Софи Келли - Cat Trick

A hint of a smile flitted across his face.

I held up my ring finger with the other two. “Number three, if we argue, I’ll have to stalk off just on principle and I’m tired. I don’t want to walk all the way up the hill.”

He looked expectantly at me. “What’s number four?”

“I don’t have a number four,” I said.

“How about we can’t argue because of Maggie?” He started walking backward down the sidewalk.

I followed. “Because of Maggie?”

Marcus held out both hands and almost backed into a garbage can. “She has been working awfully hard to get us together.”

A rush of heat rose in my face. “You know?”

The hint of a smile turned into a full one. “Kathleen, Owen and Hercules probably know. Maggie hasn’t exactly been subtle.”

The cats did know, but I was pretty sure that had more to do with the fact that they weren’t exactly typical house cats than it did with Maggie’s lack of subtlety.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “She played matchmaker with Roma and Eddie—indirectly—and I think now she wants everyone to have a happily ever after.” The moment the words were out, I was sorry I’d said them. “I don’t mean I think that you’re some kind of prince on a white horse,” I added. “Or even not on a horse. Or even a prince . . . not that you’re not a great guy.” I was babbling.

Marcus stopped walking so suddenly, I smacked into him, both of my hands landing flat on his chest. It was a very nice chest, broad and manly. I sucked in a deep breath. And he did smell good.

I gave myself a mental smack. What the heck was wrong with me?

Marcus put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know what you mean.”

We stood there looking at each other like we were caught in a movie moment, the point where the hero gazes deeply into the heroine’s eyes and then sweeps her into a passionate kiss, so passionate that one of her feet comes off the ground.

We didn’t do that.

Marcus let go of my shoulders and I took my hands off his chest, trying not to act as flustered as I felt. We were standing next to the SUV. He unlocked the door for me and walked around to the driver’s side.

On the way up the hill, we talked about all the efforts to bring more tourists to Mayville Heights in the traditional off-season. By the time Marcus pulled into my driveway, the awkwardness I’d felt on the sidewalk was gone. He walked me to the back door, and I thanked him for dinner. He smiled, told me he’d talk to me soon and walked back around the side of the house. No movie-moment kiss, not even a peck on the cheek. As I unlocked the porch door, I couldn’t help thinking that Maggie was right: Fossils formed faster than the relationship between Marcus and me.

* * *

Hercules woke me before the alarm the next morning. I opened my eyes to see his black-and-white face next to mine as he gently batted me with one paw.

I yawned. “I’m awake,” I said groggily, rolling over onto my back.

Hercules took a swipe at the blankets and meowed at me. Translation: “Get up now.” If he could have figured out how to do it, I was sure he would have been pulling the blankets off of me. Did he somehow understand that we were going to see Ruby this morning?

I stretched and sat up. Hercules dropped back down to all fours. “Are you ready for your photo session?” I asked, pushing my hair off my face. He immediately took a pass at his own furry black-and-white face with one paw. Okay, maybe he did know where we were going.

Hercules was sitting in front of the refrigerator and Owen was under the table when I went down to the kitchen. I started the coffeemaker and then gave the cats their breakfast. Owen used one paw to push his dish across the floor so there was a good three feet of space between him and his brother.

Clearly he was in a mood about something. It was almost as if he were . . . jealous?

No. As special as both cats were, there was no way Owen understood that Hercules was posing for Ruby again this morning.

Owen took a bite of food from his bowl, set it on the floor and shot Herc a look. At the same time, he made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded an awful lot like a disgruntled hmpft .

I could accept that Owen had the ability to make himself disappear. Strangely, it was harder to believe that he was in a snit because Hercules was going to have his portrait painted.

I let him sulk while I had my own breakfast. As soon as Hercules was done eating, he began an elaborate face-washing routine. Even though Owen seemed to be ignoring Herc, I saw him sneak little peeks in his brother’s direction. And in return, Hercules stretched a couple of times and casually eyed Owen.

I put my dishes in the sink and started putting together what Maggie called one of my clean-out-the-refrigerator salads.

“I could have gotten a gerbil,” I said as I opened containers to see what I had for leftovers. “Gerbils are cute and furry. They don’t shed on the furniture, and they never have sardine breath.” The boys were too busy ignoring each other to pay any attention to me.

I was trying to figure out what else I could add to the bowl when I heard cat grumbling behind me. Swinging around, I saw Hercules and Owen, whisker-to-whisker, glaring at each other.

“Hey!” I said sharply, reaching for the kitchen tap sprayer. Two furry heads swiveled in my direction. “I know how to use this, and I will. At this distance, I could knock a sardine cracker crumb off either of your chins. Would you two like me to demonstrate?”

They looked at each other again; then, as though some unspoken signal had passed between them, both cats sat down.

“Wise choice.” I let go of the tap, wiped my hands and walked around the table. “Owen,” I said.

He looked up at me, for once not trying any of his I’m-so-cute tricks. “Ruby is going to do a painting of Hercules.”

He made that grumbly sound again. I held up a finger, feeling slightly foolish. On the other hand, I was well aware that Owen in a snit was more than capable of strewing Fred the Funky Chicken parts all over the house.

“It’s going to be auctioned off for charity—for cats that don’t have any homes, or any catnip chickens to chew on.” I tried to look serious and shook my head as I said the part about the chickens, grateful that no one without fur could hear me.

Owen seemed to be considering what I was saying. Or he could have been thinking about catnip chickens.

“And you.” I pointed at Hercules. His green eyes focused on my face. “This is for charity. As talented as Ruby is, your portrait won’t be going on exhibit in the Guggenheim Museum.” I held up my thumb and index finger about half an inch apart. “Try just a little more humility.”

I went back to my salad. After a minute, Owen came over and rubbed against my leg. “I love you, too,” I said, as he headed for the living room.

A soft meow came from the direction of the refrigerator. “Yes, and you,” I told Hercules.

Owen hadn’t reappeared by the time we were ready to leave. I’d emptied the litter box, filled his water dish and left a little stack of sardine crackers beside it. I swung the cat carrier bag—which also doubled as a tote for my tai chi shoes—up onto my shoulder, locked the door and headed out to the truck.

Hercules poked his head out of the top of the bag as I drove down the hill, but he didn’t bother climbing out. I parked in Maggie’s slot in the small lot behind the River Arts building—she’d given me the okay. Hercules and I were a little early. Ruby’s truck wasn’t in her place.

I grabbed the cat, got out and locked the truck. Then I walked over to the side of the building and looked down the street toward the boardwalk. Both tents were up now, and I wondered if Burtis and Mike had come to some kind of agreement about the setup.