Serendipity and Me (9781101602805) (23 page)

 

This is not a good time

to argue.

I wasn't finding her outside

anyway.

 

I stare at Dad

afraid to ask.

 

He stares back.

You were wrong

to lie to me, Sara.

And you were wrong

to look through my things.

And you were wrong

to leave your room.

 

But I was wrong, too,

not talking about Mom

not letting you have a cat.

 

I wait

hoping, hoping.

 

Your punishment is

you are grounded for two weeks.

My punishment is

you can have a cat.

 

I jump into his arms.

I love your punishment,

I tell him.

Thank you, Daddy.

 

 

 

I can finally have a cat

but the one I want

is gone.

 

Dad tells me not to worry

but how can I not?

 

She's a baby

out there alone.

 

I finally drift off to sleep.

Am I dreaming?

 

 

She is calling at the back door

and sharpening her claws

on the doorjamb.

She wants in so badly

she flings herself

like sticky tape

at the screen door

claws hook and hold

 

and she is stuck

clinging

hanging

singing a sad song

 

impossible to ignore.

 

 

 

I wake up suddenly.

Was I dreaming

or did I really hear something?

 

I go out to the kitchen

and there in the morning light

hanging on the screen door

is Serendipity.

 

Serendipity!

I run to detach her.

Her body swings out

when I open the door

but she is truly stuck.

 

Dad comes to the rescue

lifting each claw

from the tiny steel squares.

See? What did I tell you?

She knows a good thing

when she sees it.

 

I cradle Serendipity in one arm

and use the other

to give Dad a hug.

 

I know a good thing

when I see it,

too.

 

 

 

How to hold a sleepy kitty . . .

 

. . . in the nap of your arm

 

near the crook of your dream

 

in the armchair of your tenderness

 

on the pillow of your heart. . . .

 

 

 

It's maybe six months later. . . .

 

Dad hands me one of the tennis racquets

that live near the front door—

within easy reach for our game time.

 

We leave the lights on in the family room

to welcome us when we return

and wave at Mrs. Whittier

through her picture glass window.

 

We walk past Mom's dorm

in the campus dark.

 

Dad's carrying his racquet like a banjo

and the bright lights from the courts

make him look like a shiny country star.

 

He stops to see if Serendipity will pause.

 

She's following us

slipping beneath the dew-moistened bushes

raising the smell of wet leaves and earth.

 

She thinks she's invisible

he says, grinning.

But she's not.

 

Her whiteness glows against the dark.

She's a fluffy ghost

on a moonlit mission.

 

We begin to play

pretending we don't see her.

Each twang on the racquet

makes her tail jump

as she crouches at the end of the net

waiting.

 

And then the ball falls into the net

and she races to it

jumps on it

throws it in the air

and flies for freedom to the other side.

 

We can't help laughing

at our little kitty

Serendipity

 

like we do so often

these days.

Acknowledgments

Many, many thanks to the following people (and cats):

my kind and patient agent, Stephen Fraser, who loved this story when it was still a picture book and he was still an editor;

my wonderful cat-loving editor, Joy Peskin, who guided me to find the story beneath the story;

my other thoughtful editor, Catherine Frank, who helped me finish the process;

my critiquers and writing buddies, especially Janet Settimo, Peggy Reiff Miller, Mary Ann Moore, Doris Holik Kelly, Peggy Archer, Tracy Burchett, Diane Sutton, Erin Harden, Kathy Higgs-Coulthard, Kirsten Klassen, Carol Brodtrick, and George Ella Lyon;

my savior, who came to give us abundant life;

my parents, Sam and Barbara Marsh, who indulged the pet cravings of their daughters;

my husband, Marc, and my sons, Brendan and Corey, who are just as tickled by cat antics as I am;

my extended family, who have shared many a cat laugh with me, especially my sister-aunt, Kathy Hatchett-Toohey;

and finally, the cats I have lived with—Thomasina, my first cat; Stinky, the original dorm kitty; Jasmine, the fluffy white cat; Princess, the ever-reigning queen; Winnie, my first grandkitty; and Max and Murray, the cornfield boys.

I love you all.