windowsill, meowing pathetically.

Lacey lifted the cat in her arms and petted her. “Have I been so wrapped up in my own problems that I’ve ignored you?”

Cleo leaped out of the embrace and raced into the bedroom.

The arguing continued in the other apartment.

“Sarah, for the love of heaven, be reasonable!” Jack shouted.

“Give it to him with both barrels,” Lacey said under her breath. “I bet you didn’t know Jack was dating on the side, did you? Well, don’t get down on yourself. I didn’t know what a womanizer Peter was either.”

Sarah apparently heeded her advice, because the shouting intensified. Jack, who generally remained the calmer of the two, was also losing it.

If she listened real hard, she might be able to figure out the cause of their dispute, but frankly Lacey wasn’t that interested.

“I saw him with someone new just last week,” she added, just for fun. Lacey had bumped into Jack at the mailbox. There’d been a woman with him and it wasn’t Sarah. But it was always Sarah who came back. Always Sarah he quarreled with. The poor girl apparently cared deeply for him. More fool she.

“I’m having vegetarian vegetable soup,” Lacey informed Cleo as she strolled into the room, thinking her pet would want to know. “It isn’t anything that would interest you, unfortunately.” Whatever had been troubling her cat earlier was under control for the moment.

Dinner complete, Lacey set her steaming bowl of soup and her grilled cheese sandwich on the table. She’d just sat down when something hit the wall in the apartment next door. Instinctively, she jumped.

Angry voices escalated. Jack was no longer calm and in control. In fact, it sounded as if he’d lost his cool completely. The two were shouting at each other, each trying to drown the other out.

Lacey sighed. Enough was enough. Setting her napkin aside, she went over to the kitchen wall and knocked politely. Either they didn’t hear her or they chose to ignore her, something they did with increasing frequency.

She’d just sat down again when an explosion of noise nearly jerked her off the chair. One or the other of the disgruntled lovers had decided to turn on the radio. Full blast.

The radio was turned off as abruptly as it had been turned on, followed by a tirade from Jack.

The radio was switched back on.

Off.

Once again, ever so politely, Lacey tapped the wall.

They ignored her.

Then, for whatever reason, there was silence. Blissful silence. Whatever had plagued the two was settled. Either that or they’d murdered one another. Whichever it was, the silence was bliss.

When Lacey had finished her dinner, she washed the few dishes she’d used. Cleo continued to weave her sleek body between Lacey’s ankles, meowing and wailing all the while. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” Lacey asked again.

Squatting down, she ran her hand over the cat’s spine. Cleo arched her back and cried once more.

“You don’t seem to be yourself,” Lacey commented, concerned.

It hit her then, right between the eyes. “You’re in heat! Oh, my goodness, you’re in heat.” How could she have been so obtuse?

Leaving the kitchen, she rooted through her personal telephone directory, searching for the name the pet-shop owner had given her. If she was going to breed Cleo, she needed to talk to this woman first.

“Poor, poor Cleo,” Lacey said sympathetically. “Trust me, sweetie, men aren’t worth all this trouble.” She quickly located the phone number and punched it out.

“I’m Lacey Lancaster,” she said hurriedly into the receiver. “The owner of Pet’s World gave me your number. I bought an Abyssinian several months ago.”

No sooner had she introduced herself when the arguing in the next-door apartment resumed.

“I’m sorry, dearie, but I can’t understand you.” The woman on the other end of the line spoke with a soft Irish accent.

“I said I purchased an Abyssinian cat—”

“It sounds like you’ve a party going on.”

“There’s no party.” Lacey spoke louder, close to shouting herself.

“Perhaps you should call me back when your guests have left,” came the soft Irish brogue. With that the line was disconnected.