Two

Before Ginny could gather her wits about her and prepare herself, Mortimer was crouched in front of her, ready to pounce on her precious cat. She tried to hold Tinkerbelle over her head, out of his reach, but Tinkerbelle had other ideas and jumped from her arms, leaving several long scratch marks, and headed for the nearest tree, with Mortimer just inches behind. Fortunately for the cat, she made it to the tree and was already on her way to the top before he got there.

“Mortimer! Leave that cat alone!” Beemer ordered, bending over, panting and out of breath from his unexpected sprint. He grabbed onto the big dog’s collar and tugged, but Mortimer wouldn’t budge. He had cat on his mind and continued barking and clawing at the tree trunk.

“He could have killed her!” Ginny screamed at him while vying for space at the base of the tall tree. “Why did you turn him loose like that? Couldn’t you see I had Tinkerbelle in my arms?”

“I didn’t turn him loose!” he growled back, nearly as loud as the dog. “He pulled away from me. See—the leash is still attached to his collar. What were you doing with that cat outside anyway?”

Ginny was growing more furious with each moment. “She’d been cooped up in that bathroom for more than three hours, Beemer. I brought her with me so I could lock my van.”

“You could have waited until I got back.”

“Why? So your dog could eat my cat?”

Beemer tugged on Mortimer’s collar again, to no avail.

Ginny grabbed hold of the trunk and stared up into the tree, trying to locate the frightened cat, but the branches were so close together and the leaves so thick she couldn’t see her. “My poor, poor cat. She’ll never come down. She must be frightened out of her wits.”

Beemer gave her shoulder a slight pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll go put Mortimer in the backyard then come back and we’ll figure out a way to get her down.” His voice had changed to kind and gentle, even reassuring.

Ginny had hoped that once Mortimer was out of sight Tinkerbelle would come down out of the tree and she could take her back to the safety of the bedroom. But, even though she called the cat over and over, Tinkerbelle was not to be seen.

Beemer returned a few minutes later with a ladder and a length of rope.

Ginny gave him an incredulous stare. “What are you going to do with those things?”

“I’m going up after her.”

“You can’t go after her. We can’t even see where she is.”

He gently pushed her aside then leaned the ladder against the tree. “It’d help if you’d steady this thing for me.”

She tried to wedge herself in front of him. “I’ll go up after her.”

“She’s up there because of my dog. I’m the one who should go after her.” He grabbed hold of her arm. “She scratched you?”

Ginny pulled her arm away. “She didn’t mean to. She was scared to death.”

“You need to put something on those. Looks like they’re pretty deep. But first you need to hold onto the ladder for me.”

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

He gave her a playful nudge before starting up the ladder. “Hey, you’re talking to an ex-Marine. Climbing a little tree is child’s play. I’ll have that cat down in a flash.”

She watched him deftly scale the tree. “Can you see her yet?”

“Nope,” his voice uttered from somewhere among the leaves and branches.

“How about now?” she asked a few seconds later.

“Nope. Still nothing.”

Ginny’s heart tied itself in a knot. What if Tinkerbelle had gone clear to the very tip top of the tree where the branches were small and yielding? She might fall. And even if she landed on her feet what about her unborn kittens?

“I think I see her! There’re some branches moving up near the top. Call her. See if she’ll come down to you.”

“Here, kitty, kitty. Tinkerbelle, come to Ginny. Here, kitty. Is she moving?”

“Umm, doesn’t look like it. I’ll have to go farther up.”

“Oh, Beemer, please be careful.” She watched as he worked his way up the tree, in and out of the thick leaves, cautiously moving from branch to branch. “It’ll be dark soon. She has to come down. She’s pregnant. Her kittens could be born anytime. She can’t stay up there all night.”

He shifted his position, parted a few leaves, and stared down at her. “I’m doing the best I can, Ginny.”

She released a heavy sigh. “I know. I’m worried about her.”

“Trust me, cuz. I’ll get your cat down. One way or another.”

One way or another? Was that supposed to be reassuring? She held her breath as he moved even higher then disappeared out of sight again, her vision blocked by the dense growth. “Are you sure those branches are big enough to hold you?”

He harrumphed. “Guess we’ll soon find out. Whoops, one of them just cracked.”

“Beemer! Be careful!”

“I see her! She’s just out of my reach. I’m going to have to go up a bit farther, but I see her now, cuz. I’ll have her down before you know it.”

Ginny stepped from one side of the trunk to the other, but it was no use. She couldn’t catch sight of him. He was up much too high. “Be gentle with her, and be careful she doesn’t scratch—”

“Ouch! Ow, that hurts! You dumb cat! I’m trying to help you!”

“Beemer! Are you all right?”

“If you can call bleeding all right—then I’m great. You really ought to have this furry monster declawed. Your stupid cat won’t let me take hold of her. She’s out on a tiny branch. I don’t dare climb out any farther. I’m hanging on for dear life now.”

“Talk to her. Maybe it’ll quiet her down.”

“Maybe you’d like for me to sing, too. I don’t know what to say to a cat.”

“It’s not what you say; it’s how you say it. Just say some-thing in a nice soft voice. Maybe it’ll soothe her. That’s what I do when she gets upset over something. It’s worth a try.”

“Okay, if you say so.” There was a slight pause; then in the kindest of voices she heard Beemer say, “Come on, you ugly stupid kitty, before I wiggle that branch and send you flying to the ground. Let’s see how many lives you have left. Come on—come to Beemer. I hate cats, but I’ll try to be nice to you because that’s the way Ginny wants me to be.”

Despite the seriousness of her cat’s dilemma, Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. His voice was kind, but his words were cruel. She knew Tinkerbelle wouldn’t care what he was saying, though, as long as it sounded soothing. “Is it working?”

“I’m not sure. At least she hasn’t tried to go out any farther on that twig of a limb she’s clinging to. Get ready to catch me if I fall. I’m going to try to inch out a little bit more. Maybe I can kinda lunge and grab hold of her.”

“Lunge? What if you fall? Oh, Beemer, please hang on. You’re a long way up. You could break your neck, maybe even your back if you fall from that high.”

“You don’t want me to leave her up here, do you? I’m not sure she could get down by herself, even if she wanted to, with that big tummy of hers.”

“No, I don’t want you to leave her there, but I don’t want you to get hurt either. Just be careful. Okay?” She watched as the leaves at the top of the tree began to move around.

“Okay, I’m getting ready to grab for her. The way that cat’s eyeing me, I doubt she’s going to cooperate. You’d better ask that God of yours to protect me. I’m more afraid of her claws than I am of falling.”

Ginny sent up a quick prayer, ashamed she hadn’t thought to pray before.

A shout of pain and the fierce loud meowing of a cat split the air simultaneously as a rain of leaves and twigs filtered to the ground. “She got me good that time, but I have hold of her,” Beemer called out excitedly. “We’re coming down.”

Thank You, Lord. Ginny stood at the base of the trunk, staring up into the tree as Beemer began to descend, painstakingly locating each lower branch before carefully placing his foot on it.

“Stop scratching me, you dingbat cat! I’m trying to help you!”

Ginny flinched at his words and could only imagine how many times Tinkerbelle had scratched him. Maybe she should have had her cat declawed, but then she would have been almost helpless. At least with those claws she could defend herself. “Please calm down, Tinkerbelle. Beemer is only trying to help,” she called up, knowing her advice was futile.

“Man, I wouldn’t have a cat for anything. Give me a dog any day.”

“Cats are great pets,” Ginny responded defensively. “You just have to get to know them. You’re about halfway down.”

“A dog will obey when you give them a command. Cats do exactly what they want and couldn’t care less about what you want. Ooowww! She just clawed my face!”

Ginny flinched. “Oh? Like Mortimer quit chasing Tinkerbelle when you ordered him to stop?” she shot back.

“It’s only natural for dogs to chase cats.” His voice betrayed his impatience. “It’s an instinct. Talk to your God about it. He’s the one who made them that way.”

“I didn’t think you believed in God.”

“I only said that for your benefit, ’cause I knew you believed in Him.”

Ginny snickered to herself. “You’re right. I do. You only have about twenty more feet to—”

A loud crack and then a yell sounded as a dead branch came hurling itself toward the ground. Ginny ducked out of the way in time to avoid being hit by the branch—and Beemer—as he tumbled past her and hit the ground with a loud thump, Tinkerbelle still cradled in his arm.

“Aaaggg. Ohhhh.” He lay on his back, trying to catch his breath, then moaned and groaned in obvious pain.

Ginny grabbed her stunned cat from his grip, cradled her close, then bent over the would-be rescuer, taking stock of the deep scratch marks across his cheek. “Are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance? Oh, Beemer, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“My hand—I think it’s broken,” he was finally able to say between groans.

Aunt Margaret’s next-door neighbor, Mr. Morton, appeared out of nowhere. “Ambulance is on its way. I saw the whole thing from my front porch. That was quite a fall.”

Beemer struggled to sit up, but Mr. Morton’s strong hand subdued him. “Better not move around, young man, until they have a chance to look you over. The way you hit the ground, you might have broken your back or at least a few ribs. I think you’d better stay right where you are until the EMTs arrive. You might cause even more damage if you move.”

“But I’m—”

Ginny stooped and placed her free hand on Beemer’s shoulder. “He’s right. Please, Beemer, don’t move until they get here.”

“You guys are making way too much of this. Other than a bunch of cat scratches and a hand that feels broken, I’m okay. I’d know if I wasn’t.”

The wail of sirens shattered the stillness of the evening. Within seconds a fire truck pulled up to the curb, followed by an ambulance. A fireman leaped out of the engine’s door and hurried to Beemer, kneeling down. “Hear you fell out of a tree.”

Beemer rolled his eyes. “Next you’re going to tell me I’m too old to be climbing trees, right?”

The man gave him a slight smile. “I considered it.”

One of the EMTs knelt beside them and opened his medical case. “Where do you hurt?”

Beemer held out his arm.

The man gave him an incredulous look. “You got all those scratches falling out of a tree?”

“My cat did it. He was rescuing her,” Ginny admitted.

“The scratches hurt, but I can live with those. It’s my hand that really hurts. I think I fell on it when I hit the ground.”

The man took hold of Beemer’s injured hand, rotating it slightly. Ginny could tell from the look on her cousin’s face that he was in agony.

“No back pain?” the man asked as he continued to examine his hand. “No pain in your ribs?”

Beemer shook his head.

The EMT turned to Ginny. “How high was he when he fell?”

She tried to stop trembling but couldn’t. “About twenty feet, I guess. He hit the ground pretty hard. It was all my fault. He was rescuing my cat.”

The man gave Beemer a smile. “Well, that explains what a man your size was doing climbing trees.”

The fireman snorted. “We’ve already covered that. I’d say he’s mighty lucky if that hand is all he broke. That had to be a pretty nasty fall.”

The EMT rose and stared at Beemer. “You need to have that hand looked at, and they’ll probably want to take an X ray. We’ll take you to the emergency room.”

His face scrunched up with pain, Beemer pushed himself up into a sitting position. “No way am I going to ride in an ambulance for a simple broken hand. I’ll drive myself.”

The man shrugged, then reached out to assist Beemer to his feet. “Your choice, but it might be a good idea to have someone else drive you. They ought to take a look at those deep scratches, too.”

“I’ll take him.” Ginny moved a step closer to Beemer.

Cradling his hand, Beemer glanced at Tinkerbelle. “Keep that monster away from me. I don’t want any more confrontations with her.”

One of the firemen reached out and stroked Tinkerbelle’s head. To Ginny’s surprise the nervous cat settled down and began to purr.

“My family loves cats,” the man told her, continuing to stroke Tinkerbelle. “They make great pets. She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

Ginny nodded, still impressed with the way he’d been able to calm Tinkerbelle with only a few strokes. “Yes, I think her kittens are due anytime. That’s why it scared me when Beemer’s dog chased her up that tree.”

“Cats have a way of bouncing back from any ordeal. I’ll bet she’ll be just fine.” He gave her one final pat then backed away. “Guess you have no need for us now. We’ll be heading back to the station.”

Both Ginny and Beemer thanked them for coming so quickly.

“You’re lucky if you come out of a fall from that distance with no more injuries than a broken hand.” The two EMTs smiled at Beemer. “Sure you don’t want us to take you to the hospital?”

He smiled back. “Naw, but thanks, guys. I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble.”

“No trouble. We were getting kinda bored sitting around waiting for something to happen. Get that hand taken care of, okay?”

Beemer nodded. “Okay. Thanks again.”

He and Ginny stood watching as the fire truck pulled away from the curb followed by the ambulance.

“I’ll tell Aunt Margaret what happened, lock Tinkerbelle in the bathroom, grab my keys, and be right back. You need anything from the house?”

Beemer dolefully shook his head. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

She gave him a mystified look. “No, what?”