Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

That didn’t surprise me at all.

Roma rooted around in her backpack again and pulled out a can of tuna and a fork.

“Are you making lunch?” I asked with a grin.

“Sure,” Roma said, standing up and grabbing a cage with her free hand. “As long as you can climb in here.”

I picked up the other cage and followed her across the grass to a shaded space close to the front of the carriage house.

“So if all the cats are neutered, why are we here?”

Roma set her cat trap down near the base of a maple tree. “Marcus was out here yesterday and noticed that Lucy—one of the older cats—is limping. Based on his description, I think her leg may be broken.” She took the cage I was holding and set it several feet away from the other one.

I pulled at the neck of my T-shirt. “But how are you going to trap just one cat?”

Roma popped the top on the can of tuna. “That’s why we’re using more than one trap. And Lucy is the . . . boldest of the cats. I’m hoping she’ll come out first.”

“Out?”

She pointed at the carriage house. “See that hole just to the side of the doorframe?”

The wood had rotted or broken away, leaving a small, jagged opening to the right of the carriage house doors.

“The cats go back and forth through that hole. We use the door. The feeding station is inside. That’s also where the cats sleep.”

I nodded. “So the tuna goes in the trap and when the cat steps inside to get it—”

“—she steps on the trigger mechanism and the door drops down,” Roma finished for me. She pressed on the trigger plate and the door fell onto her arm. “And we cross our fingers we have the right cat.”

“Pretty simple.”

“Uh-huh. But I swear before we’d finished catching all the cats to be neutered, a couple of them had pretty much figured it all out.” She adjusted the newspaper slightly. “The only way I could get one of the females was to bring out a chicken breast I’d roasted with rosemary and garlic, and believe it or not she tried to grab the chicken with a paw and pull it out.”

“All it would take with Owen would be one of those glow-in-the-dark yellow catnip chickens.”

Roma grinned. “Is Rebecca still buying those for him?”

“Ami bought him one today,” I said, brushing away a bug that was trying to land on my neck. “But I suspect Rebecca had a hand in that. I came in from the backyard, and Owen was on his back, paws in the air, with a goofy look on his face and the chicken head balanced on his chest.”

She laughed. “Hey, change the chicken head to a carton of mocha chocolate chip ice cream and you’ve just described my typical Friday night.”

Now it was my turn to laugh.

Roma stirred the tuna with the fork, breaking it into small chunks in the can.

“What are the blankets for?” I asked. “I’m guessing they’re not so we can go lie down in the shade.”

“No, they’re to cover the cages because it keeps the cats calmer. But having a couple of blankets to lie on in the shade isn’t such a bad idea.”

I watched as she put a forkful of tuna toward the back of the cage and then made a trail of small tuna bits back to the opening. She repeated the process with the other cage. “Now we wait,” she said, standing up and wiping her hands on her pants.

We backed up all the way to the house and sat on the peeling stairs. I could still see the carriage house and the two traps. Roma leaned against the stair railing and stretched out her legs.

“What’s back behind those trees?” I asked, pointing behind the carriage house.

“More trees,” she said. “And eventually the most beautiful field of wildflowers I promise you’ll ever see—black-eyed Susan, lavender hyssop, evening primrose, milkweed and a lot more I don’t know the names of. Come back out with me again sometime and I’ll take you up there.”

“Is that a bribe?” I asked, leaning my elbows on my knees.

Roma grinned. “I prefer to think of it as offering an incentive.”

“I’d like to come back and help, if I can,” I said, smiling. “But I’m also open to an incentive.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roma said, shifting a little to the left so she could keep an eye on both the traps and the carriage house door.

“Roma, what would happen to the cats if Everett decided to do something with this property?”

She ran a hand down her throat. “There’s a farm about an hour from here that’s run by a couple who do a lot of work with feral cats. I guess I’d try to send the cats there.”

“The cats would go live on a farm?” I made a face. “When I was six we lived for a while next door to the Bartletts, who had a little black dog named Farley. Farley got hit by a car and they took him to the vet. Mrs. Bartlett said that after Farley got better he was going to live on a farm in the country where he could run around and not have to worry about cars.” I eyed her with suspicion. “This isn’t the same kind of farm, is it?”

Laughing, Roma shook her head. “It’s not. I promise you.” She stretched both legs along the step.

“Did you always want to be a vet?’ I asked.

“Actually, no,” she said. “It was a really good teacher who pointed me in this direction. What about you?”

“I wanted to live in the library from the moment I discovered that’s where they kept the books.”

“Do you miss Boston, Kathleen?”

I pushed my hair back off my sweaty face. “Sometimes I do,” I said. “Especially when I talk to my family, my friends. On the other hand, look at that sky.” There was nothing but endless blue overhead. “Sometimes I’m in my office and the sun is shining through the windows and sparkling on the lake, and I can’t think of a more beautiful place to be working.”

“Wait till January.” She leaned forward then and without shifting her gaze, stretched out an arm and tapped me on the leg. “Look,” she said, “by the door.”

I sat up, leaning left to get a better view. A small calico cat squeezed out through the hole next to the carriage house door.

“Yes!” Roma hissed.

“Is that Lucy?” I asked.

She nodded.

I watched the cat approach the closest cage, taking slow, careful steps and sniffing the air. She was definitely limping.

“C’mon,” Roma whispered. “C’mon.”

Lucy hobbled closer and closer to the cage. Finally she reached the opening. She sniffed the tiny bit of tuna Roma had set there. Then she ate it.

“Good girl,” Roma said, softly.

And then she turned and walked away. Roma groaned. Lucy paused, ears twitching. I held my breath. The little cat looked around, sniffing the air again. She changed direction, toward the other cage.

Roma grabbed the back of her scalp with one hand, resting her forearm on the top of her head. Lucy approached the trap. Again she sniffed the scrap of tuna by the opening, then ate it. Neither Roma nor I moved. Lucy leaned into the cage and ate the next bite of tuna. She stepped inside with one paw and then the other. One more step, I guessed.

I was right. Lucy stepped on the trigger plate and the door snapped down. She howled with anger and threw herself at the door.

Roma headed for the cage, unfolding the blanket and talking softly to the cat. She draped the blanket over the top of the trap, but Lucy continued to yowl and throw her weight against the cage door.

“She’s going to hurt herself,” Roma said. “I’m going to get my bag. I’ll have to give her something.” She headed for the car.

I didn’t know what to do. I crouched down near the cage, out of Lucy’s line of sight, and spoke softly to her, the way I did when I had to take Owen or Hercules to Roma’s clinic. I told her it was going to be okay. I wasn’t sure the cat could even hear me. And then suddenly she stopped.