So Bridget found her home at the young Ferguson household, in the hearts of a struggling accountant and a promising pre-med student. Jessica soon learned there was nothing wrong with the inquisitive kitten, although John harvested more doubts each day. But then, he had never bothered to find out why the rambunctious feline had come so cheap. If he had, with the memories of Sebastian still fogging his mind, John might never have picked Bridget.
Like you, he thought the small spotted kitten’s tale began with her pinched head squeezing out of her box. Actually, it started the same day Sebastian died. Indeed, this adventure began that very moment – for as Jessica’s aged protector breathed his last, the elderly owner of Jason’s Pet Store slid his creaking front door open on his way home after a hard day’s work. There in his dusty entryway sat a crumpled brown paper bag, its squashed base swaying back and forth.
Now Jason Alexander Scabbard had many reasons to ignore the discarded bit of trash that cluttered his storefront. He was tired and hungry, having forgotten to pack his lunch, and the walk home promised to be a long, hot one. But there was more to it than that. Jason was worn out. Five years past retirement, he still put more than 60 hours a week into a one-man business that rarely ever paid his bills. Jason had to do this, for no one else cared enough about his shop to keep it alive. Oh, Jason knew most people preferred those big pet supermarkets, but he couldn’t just abandon the old brick and mortar heritage of downtown. He had worked the area for more than 50 years, as his father had before him. It was part of the community! It meant something, even if other people were too blind to realize it.
With stubborn pride, Jason resisted everything to do with the modern world. He clung with fondness to his horse-hair broom, two-speed fan, dial phone (even if it no longer worked), and his 1930s typewriter-keyed, bell-clanging brass cash register. Jason treasured the sound it made, a pleasant ring that echoed through his life. But even more, he harbored a deep love of animals large and small. Each day it saddened him to find more and more neglected and mistreated dogs and cats… some left outside on hot days without shade and fresh water, others living from trash dumpsters, often abandoned by thoughtless people who lost their love for their pets once these poor beasts grew out of their infancy. More than anything, Jason made it his mission to care for those forgotten creations of God. So when he saw that rolled-up bag, and heard the weak moans coming from its thin walls, Jason didn’t hesitate. Lifting it with a loving touch, he went back into his shop and called his oldest friend, Pepper James.
“Pep,” he yelled into the receiver, “you still there?”
“Would you be talking to me if I wasn’t?”
“Now, Pep, I was just afraid of interrupting your supper.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you?”
Jason chuckled. “When I thought you’d invite me over!”
“Oh, har! You eat here more often than you do at your own table, you old skinflint!”
That brought a full laugh, which Jason had to choke off when he felt his false teeth coming free. What was in the bag must have heard them clicking, for it started rambling in his grasp.
“Oh, I’m sorry, little fella!” Jason exclaimed, laying the bag down. Then he unrolled the crimped paper neck, allowing in the open air. As he expected, a tiny kitten soon stumbled out – a poor little thing, underfed, only a few weeks past opening her eyes. The dogs in the backroom kennel soon smelled the newcomer, raising such a ruckus that the puppies out front just had to join in. The alarmed kitten threw herself back in the bag.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said, peering into its dark folds. The spotted kitten huddled against its ragged back, her hair all aflutter, her eyes glowing. “You’ve got to forgive them,” Jason assured her. “They haven’t seen you yet, you know.”
The phone clattered to life. “Are you still there?” came Pepper’s crotchety voice. “What’s going on over there?”
“Oh, Pep – I was wondering if you were still there. I need to bring another one over.”
“Oh, heckfire, Jason! It’s Friday night already!”
“I know, Pep.”
“It’s Friday night! Margaret’s got some stew cook’n!”
“That sounds good, Pep.”
“Oh, heckfire! I mean – oh, agh! You big, blundering, bubble-brained… you can’t just bring me every little critter you find hurting in the world, Jason! You can’t do it! By golly, Jason, you really irk me! What’s it been, now, 38 years? Yes, it has – 38 years, Jason! For 38 years… no, that’s 39 years! For 39 years, Jason, you’ve been bringin’ me every dang stray you’ve been able to latch your itchy little fingers on – but no more. No more, I tell you! You can keep your birds and cats and poodles and frogs and turtles and skunks and lizards and birds and stuff! I can’t afford to do it anymore! I’m tired, Jason, tired – and Margaret’s got some stew simmerin’ and I’m hungry and it’s Friday night and I’m going home. Now! I’m already out the door and gone, so don’t call me again!”
“OK, Pep. I’ll be right over.”
“Oh, you kill me. Do you know that? You kill me.”
“She shouldn’t need more than some vitamins, and maybe some worming and a good dip.”
“Oh, heckfire, Jason. All right. Just get over here quick, will you?”
“Sure, Pep. Tell Margaret I’ll want cream with my cornbread.”
So Jason walked the three blocks over to Pepper’s crumbling veterinary hospital, where his childhood friend did all he could to help jumpstart the little kitten back to health. After a vitamin shot and a treat, Margaret came downstairs to give Bridget a gentle bath, killing her fleas and three miserable ticks. Jason then carried her back to his shop, all to let her gather her rest through the night within his pen of nine other kittens. Jason didn’t even wait to taste the cornbread and stew – his new little girl was his first priority.
“Now you just rest,” he told little Bridget, laying her on a soft pillow among all the other cats. “You’ll make plenty of new friends now.”
Or so he had thought, until he returned the next morning. That’s when the chaos began.