Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Cradle

“Could be something he ate,” I said, “or just plumb exhausted. Do you have a box or something we can put him in?”

“I can do better than that. I have an old antique birdcage in the garage.”

I kept an eye on the bird while Joyce went out to the garage. He did seem a little out of sorts. Occasionally his eyelids would droop and he’d list to one side for a split second, but since I’d never spent a lot of quality time with a resplendent quetzal, for all I knew that was perfectly normal behavior.

Joyce returned with a beautiful handmade wire cage, about three feet tall. It had a gabled roof and several swinging perches, a couple of wooden feeding boxes, and a hinged door just big enough for the bird to fit through.

“Now all we have to do is catch him,” Joyce said.

I got down on my knees so my eyes weren’t higher than the bird’s and then shuffled slowly toward him. He hopped to the far end of the handbag and eyed me warily.

“We could use the pool net,” Joyce said, “or I can throw a blanket over him and you grab him.”

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot easier than that.”

Looking away from the bird, I moved my arm toward him with my palm down and two fingers extended. He hopped right off the bag and onto my hand with a high-pitched cool! and started pecking at my watch.

Joyce said, “Oh my gosh! Who are you, the bird whisperer?”

“His flight feathers are clipped,” I said. “This little guy didn’t blow in with a hurricane. He’s somebody’s pet.”

Joyce set the cage down on the coffee table and opened its little hinged door. Moving my hand as slowly as possible, I ferried the bird up to the cage and held him level with the doorway. He flicked his long tail a couple of times, looked at me with one eye and then the other, and then hopped right in without so much as a peep.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind us, and we both started at the sound of it. I turned to see Corina standing in the doorway of the bedroom, her eyes as big as dinner plates and her jaw hanging wide open. She reached out to the door frame to steady herself.

We both jumped up and helped her to the couch. I got a pillow to put behind her back, and Joyce went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Corina was staring at the bird like it was a ghost.

“El pájaro,” she said, shaking her head. “Ay dios mío.”

Joyce came back with the water and handed it to Corina. “She must have seen it lying dead on the path.”

“She probably thinks it’s a sign,” I said. “I know that’s what I’d be thinking if I were her.”

I sat down on the couch next to her and pointed at the bird.

“Uh, the bird … no es muerte. Es muy bueno! ”

“Yes,” Corina said and nodded. “It is good.”

“Joyce found it on the path this morning, uh … esta mañana, right before we heard the baby … antes de la niña. ”

“Yes, yes,” Corina said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bird.

“It’s very exotic,” I said, trying to think of the Spanish word for rare. “It’s not from here. No es de aquí. ”

“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “ Dios mío, dios mío, dios mío .”

I decided to take this opportunity to ask Corina again about seeing a doctor. I had the number that the young mother had given me at Walmart, and if anything was a sign, it was that a random stranger had given us a doctor that supposedly wouldn’t ask too many questions. I didn’t want to risk anyone turning Corina over to the immigration officials, but I didn’t see how it was possible that we could let her go much longer without at least having the baby looked at by a pediatrician—and this seemed like my only chance.

“Corina,” I said, taking the crumpled napkin with the doctor’s number on it out of my pocket. “Es necessario…”

I paused to make sure I was using the right words.

She looked at the napkin and said, “Yes?”

“Es necessario … el médico.”

She was silent.

“ Es muy importante, for the baby.”

She nodded. “Yes, yes I know.”

I tried to figure out a way to tell her that I had a doctor that would probably not report her to immigration, but I just couldn’t do it. All I could do was look Corina in the eye, woman to woman, and tell her with my voice that everything was going to be okay.

I said, “El médico es bueno.”

I could see a little note of doubt in her eyes, but it vanished. She seemed to understand.

She said, “Okay, I can go.”

“I promise nothing bad will happen,” I said, even though I knew I couldn’t honestly make that promise, and I’m sure Corina knew it as well, but we had no choice.

I said, “I’ll call the doctor and make the appointment. Comprende? ”

“Yes, I understand. Gracias , Dixie.”

Joyce handed me the phone, and I dialed the number on the napkin.

A woman answered the phone. “Doctor’s office, how can I help you?”

I said, “Hi, I wanted to know if I could talk to the doctor? I just have a few questions for him before I make an appointment.”

She said, “What can I help you with?”

“Well, it’s a little personal, actually. I really would feel better if I could speak to him directly.”

“Alright,” she said, “hold on while I get the doctor.”

“Thanks very much.” I nodded to Joyce and Corina. “She’s getting the doctor.”

There was a slight pause, and then the same woman said, “Hello, this is Dr. Harper.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I am a complete fool.”

The woman laughed and said, “No, no, it’s my fault, I should have told you when I answered the phone. My receptionist is out today with the flu, so I’m wearing a variety of hats and it’s making me a little bonkers.”

I knew right then and there that I could trust this doctor. I can relate to bonkers.

“A friend gave me your number,” I said. “I have a newborn that needs to see a doctor right away.”

“Alright, when would you like to come in? And congratulations, by the way.”

I nearly shouted, “Oh, it’s not mine! It belongs to a friend, but she doesn’t speak English so I’m calling for her.”

“I understand. I happen to have a cancellation tomorrow afternoon at three. Can you bring the baby and the mother then?”

“Oh, that would be great, thank you so much.”

“And the name?”

“Corina … uh, hold on one sec.”

I covered the phone and turned to her. “What is your last name? Corina…”

She hesitated. It was clear she didn’t want to tell me, but she must have known there was no sense in trying to hide anymore. We were clearly here to help her.

“Flores.”

“Corina Flores,” I said into the phone.

“And the baby’s name?”

I sighed. This was going to be tricker than I thought. I covered the phone again and turned to Corina.

“ La niña? What’s her name?”

Corina folded her hands in her lap and smiled.

“Dixie,” she said. “Dixie Joyce Flores.”

Joyce laughed, and I rolled my eyes in disbelief.

“Seriously, Corina, they’ll need to put something down for the records, and you can always change it later. What’s the baby’s name?”

Just then the baby started crying softly in the other room. Corina stood up and looked at me with big, unblinking eyes.

“Dixie. Joyce. Flores.”

5

Some of the bathrooms in my clients’ houses are so big and luxurious, you sort of want to run down to the local gas station and clean up before you step foot in them. Roy and Tina Harwick’s master bathroom was like that. It was hands down the most flamboyant bathroom I’ve ever been in. You might even say it was a little crazy, but in their own way, so were the Harwicks. They lived in a huge, ornate mansion off Jungle Plum Road at the north end of the Key. They were driving to Tampa later in the afternoon, and I had gone to their house to meet their cat and to finalize our pet-sitting agreement.