Itty Bitty Kitties

3. A giant sloth and a feral feline

3

A giant sloth and a feral feline

I did my best to shake off the terror and subsequent anger that the uninvited visitor to our car had caused, but the moment of freedom and independence had been ruined. I turned up the radio in an attempt to regain the positive vibes I’d been enjoying before, but it didn’t work.

Pretty Kitty refused to even look in my direction. She obviously blamed me for the entire fiasco.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” I explained as if she could understand my words. She resolutely ignored me, opting instead to furiously lick her already-clean right shoulder. Somehow feeling the need to justify myself to her, I said, “I didn’t want him here either.”

When she continued to ignore me, I decided to stop trying. She would forgive me in due time. She always did, but it had to be on her schedule, not mine. If I tried to force it, the result would be a longer shunning. I’d had enough cats over the years to know that.

We approached another fast-food chicken restaurant, so I pulled into the drive-up to get another bucket of deliciousness. This time I left the lid in place, not wanting the delectable aroma to cause a repeat of the almost-disaster that happened earlier.

When we arrived at the town where my cousin lived, I instantly fell in love with the quaint atmosphere. It was literally a one-stoplight town, with one flashing red light at the four-way stop. People were out walking on the sidewalks, kids were riding bikes, and everyone looked happy and friendly. It was so different from the pinched, unhappy faces of the hurried people I was used to seeing.

At home, people only seemed to go outside for their regimented 30-minutes of daily exercise. In this town, people were strolling and chatting, like they were honestly enjoying their time outside––not being forced to inhale a few breaths of fresh air, despite their busy schedules.

The hometown grocery store sat on one of the corners at the light, so I checked it out as we drove past. It looked like the kind of place that would have creaky wood floors and just a few of each item, unlike the overstocked, white-tiled mega-store with bright florescent lights that I was used to working in. My plan was to take a few days off to settle in before applying for a job at the market. I had found over the years that grocery stores were almost always hiring, so with my experience, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting hired there.

I had a good amount of money saved up, since I had managed to cancel my classes for this semester in time to get a refund when I found out about the baby. I didn’t want to blow through my savings before the baby was even born, though. Smiling as I peeked in the rear view mirror at the red brick grocery building and discovered it had a giant, faded painting of a vintage flour company logo, I decided that I was going to fit in here just fine. I had always felt like I was meant to be a small-town girl.

Even though the grocery store was small, it likely served as the hub of activity for the entire town. Once I worked there, I would know everyone and all of their business, just like in the Hallmark Channel movies I loved to watch when I had a couple of hours to spare.

I wouldn’t become a gossip queen, but it would be nice to really get to know the people of this town and what was going on with them. There had been a lot of regulars at the superstore where I worked at home, but no one took the time to say more than a quick “Hello” or a polite “Thank you” before moving on. I could see this being the type of place where people actually looked you in the eye and took the time to stop and chat for a moment. I might be able to make some real connections here. It would be wonderful, after always feeling slightly out of place in the suburbs.

My imagination wandered until I was picturing my baby going to school. He or she would have a small class that formed a tight-knit group of friends. I would know all of the parents and their families, so I wouldn’t have to worry about allowing my child to spend the night at their houses.

This town was exactly the kind of place where I wanted to live and raise my baby. I would find a tiny, cute house here, so my child could have the kind of school experience I had always dreamed about. It would be completely different than my over-filled school, where I graduated with over a thousand kids––most of them completely unknown to me.

At a small school, if my kid chose to try out for a sport or band or student government or theatre or any other extra curricular activity, he or she would have a real chance of making it in. At my high school, dozens of kids had shown up for every opening, so it was difficult to participate in any school-sponsored pursuits. I had given up after applying for a few teams and never getting chosen.

Instead, I had spent my spare time working at the grocery store, drawing in my sketchbook, and saving money for my future. That savings had allowed me to go to college on a part-time basis for several years. My parents would have never been able to afford to pay for it, so I worked and took a few classes as I had time and could afford them. Granted, I had never counted on becoming pregnant and having to quit college to raise a baby on my own, but I guess life is full of surprises.

Following my phone’s directions to the address my cousin had given me, we made it to his house without further incident. His gray clapboard house with crisp white trim featured a huge front porch with a red hanging swing. I could immediately picture myself relaxing out there with a tall glass of strawberry lemonade, reading a trashy novel.

I couldn’t resist driving around to explore the neighborhood a little. I discovered a pristine park with cushy rubber ground cover to give the kids a safe spot to land, if they fell. Finding a shady parking spot, I pulled in to watch the kids play for a bit. Their laughter and yells of glee, wafted in through my car’s open roof. After placing a comforting palm on my belly, I told my unborn child to listen to them. “That will be you, one day,” I promised. Picturing us walking down here to spend a few hours burning off extra energy was easy. I would sit on a bench to make friends with the other mothers as my child formed early friendships with the kids that he or she would eventually go to school with.

After exploring the town a little more, I went back to Van’s and breathed a sigh of relief after pulling into his driveway and parking. This was a safe place where I wouldn’t be judged for my decisions. During my time here, I would be able to rest and regroup in order to figure out a solid plan for my future… make that OUR future. I patted my belly and smiled down at a still furious-looking P.K.

“We’re welcome here,” I said aloud to reassure us all before adding, “and we’re going to be just fine.”

Wanting to believe that, I carried P.K’s crate up Van’s porch steps. Finding the paper where I had jotted down the entry code to unlock his door, I entered in the numbers. I heard the lock click and was able to turn the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Deciding maybe I had locked, rather than unlocked it, I tried the code again. This time the doorknob wouldn’t turn. Realizing I had it right the first time, I re-entered the code and tried to open the door. It was as if a large piece of furniture was sitting in front of the door. “That’s one way to stop burglars,” I muttered under my breath.

Not wanting to have to call Van at work over something so silly, I pushed on the door with all of my might. The door finally slid open and I squeezed through with P.K.’s crate in tow. Once inside, I turned around to see what the obstruction had been, only to find a dog that looked identical to the one that had jumped into my car earlier.

This dog, though, appeared to have the energy level of a sloth. She was resting on a rug in front of the door. When I had shoved the door open, the rug and dog had slid along the wood floor. Despite this and a stranger entering her home, the dog continued to relax on the rug.

“Some guard dog you are,” I said to the animal. She flapped her tail a couple of times, but that was all of the energy she managed to summon.

A hateful hiss erupted from P.K.’s crate. The dog lifted its head to peer in and see what all of the fracas was. Evidently deciding it wasn’t cause for major concern, the dog flopped her giant black head back on the ground and rolled over on her back. Unable to resist, I bent and gave her a belly rub, which earned me a bitter glare from inside the crate.

“Oh, stop it,” I said to my cat, “This dog is obviously much more civilized than that monster we encountered earlier.”

Taking P.K.’s crate to the opposite end of the living room, I set her down as far from the dog as I could––just in case the canine suddenly had a burst of energy and decided to chase after her. I almost laughed at that mental image. From the looks of Van’s dog, it didn’t appear that she would do anything ‘suddenly.’ I opened the door to the crate and decided to let the cat emerge when she felt comfortable.

It only took a few trips to bring the rest of our stuff inside. After the first two rounds, I left the front door open with no fear that either animal was going to run off. Van’s big, black dog hadn’t budged and P.K. was holding her head in the air, glaring at the room at large as if she smelled an especially foul odor. I felt bad that she wasn’t happy, but assured her that she would get used to it, and that we would find our own place soon.

After peeking out the window of the back door, I was relieved to see that Van had a fenced-in backyard. As much as I hated to let her outside, Pretty Kitty was adamant that she be let out to do her business. She steadfastly refused to use a litter box as if she deemed that to be beneath her. Truth be told, I was relieved to not have to clean out a litter box, especially now that I was pregnant.

I held the large doggy door open and called my cat. Unable to resist the fresh air wafting in from outside, P.K. took a tentative step outside of her crate. Keeping a wary eye on the dog, she took a few slow steps before darting between my legs and out the opening in the door. I wasn’t sure she would know how to use the unfamiliar doggy door without me holding it open, but I figured I had a few minutes before she would want back in, so I quickly went in search of the bedroom where I would be sleeping until I got a job and found a place of my own to live in.

Proving that he’s full of surprises, Van had a lovely room made up for me. The four-poster bed featured a handmade quilt that I recognized as our grandmother’s work. A clean, fluffy towel and washcloth were neatly folded on the end of the bed. I was touched that he would go to so much effort to make me feel comfortable.

Just as I was finishing unpacking my clothes into the antique cherry wood dresser, I heard the most god-awful noise imaginable. I sprinted from the room in a panic, convinced that my sweet cat was under attack. The screeching and my subsequent sprint through the living room were enough to make even Van’s lazy black dog raise her head.

I ran out to the back porch without a single thought for my own safety. The fact that my beloved pet was in trouble was the only thing on my mind. I was appalled to find a scraggly orange tabby cat attacking my sweet white baby. The mongrel was behind her and had ahold of her neck. As I approached them, it dawned on me what was really happening.

“No-oooo!” I yelled, but it was too late. I briefly considered finding a hose to spray on them to put a stop to their mating, but decided that it was dogs that trick worked for. Besides, by the time I looked around for the nozzle to turn on the water, there was a horrific scream and the big event was finished.

P.K. promptly turned around and smacked the tomcat on the nose, which made me laugh despite the despicable situation. “You go, Girl.” I praised my purebred Persian cat as her attacker slunk away under the fence and into the neighbor’s yard.

“Typical male, all-in for the fun, but then shirking his responsibilities,” I mumbled, bitterly.

I sat down on the back porch steps and my cat came and wound herself around my legs. “Poor baby,” I soothed her, scratching her ears. “Looks like we both might be in the same situation… knocked up and alone.”

“Don’t worry,” I promised her. “I’ll find his owner and make sure they get him neutered, so this never happens to you, or any other innocent cat, ever again.”

Deciding to do just that before my outrage dissipated, I left P.K. safely inside Van’s house and marched next door to knock on the front door. If the people who lived here didn’t own that orange tabby cat, they probably at least knew who did.

Imagine my surprise when I recognized the woman that opened the door. “You!” I shouted, and it took all of my willpower to refrain from wrapping my hands around her long, skinny neck.