The Cats in the Doll Shop (11 page)

“That's what I thought, too. But then after the holiday, he found the buckle from the satchel! It was on the floor in his office. It reminded him about Shannon, and he started thinking about what a good idea it would be to have a schoolgirl doll. We're going to start making her right away. She'll be in the store by late summer, in time for the new school year.”

“That's wonderful, Papa!” I say.

“I liked her right away,” says Sophie. “I knew she was special.” The admiring look in her eyes makes me feel very proud. And when Trudie breaks into her “happy dance,” I am so happy that I join in.

“He thinks she is going to be a big success.” Papa beams. “Now let's go upstairs and tell Mama.” Papa bounds up the stairs and we follow.

Mama has made stew for dinner, and as she is ladling it into the blue-and-white bowls, we talk about the new doll and all the exciting plans Mr. Greenfield has for her. It's only when everyone has been served that Mama comments on Tania's absence.

“Have any of you girls seen her?”

“No, Mama,” I say. “We were just talking about that when Papa came home.” Now I feel guilty. In my excitement about Shannon, I forgot all about Tania.

Mama gets up from the table and goes to the window. The snow, which had stopped for a few hours, has started falling again. “This is very strange,” she says. “She usually is the first one at the table.” And it's true. Now that Tania no longer hoards food, she eats with real appetite.

“Can we start?” Trudie asks. I am glad she asked. I'm worried about Tania, but all that time playing in the snow has made me very hungry.

Mama hesitates and then says, “Yes, girls. Go ahead and eat.” We dig in, but Mama does not come back to the table right away. Instead, we hear her go into each of the other rooms, as well as the toilet in the hallway.

“Maybe she went out,” says Mama when she returns to the kitchen alone.

She goes to the rack of hooks by the door. “Her coat isn't here,” she says. “And Shannon wasn't on her bed.” Walking over to the window, Mama peers out as if she is searching for Tania in the swirling snow. “I'm going out to look for her.”

“No, I'll go,” says Papa. “You stay here with the girls.”

“I hope she's all right,” Trudie says.

“Me, too,” adds Sophie.

“I'm sure she is,” Papa says. He dips a heel of bread into the stew and then stands up and walks over to the coatrack.

“She's not a baby, after all,” Mama says to no one in particular. It's as if she is trying to convince herself that Tania is all right. “She's a big girl.”

A big girl who doesn't speak much English
, I think but do not say. Why worry Mama any more than she is already worried? Suddenly, I have no more appetite. Even though the stew is delicious, I put down my fork and nudge the bowl away from me. Is it something we said or did that drove her away? I try to remember. Nothing jumps out at me. I had thought she was even feeling a little bit better about her life here. She seemed to love Ginger Cat so . . . Ginger Cat! Most nights, she comes up during dinner, winding herself around Tania's ankles in search of a tidbit. But tonight she's not here either. Could that be because she is where Tania is?

Suddenly, I jump up from the table. “Mama! I have an idea about where Tania might be,” I say.

“You do? Then tell us right away.”

“Come with me,” I say. Everyone leaves their food and follows me downstairs. There is a big closet in the shop, where we used to keep some supplies. Since most of them are now kept on the shelves in the main room, only things we don't need too often are stored here, and the door is usually kept closed. It was closed today. I thought nothing of it. But now I think that the closet is a cozy, warm spot, perfect for reading, dreaming, playing games—or playing with a cat.

Sure enough, when we all troop downstairs and open the door, there is Tania, sitting on the footstool that was in her drawing. She looks startled to see us. Her coat is in a little heap on the floor. Shannon is sitting next to the coat, and Ginger Cat is curled up at her feet. She greets us with a soft mew. What a relief!

But even more astonishing is the fact that there in Tania's lap is Plucky. Plucky! He looks so sleek and well fed. And also calm. When I think of how desperate he seemed to get away when I caught him, I can't believe this is the same cat. But then he shifts a bit in Tania's lap, and I can see that his hind leg is missing. It is Plucky all right. But not the same Plucky we remember.

“Tania!” Mama exclaims. “We were so worried!” She drops to her knees in front of Tania, who begins speaking rapidly in Yiddish. Mama turns to us. “She was hiding because she didn't want Papa to know that she had brought Plucky inside. But she was worried about him out in the snow and didn't know what else to do.”

Then Tania looks at Papa, and says very clearly: “Pluk-hee iz hap-hee!” She strokes his head and he yawns, a wide, sleepy cat-yawn.

A sentence. Tania has uttered an English sentence! I don't know if I am more astonished by that or by Plucky's transformation. His pale orange fur gleams, and he has lost the scrawny look that had me so worried.

“You did this?” I say to Tania. “You tamed him, fed him, groomed him all by yourself? How?”

“I luhk for Pluk-hee,” Tania says slowly. “I find. I gif him my luf. Many days. I feed, I pet, I speak mit soft voice. I know what it iz to luf a katz.”

“Tania, that is wonderful. And wonderful that you can tell us about it in English. When did you learn to speak so well?” I knew she was saying some words but this—this is all new.

“I listen,” Tania says. “All day. Hear words. Understand. But no say.”

“You listened and understood, but you couldn't speak? Why, Tania?” I ask.

Tania doesn't answer, but looks down at the floor.

“You were too shy?” I say, beginning to understand. “You thought we would make fun of you?”

Still looking down, Tania nods.

“I guess Tania didn't need a teacher,” Sophie says. “She taught herself.”

“Yes!” I say. “She did.” I turn to my father. “Papa, can you see the difference in Plucky?” Papa nods, clearly as amazed as the rest of us are. “It's Tania, Papa. Tania did this. She helped Plucky. He's a different cat now.”

“It's true, it's true!” Trudie chimes in. “Please can we keep him, Papa? Please?”

And Sophie adds, “Plucky needs us, Papa. But Tania needs Plucky, too. Caring for the cat has helped her.”

“He
is
like a different cat,” Papa murmurs.

“And Tania is like a different child,” adds Mama.

I can see what Mama means. Tania does look like a different girl from the one we first greeted. Her eyes—so very blue—are sparkling, and there is no trace of that awful blinking anymore. Even her posture seems different—straighter and taller. Best of all, she is smiling, really smiling, as she holds one cat and strokes the other.

Tania stands up and hands Plucky to Sophie. I feel a pang of worry. Will he claw or scratch? But he seems very content to be in Sophie's arms and nestles his creamy apricot head just under her chin.

“I think what Tania was able to do with Plucky was a fine thing,” Papa says slowly. “But I don't like it that she disobeyed me. And I didn't want another cat. I made that very clear.”

“So you won't let Plucky stay?” I say. Tears start welling up as I utter those words.

Papa looks at us. Can he see how much we all want Plucky to live here with us? Does he understand how important that is, not just to Tania, but to me as well? Before Papa can answer, Tania starts tugging on my hand. “Come,” she says, so I follow her upstairs, through the apartment and into our room.

She leads me over to her bed and reaches for the pillow. My heart drops like a stone in a pond. The pillow—the pillow is ever so slightly lumpy. Is that because there is food underneath it? I thought all that was finished now.

But when Tania moves the pillow away, I don't see fruit or bread or eggs or rolls. I see a small, orange-colored toy cat. His face is made of fabric. His eyes are ambercolored buttons and his nose a tiny pink felt triangle. Black stitches form his whiskers, and a black ribbon is tied around his neck. It is the same ribbon I used to tie Shannon's braids. Tania must have found the scraps in the doll shop. The cat's body is made of soft, orangey fur. I remember there was a piece exactly that color in the bag of fur scraps.

“How did you do this?” I ask. “And when?”

“Today. After snow.”

She did go in early, I remember. Way before the rest of us. I look at the cat again and realize something else.

“Tania, this cat would be just the right size for Shannon. He is Shannon's cat, isn't he?”

She nods. “Katz for Shannon.”

“Well, Papa has got to see this!” I rush back down the stairs, clutching the cat in my hand. Tania is right behind me.

“Look!” I cry, bursting into the shop where my parents and sisters are still gathered. “Look at what Tania made!” I show the cat to Papa. “You see—a cat for Shannon. And it's Plucky, Papa! It looks just like him!” Though I notice that Tania has cleverly gotten around the issue of the missing hind leg by only showing the cat's two front legs. The back ones have been gathered into a rounded shape underneath his tail.

“Let me see that,” says Papa. He inspects the cat. “The scale is just right, isn't it?” he says, more to himself than to us. “A doll with her own satchel
and
her own pet cat. Now that's a good idea!”

“No, it's a marvelous, brilliant, perfect idea!” I say, and give Tania a big hug. For the first time, she hugs me right back.

“I think Greenfield will like it,” Papa says. “In fact, I think he'll like it very much. I can't wait to show him.”

“So does this mean Plucky can stay, Papa? Does it?” Trudie asks. She is hopping from one foot to another in her excitement. Not quite her happy dance. But almost.

“I can see he's been a good influence . . .” Papa begins.
Please, please, please let him say yes,
I pray. “But I don't like being disobeyed. Especially when Tania or one of you girls could have been hurt.”

“We wanted to protect the girls,” Mama says to Papa. “But this time, they knew more than we did. Tania was right about Plucky. Just look.”

“So you're willing to let him stay?” Papa says to Mama. “Even though we didn't want another cat?”

“Sometimes what you want can change,” Mama says. “Especially when there are such good reasons.” She looks at Tania and smiles.

“All right then,” says Papa. His hand closes around the small orange cat Tania has made. “Plucky can stay.”

He can stay! All of us—Sophie and Trudie, Tania, and I—break into the victory dance. Plucky can stay! Plucky can stay!

Papa reaches over to pat Plucky's head. Plucky's soft purring grows louder. “I guess Mama is right,” Papa says. “Things
do
change. We didn't keep cats indoors in the old country. But this isn't the old country, is it girls? This is the new country. Our new home. And in our new home, cats get to live inside.”

“We luf Pluk-hee,” Tania says. She has stopped dancing and sounds almost solemn. I understand. Love is big. It can make you feel that way.

“And Ginger Cat, too,” I add. I glance out the window to the street, where the snow continues to fall in fat, white flakes. There will be even more snow on the ground by tomorrow. A whole world of snow to play in, romp in, jump in, dance in. And when, at the end of the day, we're shivering and wet, with raw cheeks and stone-cold toes, we'll come back inside, where it's safe and warm, and where the cats in the doll shop will be curled up and waiting—just for us.