Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives

His eyes still closed, he said, “You have…”

It was the drugs talking. His mouth fell open slightly, and his breathing grew a little deeper. I tiptoed to the door, and just before it closed behind me, he mumbled something in his sleep.

He said, “Don’t eat.”

I stood in the hallway outside his door and sighed. There was no telling what drug-induced dreams were playing in his head. I hoped for his sake they didn’t include a hairy old man dancing around half naked with a megaphone.

Making my way back through the maze of stairwells and halls to the main lobby, I wondered if he would even remember I had been there. Next to the gift shop was a sad-sack food bar with foam bowls of crusted Jell-O and soggy sandwiches embalmed in tight plastic wrap. Damn right, Baldy, I thought to myself. Don’t eat.

I was just about to go through the big glass revolving doors to the outside world when one of the hospital supervisors stopped me, a big man in a tan business suit and a wide yellow tie. He was full of questions, but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. When I told him I wasn’t Mr. Vladim’s wife and didn’t know a thing about him, his shoulders fell in a slump. I got the distinct impression he was mostly worried about who would be paying for all that top-notch treatment Baldy was getting.

At Tom Hale’s, I took Billy Elliot out for his second spin of the day, and he dragged me around the parking lot as if it were the first time he’d been out in years. It felt good. Just getting my lungs pumping with oxygen helped clear the smog that had banked up in my head. When we got back, Billy went bounding down the hall and Tom called me from the back office. He’d been badgering me to sign some papers for days, but I lied and said I was in a hurry and would have to sign them later.

I was tired. It had been a long day. Maybe I was fighting off a cold. Or maybe I was thinking about Todd and Christy. I just wanted to get home.

I rushed through my afternoon calls and purposely took the long way around the village so I wouldn’t drive by the bookstore. By now they’d probably pulled out and taken down the police tape, but I still didn’t want to see it.

When I got home, I dropped my keys on the bar in the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the letter from Guidry still sitting in its little basket, and wandered into my walk-in closet. I sat at the desk for a while and went through some of the bills that were piling up, and that kept my mind busy for about half an hour. Then I put a load of laundry in the washer. As it gurgled and churned away, I sat down on the couch and stared at the wall.

I toyed with the idea of calling Michael at the fire station, but I knew he’d be busy and probably wouldn’t feel like listening to his little sister complain about her day. Then I wondered where Paco was, but there was no way to know and I certainly couldn’t call him, so I got up and dragged myself back into the office and laid my hand on the desk phone.

Ethan.

I could call Ethan. If anybody could make me feel better it was him, except I knew as soon as he found out what kind of mood I was in he’d race right over, and I think I wanted to be alone.

Just then the phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Usually when I’m in a funk, there’s no way I’ll answer the phone, but to my utter horror I realized I’d grabbed the receiver as I jumped away. It was cradled in my right hand, and a woman’s voice was saying, “Helloooo?”

I put the phone to my ear. “Yes, sorry, Dixie Hemingway, how can I help you?”

She cleared her throat. “9500 Blind Pass Road, please.”

It was an older woman, with a note to her voice that was either British or rich.

I said, “Excuse me?”

“Hello? Who is this?”

I frowned. “This is Dixie Hemingway. Who is this?”

“Are you or are you not a cat sitter?”

“Um. Yes, I’m a cat sitter. How can I help you?”

“Very good. I need you to come to 9500 Blind Pass Road immediately. And I can assure you you’ll be handsomely paid.”

I blinked. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but it’s a little late. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

There was a slight pause and then an exasperated sigh. “A little late, indeed. Well I suppose there’s bugger all you can do about it tonight anyway. Tomorrow morning then, seven sharp.”

I said, “Oh, no. I can’t possibly meet you that early. I have appointments all morning.”

She clucked. “Pity. Then we’ll meet for tea at two. Does that suit your complicated schedule?”

“Um, yes, that works, but … I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Yes. 9500 Blind Pass Road. I’ll be waiting.”

She hung up. I stood there staring at the receiver and shaking my head. Sometimes I think if they put my life in a movie no one would believe it for a second.

I wandered back into the living room, where I resumed my position on the couch and stared at the wall a little more. Normally a call like that would get my wheels spinning and I’d spend hours concocting all kinds of fancy, complicated scenarios in my head about who it was and why she was so mysterious, but I was pooped. My brain couldn’t take any more thinking.

After a while I dragged myself into the kitchen, zapped a Party Time Deluxe frozen pizza in the microwave, and carried it out to the hammock on the deck. It tasted like warm, salty cardboard, but with the consistency of a wad of used chewing gum. I didn’t mind, though. Michael and Paco have served me so many gourmet meals. A cheap frozen pizza every once in a while just reminds me how lucky I am.

I fell asleep in the hammock, gently swaying from side to side and listening to the crickets and the droning rhythm of the waves rolling in down below. I had established only one rule for the night: No old men in bikinis.

13

The next morning after I slithered out of bed, I stood bleary-eyed in front of the mirror and told myself that my little pity party had come to an end and that it was time to get a move on. If I’d had bootstraps, I would have pulled myself up by them, but instead I splashed cold water on my face, pulled on some clothes, and was out the door before sunrise.

The air was cool and still, and as I crunched across the driveway, a giant brown pelican sitting on the hood of the Bronco opened one eye and watched me sullenly. He held his ground even when I started the engine, but as soon as I put the car in reverse, he unfolded his giant wings and lumbered off into the darkness.

I was the only car on the road all the way to the village, and Ocean Boulevard was completely deserted except for a few snowy egrets dozing atop the lampposts outside Amber Jack’s, their long tail feathers gently flapping in the cool breeze off the Gulf. I pulled into a spot in front of the butcher shop and cut the headlights.

Now, I thought to myself, where would I be if I was a cat?

I’d been telling myself that Judy was probably right, that Mr. Hoskins was probably fine. He’d probably just decided to take a short vacation, maybe a little road trip, and he had probably taken Cosmo with him. He’d just forgotten to tell his daughter, and his doorman … but I knew it wasn’t true. None of that explained those bloody splotches on the countertop.

Something had happened in that store after I left, and I felt a need to find out what it was, to help in some way. I admit it seems crazy, but I think somewhere, deep down inside, I knew what I was doing. I was taking all those feelings I’d had as a little girl for Mr. Beezy and transferring them right over to Mr. Hoskins. Somehow, when I went back inside that store, something inside me changed. It was as if a hidden part of me had opened up and long-forgotten images and feelings had come spilling out—feelings I hadn’t had in a very long time.