Chapter 14.

“Josh, I told Jennifer very clearly, I cannot make any exceptions. No pets.” The woman of the large white house had been hanging up laundry when the man Josh drove between the stone posts. She marched across the lawn still holding a pair of damp underpants.

The Cat, watching from the car window, thought she had the posture of a mother cat about to cuff a naughty kitten. The woman’s shaggy dog, on the other hand, ambled over and greeted the Cat with a play-bow. Maybe the Cat would play with the dog. Maybe he wouldn’t.

“I know, I know.” The man sounded tired, perhaps from his recent convulsions. “No pets. This cat isn’t my pet. I’m just keeping it—”

“Jennifer admitted you’ve been feeding it,” said the woman. “That’s always a mistake. You know, I’d rather you’d approached me about this directly, instead of—”

“Just a minute,” said the man Josh. “Who’s ‘Jennifer’?”

The woman frowned. “Jennifer Borden, of course, your colleague at the kennel.” Then she gave a little laugh. “Oh—I suppose she’s gotten you to call her ‘Rune.’ She likes to think she’s some kind of psychic. She said you were ‘at a vulnerable point in your journey’ and needed ‘animal companionship’.”

“Rune was way out of line,” said the man. He pushed himself wearily out of the car. “Anyway, Barbara, I wasn’t going to bring the cat into the house. If it could just stay in my car overnight . . .”

The woman Barbara pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to be hard-hearted, but this is Lola’s home (and my home, of course), and she won’t tolerate—”

All right, the Cat decided, he would play with the dog. He reached a paw out to bat at the dog’s plumy tail. The dog whirled, barking joyfully.

“Lola! Come here.” The dog’s ear flicked back at her person, but she didn’t obey. The Cat jumped down, let the dog chase him to the mulberry tree, and leaped onto a low branch.

The woman turned on the man. “I don’t know why I should have to argue. You signed my lease, didn’t you? The lease says NO PETS.”

“I know, I get it,” said the man. “But it’s not my cat—I’m just— I’ve had a really hard day. If you could just—”

“If you won’t remove the cat, that would be a violation of your lease.”

“You mean, you’re going to throw me out just for having a cat in my car overnight?” The man’s voice was louder.

The woman raised her voice, too. “I mean, if you insist on violating the terms of the lease . . .” She took a deep breath. “Well, then I have no choice but to have to ask you to vacate the apartment.”

The Cat leaned from the branch to bat at the dog’s tail again, but now the dog was distracted by the bickering humans. Trotting over to the woman, the dog nudged her hand. The Cat was a little uneasy about the humans, too. If they were cats, their tails would be puffed out.

“So that’s the way it is,” said the man. “Okay. Thanks a lot for your understanding. I am vacating.” He headed for the apartment stairs. Barbara headed for the Cat, who jumped out of the tree and scampered back to the safety of the car.

In a few minutes the man Josh reappeared with a stack of cartons. Watching him, the woman gave a deep sigh. “You know, Josh, it’s too bad for us to quarrel. . . . I’ve had a hard day myself. I thought I had just enough cash to pay for having the septic tank pumped, and now they’re telling me the system won’t pass Title V—I have to put in a new tank and leaching field, to the tune of twenty thousand dollars.”

The man didn’t look at her. As he shoved cartons into the car, the Cat crept up onto the back shelf.

The man Josh carried another load of his belongings down from the apartment, and then another, working so fast that he panted as he lugged out the third load. Cramming it all in his car, he swung back into the front seat and started the engine.

 

 

 

 

I am not a cat man, but a dog man, and all felines can tell this at a glance—a sharp, vindictive glance.

James Thurber