Лори Касс: Lending А Paw

Back outside to check tire pressure, back in and back out to check the lights and turn signals. Back inside to check a dozen other things. Fellow drivers had assured me that it would get to be habit within a matter of days, that soon I wouldn’t need the checklist. I almost, but not quite, believed this.

I ticked off the last item (“loose books secured”), shut the door, and slid into the driver’s seat.

The bookmobile’s dashboard clock stared at me accusingly. “Yes, I’m a minute late,” I told it as I buckled myself in. “If you don’t tell Stephen, I’ll give you a good vacuuming tonight.”

I could have sworn I heard a sniff.

First day as the bookmobile driver and I was already hearing things. Outstanding.

As I put my hand on the gearshift, a rush of excitement prickled my skin. It was actually happening. The bookmobile was real, and I was driving it. I was going to bring books back to the small towns who’d had their branch libraries closed. I was going to bring books to schools and senior centers and people who were homebound. This outreach program was going to make a difference. I was going to make a difference.

A happy grin spread wide across my face. It was a beautiful morning, the finest in months, maybe the finest ever, and this day was going to be one of the best ever and—

“Mrr.”

Chapter 2

I blinked. Had I heard what I thought I’d heard? No. Absolutely not. Insanity was far preferable. “Eddie?” I asked tentatively.

He sat up, yawning, revealing himself from where he’d been lying behind the backpack I’d tossed onto the passenger’s seat.

“Eddie, what on earth are you doing here?” I was almost shouting. “How did you . . . ?” Then I remembered. I’d left the houseboat door open when I’d run back inside to make my lunch. And I remembered that Tom had been looking behind me when he’d tried to say hello. And that I’d left the bookmobile door open while I’d run through the preflight check, giving Eddie plenty of time to sneak aboard.

“You are a horrible cat,” I told him. “What am I supposed to do with you? I don’t have time to take you home.”

The dashboard clock ticked forward. Now it was two minutes past eight.

Eddie and I glared at each other. At least I glared. He looked bored.

I glanced at the bookmobile’s interior. Custom shelves and cabinets contained everything a miniature library could want. Two desktops, one front and one back, held laptop computers for checking out books. There was a wheelchair lift behind swinging bookshelves. A carpeted step that ran along the base of the shelves for stepping and sitting. An adorably cute refrigerator and even tinier microwave behind a fabric corkboard. Electric heaters. Roof-mounted air conditioners. Pop-up skylights for cross-ventilation. All that, but no room anywhere for an extraneous cat.

Three minutes past eight.

I scowled at Eddie. “You haven’t left me much choice. But you’d better be good today.”

He closed one eye and slowly opened it again. Though I’d been a cat caretaker less than two months, I knew what that wink meant. It meant he was a cat and he’d do whatever he pleased, when he pleased, and if I didn’t like it, that was just too bad.

I dropped the gearshift into drive and put my foot on the accelerator. The Chilson District Library Bookmobile began its maiden voyage. Me, three thousand books, one hundred DVDs, a dozen jigsaw puzzles, two laptop computers—and one Eddie.

• • •

For forty-five minutes, as I drove to the east side of the county, I ignored the lake-filled and hilly countryside in favor of imagining what was going to happen to me when my boss found out I’d brought a cat along on the bookmobile. The most likely scenario was that Stephen would fire me for . . . for feline interference.

I mentioned this to Eddie, who was sleeping on the passenger seat, rounded into a big Eddie-ball. If his snores were any indication of his concern, he didn’t seem to think it likely. I’d never known cats could snore, let alone snore as loud as Eddie. The first time his raspy breaths woke me up, I’d been sure there was an intruder in my bedroom, breathing hard through his face-covering ski mask. But, no. It was just Eddie.

“What happens, wise guy,” I asked him now, “if I get demoted? What if I have to take a pay cut? What if I have to work longer hours?”

Eddie opened his eyes briefly.

“Sure, I already work weekends and lots of evenings, but that’s because . . . because there are things to do.”

Eddie started snoring again. It was easy to see why. There was no way his nasal passages could be happy in that position. How any creature could find it comfortable to be half upside down and half right side up with his face smushed into the side of my backpack, I had no idea, but what did I know about being a cat?

Then again, maybe I could learn a lot from cats. Eddie didn’t seem to worry about anything and I hadn’t come across anything that disturbed his sleep. There was a definite lesson here somewhere, but if it required a diet of cat food, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sign up for the course.

Eddie’s snores faded to a dull roar. Four minutes to nine and we were still miles from where I was supposed to be meeting Suzanne Slade, the library volunteer who’d gone all giddy at the chance of riding along with the bookmobile. “Oh, it’ll be such fun !” Her white-blond curls had bobbed as she’d clapped. “Going on the first voyage. What a treat !”

I’d pushed aside my concerns of spending hours with that much perkiness in what was essentially a very small room, and we’d made arrangements to meet Friday morning in a church parking lot. Suzanne would get a ride back with a friend who worked in Chilson. “It’ll work out wonderfully,” she’d said.

I hoped Suzanne wasn’t allergic to cats. For that matter, I hoped that no one who was going to board the bookmobile was allergic to cats. Or afraid of cats. Or mean to cats.

The GPS unit I’d bought came to life and said my destination was one quarter mile away. I could see the white steepled church, and I could also see an empty parking lot.

I steered into the large gravel space, which was big enough that it eliminated the need to back up the bookmobile. We were a little late. Could Suzanne have grown tired of waiting and gone home? I tapped the steering wheel, slid open the side window for some fresh air, and watched the clock tick away two more minutes.

“You know,” I told Eddie, who, judging from the way his ears were rotating, was at least partially awake, “I should check my phone and see if she’s left a message. Excuse me, okay?” Gently, I rearranged parts of his black-and-white fuzziness—which started purring—and reached into the backpack for my cell phone. I’d been commanded by Stephen not to use it while driving upon pain of death (or words to that effect) and hadn’t even turned it on that morning.

Just then a sedan sped into the parking lot and came to a sliding stop right in front of the bookmobile. Suzanne flung open the driver’s door, jumped out, and came over to my open window.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She sounded weepy and distraught. “Minnie, I hate letting you down like this, I’m so sorry.”

“Well, we’re only a few minutes late.”

“No, no,” she cried. “It’s my mother. Downstate. A tree fell on her house. I have to go help sort things out—there’s no one else. I’m so sorry—she called just half an hour ago and I had to pack and I’m so sorry to abandon you like this.”

I hurried outside and came around to Suzanne. “We’ll be fine,” I said, giving her a big hug. “Don’t worry about it. Your mom is what’s important right now.”