Grace Interrupted Page 4

  I noticed movement behind the fence, low to the ground. Probably a fox, or maybe a rabbit. It didn’t move like a rabbit, but heck, in this pounding rain the poor thing’s goal was to find shelter, not frolic in the grass. It wasn’t fit for man nor beast out here tonight, and I felt sorry for the little critter, whatever it was.

  I pulled onto the driveway, up past the bump where the concrete had cracked and shifted like tectonic plates. The bump always reminded me that the driveway was due for repair. Way overdue. Just about everything in the house was ready for renovation. The structure was old and my mom had let things deteriorate. Simple maintenance was no longer an option. Full overhauls were needed in every corner and I had no money for any of it. The money part of our inheritance had gone to my sister, Liza, who had quickly blown through it all. Had we worked together and pooled our resources, who knows? But cooperating with me had never been Liza’s style. Wherever she was right now. My sister. I sighed.

  Dark clouds. Dark moods. I needed something to lighten my spirits and I knew I wasn’t going to get it out here.

  I turned off the car and took a moment to gather my purse and umbrella as I plotted the quickest path to the back door. An awning there provided some protection against the elements, but in a deluge like this, every second counted. I pulled out my keys and prepared to sprint.

  Just as I was about to open the car door, movement caught my eye again. This time it appeared as a shadow racing past me on the driver’s side. Whatever it was had decided to take shelter from the storm beneath my car. Fine and dandy for the critter, but what if it was a hedgehog, or raccoon? I was wearing a skirt—which left my legs bare. The minute I stepped out of my car, the hungry beastie might spy my ankle and think: “Dinner!”

  Taking my chances, I spoke to my undercarriage guest. “Hope you stay dry under there, buddy.” I grabbed my belongings and opened the door. Rain sliced in sideways, drenching me in the second it took to whoosh my umbrella open. With my left hand clamped around my purse, I raced for my back door only to have the wind whip the umbrella inside-out above my head. A noise like “eeee” burst out from somewhere deep inside me as the cold water soaked through my clothes. There were only about fifteen steps to the safety of my stoop and back-door awning, but they were the longest fifteen steps of my life. I hurried to stand beneath the shelter, relieved that no creature had jumped out to attack me.

  Lightning zinged across the sky, backlighting massive rain clouds. A second later, thunder cracked so close and so loudly I dropped my keys. In the breathless quiet before the next reverberating boom, I stooped to pick them up.

  That’s when I heard it.

  A sad, elongated cry. Kind of like Chewbacca from Star Wars, except much higher pitched. Coming from underneath my car.

  Not a hedgehog, not a fox.

  Crouched as I was next to my wrought iron railing, I had a clear view of my car and the tiny head that poked out from beneath. A cat squinted against the rain, then pulled its head back under the car far enough that I could barely make out the white tip of its nose and white underside of its chin. It meowed again, asking for help.

  The poor little thing. I wondered who it belonged to.

  “Hang on a second,” I said, picking up my keys and unlocking the back door. I dropped my belongings inside, grabbed the closest handy item to serve as a makeshift umbrella—a plastic bowl from the countertop—and braved the elements. The cat backed up as I approached.

  “Here, kitty,” I said, hoping those were the magic words to encourage feline cooperation. Of course, if I were huddled alone against the rain and some giant stranger with a bowl on her head called to me, I might not be so willing to oblige.

  I crouched down at the passenger side, but the cat backed up farther to where I couldn’t see it anymore. Dropping to my knees on the driveway I tried again. “Kitty?”

  Two eyes glowed back at me.

  “Come out now. I’ll take you inside where it’s warm.”

  Unconvinced, the cat didn’t budge.

  The plastic bowl was doing a nice job of keeping the top of my head dry, but the rest of me would need to be wrung out pretty soon. Temperatures were dropping, the rain was pelting, and I shivered as water sluiced down my back. “Come on. Please? Otherwise I’ll leave you out here and you won’t like that.”

  The cat knew I was bluffing. I could tell by the way she blinked.

  “Okay, fine. I’m serious.”

  I got up and headed to my back door, thinking maybe my leaving would inspire it to emerge. I’d never had a cat before—my mom was allergic—so I wasn’t quite sure what psychology might work. In the meantime, back in my kitchen where it was warm and dry, I hurried to the refrigerator to grab a bowl of milk. That’s what cats liked, wasn’t it?

  No milk.

  I checked my supply of half-and-half. Only enough for about two more cups of coffee and I didn’t want to part with it. What else, what else? I pulled open the small condiment drawer and found a gold mine. Cheese. I grabbed a chunk of Muenster and headed back outside, trusty bowl back atop my head.

  A car sloshed by, its headlights tracing across my lawn, across me. The neighbors already talked—single girl living with two men in a house that desperately needed repair. What would they think of me kneeling next to my car in the rain, wearing a bowl for a hat? But there I was.

  “Kitty,” I said coaxingly, “this is for you.”

  I broke off a small piece of the cheese and reached in. The cat backed up again.

  “We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t trust me. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to find out who you belong to.”

  Maybe it was a feral cat and maybe I had no business feeding it. But something told me to keep trying. Lightning zinged again, and I felt the rumble of thunder through the ground. The cat felt it too, because it picked up one paw, and inched backward.

  I dropped the cheese crumble as far in as I could reach. Then I waited.

  The cat stared at me, then looked at the cheese. Even in the low light under the car, I could see its whiskers twitch as it caught the scent. The cat inched forward, watching me constantly. Finally, it snatched the cheese and started to chew, never taking its eyes off me.

  Little by little, feeling like Elliott in the movie E.T., I dropped tiny bits of cheese in a path that brought the cat closer. I knew I had just a single shot at grabbing it. If I didn’t get a good hold, we’d be back to square one in a hurry.

  My legs were soaked, my back was heavy with rain, and I realized that the bowl I held tight made for one less hand I could use to nab the cat. So what if the last few square inches of my body were to get wet? I put the bowl down, gently, and tried not to wince as water saturated my head.

  I placed another cheese crumble about five inches beyond the shelter of the car. The cat would have to come out in the rain to get it. I had my doubts. And even if it did emerge, I knew the moment it felt the first raindrop, it would hightail it back to relative dryness. My one shot was a slim one.

  The cat eyed the last crumble.

  “No risk, no reward,” I said softly.

  Still under the car, but at the very edge, the cat looked up at me. I sat very still. “It’s okay,” I said. “Cheese. Right there. Just for you.”

  The cat eyed the cheese, looked up at me again. This close I could see that it was a black-and-white kitten, mostly black with a white belly and chin, and its front paws were white at the very tips. “Come on, honey,” I said, blinking through the water pouring down my face. “I’m getting really wet here and this isn’t a whole lot of fun.”

  The cat inched forward again, then jumped back as though startled. “No,” I said, “don’t, don’t, don’t.”

  I swear the cat heard me that time, because it moved forward in a belly crawl, its eyes on the prize. “That’s it,” I said, “that’s a good boy . . . or girl.”

  At that moment the wind shifted. That was all the cat—and I—needed.

  It pounced.


  I grabbed.

  In a long moment of terror where it squawked and screamed and clawed, I managed to get to my feet without dropping it. I held the cat as far from my body as possible. I had on a new sweater today and although it would probably shrink three sizes from being soaked, I would prefer if it didn’t get snagged, too. My bare forearms bore the brunt of the kitten’s desperate wrath. “Just a half second more,” I said as I ran up the back steps and through the open door. Triumphant, I kicked it shut behind me.

  Inside, the cat leaped from my grasp, racing out of the kitchen and into the dining room before I could call for it to stop. Not that it would have listened. The little thing was spooked, to be sure.

  The puddle at my feet was growing bigger by the second. I peeled my skirt from my legs, grimacing at the sucking sound it made. I’d left the bowl outside but I wasn’t about to rescue that now, too. I’d find it later. Maybe. Right now I needed to get out of my wet clothes. “Hey, cat,” I called. “I’m going upstairs to get changed.”

  No answer. Not that I expected one. I followed its path into the dining room and made a slow circuit of the area. Not here, but a soft thump from the next room gave me a clue. I peered around the corner into the living room just in time to see it disappear under my sofa.

  “Give me a minute, okay?” I said. “I’ll be right down.”

  I threw my wet clothing over the side of my bathtub and donned a pair of pajama pants and oversized T-shirt. Still chilled, I finger-combed my hair, pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks, and made my way down the stairs, quiet as a mouse. “Kitty,” I called in my most coaxing voice. “Kitty?”

  I got down on all fours and peered under the sofa again to find that the cat had backed up all the way to the wall. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The cat’s pupils were wide. They glowed, reflecting the adjacent room’s lights. “Come on out, honey. I need to find who lost you.”

  We both heard the back door open. The cat’s head jerked upward and it seemed momentarily confused as to what posed the greater threat: the big person on the floor, or whatever was now banging and calling from the kitchen. Two voices, animated, loud.

  I straightened and said, “I’m in here.”

  Bruce led the way into the living room, Scott close behind. Both surfer handsome, Scott was blond, tall, and probably one of the most trusting individuals I’d ever met. Bruce was shorter and had a more muscular build. By nature a nurturing individual, he also had a slightly more cynical view of the world.

  “What are you two doing home so early?” I asked. “And make sure you close the back door. We’ve got a cat in here.”

  “Did you say ‘cat’?” Scott asked.

  I’d returned to staring under the sofa as my roommates’ footsteps creaked across the wood floor. Bruce got down next to me and peered, too. “She meant to say ‘kitten’.”

  “It won’t trust me,” I said. “And I don’t want to reach under and grab. It might bite.”

  “Did you try feeding it anything?” Scott asked.

  I sat up on the back of my legs to tell them about my success with cheese and we decided to try again. While Scott went to the kitchen, Bruce gave my hair a once-over. “It looks like you just stepped out of the shower. You’re totally drenched. How long were you outside like that?”

  “Felt like forever.”

  “I’ll bet. And you’re still cold, aren’t you?”

  I admitted I was.

  “You’re going to get sick,” he said.

  “You don’t get sick from being cold or wet. You get sick from germs.”

  Bruce was shaking his head. “Mark my words. You’ll see. Tomorrow you’re going to come down with a nasty cold.”

  “No way.”

  I was spared further argument by Scott’s return. He’d pulled out four different varieties of cheese. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “Haven’t figured that one out yet,” I said, giving the plethora of cheese a perplexed look.

  “I didn’t know what kind the little kitten would like. Gruyere, Brie, Asiago, Muenster . . . what do you think?”

  We put a small crumb of Muenster just under the sofa and then littered a few more out in the open. “Let’s back up,” Bruce said. “Give the little thing some space.”

  We shuffled to the opposite side of the room to wait and watch.

  “You’ve had cats?” I asked.

  Bruce nodded. “But it’s been a while. The kitten is scared right now. No idea where it is or what we might do to it.”

  “I should ask the neighbors if anyone lost a cat,” I said.

  A huge clap of thunder shook the house, rattling the windows and making my feet rumble.

  “Not tonight you’re not,” Bruce said. “It’s not a fit night out for woman . . .” he pointed to me then to the cat who’d finally poked its head out. “Or beast.”

  Keeping a wary eye on us, the cat crept forward and picked up the next crumb of cheese, chewing excessively before eyeing the next piece, which was considerably closer to where we stood. We all waited, and I for one, held my breath.

  “It’s a tuxedo cat,” Bruce said quietly.

  “A what?”

  “See,” he said, keeping his voice low and slowly raising his finger to point, “black and white, like it’s wearing a tuxedo.”

  “It’s really cute,” I said.

  The cat must have heard me because at that moment it stopped eating and looked up. It opened its mouth and let out a despondent little cry that again reminded me of a tiny Chewbacca. Encouraged, I slowly lowered myself to the floor and crossed my legs, striving to appear less intimidating.

  “Good,” Bruce said under his breath as the cat took another cautious step toward me. “It’s sizing you up.”

  The cat made its way, one silent, guarded step after another, until it stood right next to me. I barely breathed. Then, in what seemed to me a decisive, no-turning-backnow move, it jumped into my lap and didn’t squirm away when I touched it.

  Emboldened, Bruce and Scott sat next to me on the floor. Bruce picked up the cat’s tail and gave it a quick perusal.

  “It likes me,” I said as I found a sweet spot behind its ears and started to rub.

  “She likes you,” Bruce corrected.

  “You sure?”

  He nodded.

  “She’s purring,” I said in amazement. “Can you believe it?”

  “Looks like she’s adopted you.”

  I shook my head. “This is somebody’s cat. Look how pretty she is. How clean. I bet a family lost her.”

  Scott chimed in. “No collar, and she’s clearly a kitten. I’d say no more than two or three months old. I bet she was dumped.”

  “Dumped?” I said, aghast. “How could anybody dump a sweet thing like this?”

  The cat circled in my lap, rubbing against the insides of my legs before finding a comfortable spot and settling in.

  “Happens,” Bruce said.

  “Still, I’m going to ask the neighbors if anyone is missing a kitten. Tomorrow,” I quickly added when they both looked alarmed. Changing the subject, I asked, “So you never answered me. How come you two are here so early?”

  Bruce got to his feet. “The store lost power. We’ve got the emergency generators going. In fact, we brought home a few treats. They won’t keep until tomorrow so we might as well enjoy them tonight.”

  Treats indeed. The cat allowed me to pick her up, and I cradled her in my arms, carrying her into the kitchen. The boys had brought home a half-dozen chocolate-covered strawberries and three slices of chocolate-chip cheesecake. “Oh, yum,” I said. “This is the perfect way to enjoy a stormy evening at home. Particularly after the stormy afternoon I had at work.” I told them about Rani and Tamara, and their elusive quarry, Zachary Kincade. “What a piece of work,” I said. “Supremely confident and ridiculously stuck on himself.”

  “An irresistible combination,” Scott said. “A lot of women go for that.”

  “This one doesn’t.”


  Bruce smiled at me. “You’re not most women.”

  Scott pointed to the kitten. “And what about our newest female in the house? What should we call her?”

  “I’m sure she already has a name,” I said, stroking under her chin. She raised her head as though begging: “More, more.” She had a patch of white on the right side of her nose and a completely white chin. Her whiskers were white, too, contrasting sharply with the pure black of her face. Such a cutie. Purring again. “We can’t name her. She belongs to someone else.”

  “I’m thinking she belongs to you,” Bruce said. “Hmm . . . what would make a good name? She’s got those cute little white tips on her front paws.”

  “And her back legs make it look like she’s wearing white hip boots,” Scott said, both of them totally ignoring my protests about naming a pet that didn’t belong to us.

  Bruce snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Boots!”

  Scott nodded. “I love it. We’ll call her Bootsie.”

  “No, no, no,” I started to say, but they cut me off.

  “I’ll pick up cat food tomorrow morning,” Scott said. “There’s that new boutique pet shop just a few doors down from ours. But right now, she needs a litter box.” He looked around the room, spied our dishpan in the sink, and emptied it of its few remaining drops of water. “This will do. We needed a new one anyway. I’ll shred some newspaper and set it up for our little Bootsie.”

  Bruce had already dropped to his knees. “The poor thing needs water,” he said, digging through the bottom cabinets. “There’s that little blue bowl in here somewhere . . . ah!” He emerged with the item in hand. “Do you think she’d prefer pink?”

  “I think she’d prefer to go back to her family,” I said. “Maybe there’s a little kid crying right now because she’s gone. I’ll have to take her back, wherever it is, tomorrow.”

  “Bootsie” took that moment to rest her nose in the crook of my elbow with one white-tipped paw draped over my forearm, totally relaxed. I craned my neck to look. Her eyes were closed.

  My two roommates exchanged a look. Bruce grinned. “Yeah. Uh-huh.”