Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

But Ada herself hadn’t called with any good news.

So when Saturday morning came, Sunny found herself staring at a bleary-eyed image of herself in the mirror. Once upon a time, that look would have been the result of hearty partying. These days, though, it came more from insomnia, checking the bedside clock at least once an hour from two a.m. onward.

But other than puffy eyelids and the beginnings of dark circles, Sunny had to admit she was looking pretty good these days. Sharing her dad’s low-sodium, low-fat, and low-sugar diet had honed away a bit of pudge and enhanced her cheekbones. While she didn’t have Mike’s piercing gaze, her eyes were wide and blue. Her brown hair had a generous helping of her dad’s curls and a hint of her mom’s auburn coloring. As she pulled her hair back and into a scrunchie, though, Sunny grimaced. She really had to get this mane cut—but she’d yet to find a local stylist who could deal with her wild hair.

Well, no sense worrying about that right now, she thought, tucking her unruly curls under a battered baseball cap. Sunny gave a rueful smile at the rest of her ensemble—a stained long-sleeved T-shirt, a pair of rubber boots she’d dug up from the basement, and her oldest jeans. A pair of heavy-gauge rubber gloves dangled from her back pocket.

All set to go Dumpster diving, she decided and quietly headed downstairs, leaving her dad to sleep undisturbed. She went out the front door and walked along the street. Ada’s house was only around the corner and a few blocks away. Wild Goose Drive was quiet at almost half-past eight. The real early risers were long up and headed off to whatever Saturday activities they intended to do. The rest of the neighborhood seemed to be still in bed.

She passed only a single pedestrian—Mrs. Parker, one of the local widows, out power walking. Sunny gave the older woman a friendly nod, even as she inwardly cringed at the look Mrs. Parker gave her cleaning getup. Then she got a little annoyed. If she’d gotten her husband to power walk, maybe he’d still be around and she wouldn’t be chasing after my dad.

Reaching the corner, Sunny took a quick right, walked two more blocks, and then crossed the street. Almost there. The Spruance place, a large Colonial Revival, had been the finest on the block in its day. Now it had a curiously mottled appearance, with patches of silvery wood revealing where paint had flaked off the siding and darker stains suggesting the beginnings of mold. Knee-high grass fought an infestation of weeds in the unkempt yard.

As Sunny came up the cracked walkway, she saw the undergrowth shaking in something’s wake.

Please let that be a cat, she prayed. It’s still too early to deal with wildlife.

The mover and shaker popped out ahead of her—Shadow!

“Where did you get to?” She bent to pet the cat, only to see him glide back into the strawlike growth. “You eat our tuna and then just disappear. Or do you just like Ada’s dry food better?”

She turned to the scabby-looking door, trying not to think of the alternate theory she’d developed, where Dad had trapped the cat and ejected him from the house.

The doorbell was a tarnished mass that stained the wood around it. Sunny knocked on the center panel, wondering if she should put her gloves on right away.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder, calling Ada’s name.

The only response was a faint “meow” from inside.

Sunny tried to peek through the dirty glass of the living room window. She jumped back, nearly tripping among the weeds, when she came face-to-face with a golden calico cat peering out and making a mournful noise.

“Maybe she’s in the back,” Sunny told herself. She worked her way over to the driveway and around the house, discovering she had an escort again. Shadow had reappeared, trailing about a foot behind her.

The backyard was just as poorly maintained as the front. Sunny found a few pebbles and tossed them at the kitchen window, calling Ada’s name.

Nothing, except more meowing—louder meowing, too, as if several cats had taken up the call.

“I don’t suppose you know where she is,” Sunny asked Shadow, who stared unblinkingly up at her. She was torn between annoyance at being stood up after dragging herself up early and worry for the older woman—not to mention a mild case of the creeps from all the cat noises filtering out from the kitchen. Cursing the strict New England upbringing that wouldn’t let her take the easy way out (like leaving after she’d promised to show up and help), Sunny approached the only other way into the house—the slanting cellar doors whose hinges had rusted in the open position.

The aromas wafting up from that hole in the ground were anything but inviting. Sunny found herself thinking of those kitty-litter ads that boasted about their product’s ability to hide the presence of multiple cats.

Obviously Ada Spruance wasn’t using that particular brand.

Sunny brought her rubber boot down on the first step—and had to restrain herself from kicking out with the other as Shadow now planted himself underfoot. He added his voice to the meowing chorus, but it managed to sound more like a warning than a hungry complaint. He rose up until his paws were at knee level, trying to stop her even as she carefully stepped around him to descend another step. Still, he kept making unhappy noises.

She pulled on her gloves, held her breath, and worked her way down the rest of the stairs. They were damp and a bit spongy. The only light came from the doorway behind her. Sunny blinked a few times, trying to accustom her eyes to the dimness.

A shaft of stronger light came in as a cloud moved off the sun.

Sunny gasped, then coughed at the almost solid stink that attacked her throat and nose. Her eyes watered, but she definitely saw something at the foot of the other stairway in the cellar—the stairs that led up to the kitchen.

It was too big to be a cat.

And anyway, she’d never heard of a cat going around in a worn, flowered housecoat.

*

Shadow watched warilyas the young woman made her way to the huddled figure on the cellar floor. He’d tried to stop her. Now he crouched low, his ears instinctively going back. From his experience, these two-leggity types made a lot of noise when they came across dead things.

This young woman surprised him. She got close enough for a good look at the Old One—the Dead One, Shadow corrected himself—took a single, deep breath, coughed, and then quickly headed back up the stairs.

Shadow followed her, opening his jaws wide to let the rank, green smells of the backyard wash away the scent of old decay—and worse—lingering in his mouth and nose.

The Young One didn’t stop to enjoy the change. She dug out one of those strange, bright things that humans liked to talk into and spoke quickly in a high, excited voice.

The Dead One had one of those gadgets, but it was heavy and clunky, mounted high on the kitchen wall, a clumsy place to leap at.

But the Young One’s talking-thing was small enough to fit in her hand—cat sized. Shadow’s paw itched at the idea of getting that gleaming gadget on a nice floor—like the shiny floor in the Young One’s kitchen, so good for sliding along—and giving it a good bat …

A sharp click got Shadow’s attention. The woman had finished talking, hiding away that interesting toy. Now she paced back and forth in the yard, overgrown grass stalks lashing against her shins.

Was she annoyed? Without seeing a tail, he didn’t have enough information to be sure—and Shadow wasn’t about to risk a kick by coming closer to see her response.

Instead, he stretched low and closed his eyes, enjoying the sunshine. But the quiet didn’t last. Long before Shadow managed to drift off into a nap, he found himself raising his head. A car was coming—one that didn’t belong here.