The Christmas Cat (5 page)

Garrison hurried to the kitchen where he’d left the large envelope, quickly extracting Gram’s long list of requirements. “Here it is,” he said as he reappeared in the living room. “Okay . . . you live in the neighborhood.” He peered over the page at her, taking in her profile, the upturned nose, firm chin. “Have you been here at least a year?”

She looked up with concern. “At least a year?”

He nodded. “That’s a stipulation.”

“Well, no . . . I’ve only been here since August.”

He frowned. “What?”

“But it’s not like I’m going to leave.”

Garrison scanned the list, seeing something else that Gram’s attorney hadn’t specifically mentioned. “Do you own your home?”

“I have to own my home?” She sounded slightly indignant. “No . . . I’m renting.”

“Oh . . .” Garrison stared at the line stating “adoptive owners must be homeowners in the neighborhood.” Homeowners, really?

“So are you saying I don’t qualify?”

He felt really torn. “According to this . . . you don’t.”

She gently removed Harry from her lap, setting him next to her on the sofa. “You mean just because I don’t own my home—haven’t lived here a year—you aren’t going to let me
have Harry?” She looked close to tears, and Garrison felt like a real jerk.

“I would gladly give you Harry,” he said meekly. “But this list—it was given to me by the lawyer—it’s my grandmother’s dying wish.”

Cara slowly stood. “Well, I wish you the best of luck in finding homes for your
five
cats,” she said a bit stiffly.

“I’m really sorry,” he said as he followed her to the front door. “If I could do it differently, I would. I mean, I’m as eager as you are—”

“I feel like I’ve been the victim of a bait and switch.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Like I’ve been tricked.”

“I didn’t mean to trick you. It’s just that I have to—”

“Don’t worry, Garrison.” Her smile looked forced. “I’ll get over it.” She turned around to give Harry one last glance. “Take care, big boy. I hope you find the right home.”

“I’m really sorry, Cara, but I have to respect my—”

“Never mind,” she said abruptly. “I get it.” And then she left.

Garrison sneezed beneath the mask, causing it to slip off his face. And now his eyes were watering up. He could tell his allergy meds were wearing off. Harry sauntered over and rubbed up against his legs, letting out a friendly meow.

“It’s not your fault, old boy.” Garrison sneezed again. “Man, I gotta get outta here.”

By the morning of the memorial service on Monday, Garrison had not managed to find a home for a single cat. He’d gotten only one phone call and that was from a woman who lived downtown. But at least he’d learned something. Rule
number one: go over the basic stipulations before talking about the available cats.

However, cats were the last thing on his mind as he drove to the church. First and foremost, his thoughts were with Gram, and he knew this service had been important to her. Even though she’d written her own eulogy, he knew it was only respectful to say a few words. He also knew that public speaking was not his forte. The truth was, he’d rather get a root canal than address a roomful of people. Although his jacket pocket bulged from the numerous index cards he’d scribbled on last night, he hoped he wouldn’t need to pull them out and fumble through them. But whatever it took, he was determined to honor Gram’s memory today.

“My grandmother took me in after my parents died,” Garrison began when it was his turn to speak. “I didn’t want to admit it at the time, since I was nearly twelve years old, but I was a little afraid of her when I first moved into her house. Or maybe I was just in awe of her. I’d grown up hearing my dad speak of his parents with a mixture of pride and almost fearful respect. I knew my grandparents were missionaries in Kenya. I knew that they’d lived through a lot of tough challenges. I’m sorry to say that I probably challenged Gram as much or more than her beloved villagers, the ones she was forced to leave behind when my grandfather died. But Gram never gave up on me. She was the first person in my life to teach me what real unconditional love was like. I will always be grateful to her for that.” He sighed as he gazed over the nearly full sanctuary. Gram had more friends than he had realized.

“Gram taught me a lot of valuable things. Like telling the truth and persevering even when a situation looked like it was hopeless. She helped me to see the world as a bigger place than just what’s within our borders. She taught me to have compassion for the less fortunate. Because of her I served in Uganda for nine years. Nine years that have changed my life forever—and have helped mold me into the person I am today. I feel like I owe all that to my grandmother. Without her influence on my life, I cannot imagine where I would be today.”
Well,
aside from being the caretaker for a houseful of cats
, he thought a bit grimly, but naturally, he didn’t say this.

Instead he finished by telling a story about how Gram had discovered he’d stolen some tokens from a video arcade and how she’d made him go take them back and confess to the owner. “I was so ashamed,” he told them. “But when we got home my grandmother simply opened her Bible and read a verse about Jesus forgiving someone. I can’t even remember which verse it was. But Gram looked at me and said, ‘It’s no different with you. Confess your sins to our Lord and he will forgive you your sins. That’s all there is to it.’” He smiled. “I have taken those words with me wherever I’ve gone. I always will.”

After the service, he visited with old friends from the church. They seemed genuinely happy to see him, and Gram’s good friend Mrs. Spangle even invited him to come and speak to their missions group. He gave her his phone number and promised to make himself available.

“And is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

“If you know anyone who wants to adopt a cat,” he said quickly. “Someone who lives in my grandmother’s neighborhood.”

“I do know of a good no-kill animal shelter. Perhaps you could—”

“No, no. It’s my grandmother’s last wish that I make sure they find good homes.”

Her thin brows arched. “Oh, my. Well, I wish you luck with that. Last I heard there was an abundance of cats in the Northwest.”

As Garrison drove home, he wondered if it was time to revamp his feline relocation plan. The attorney had discouraged him from letting the word out about the monetary reward that would go to adoptive homes. But perhaps he could drop some subtle hints in a revised classified ad. Sweeten the deal, so to speak.

T
he morning after Gram’s memorial service, Garrison called Mr. Miller. “I have some questions I hadn’t considered when I spoke to you last week,” he told him.

“Yes, I expected you would. Any luck finding homes for the cats?”

“I placed one right next door.” Then he explained about his ads and posters and how he’d almost found a home for another cat. “But the woman didn’t fit Gram’s criteria. She’d only lived in the neighborhood a few months. But she seemed like a good choice, I wish I could’ve given—”

“Sorry, Garrison. My job is to respect your grandmother’s final wishes. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Yes, well, that’s not really why I called. Mostly I wanted to know what’s to become of my grandmother’s house. I know she’d had that reverse mortgage on it. But since I’m kind of stuck here for a while—I mean, until I get the cats
resettled—I hoped I could empty it out a little. Also, there are some family things I’d like to keep if that’s all right.”

“It’s all yours, Garrison. Other than what your grandmother set aside for the cats, the remaining estate is yours. However, you won’t officially inherit it until you get the cats successfully placed in new homes. It’s all spelled out in the packet I gave you.”

“Oh . . . yeah . . . I haven’t read through the whole thing yet.”

“So feel free to do as you like with the house. As I mentioned in my office, your grandmother paid off the reverse mortgage. The house is free and clear.”

“Free and clear?”

“Absolutely. I have the title on file here. When your task is finished, it will be signed over to you.”

“So this is
my
house?” Garrison looked around the cluttered and run-down kitchen with wonder as reality set in.

“It will be. When the cats are re-homed.”

“Right.” Garrison considered this. “That’s really great. Thanks!”

“Thank your grandmother.”

“Yeah, of course.”

When Garrison hung up, he walked through the somewhat shabby four-bedroom house, taking it all in and suddenly seeing it with a fresh set of eyes. This place had real potential. If he fixed it up and sold it, he might get enough capital to start the halfway house he’d been dreaming of creating. He closed his eyes and sent a silent thank-you to his grandmother. She really hadn’t forgotten him. Not at all.

For the rest of the day, Garrison threw himself into cleaning, sorting, repairing, and disposing. It was good therapy, and the results were making themselves visible by Wednesday.

“My goodness!” Ruby exclaimed when she came in to see what was happening. “I hardly recognize the place. What’s going on?”

“It started with removing some of the furnishings that were beyond hope,” he confessed.

“Yes, I saw the mess in the front yard.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve got someone coming to pick them up on Friday.” He adjusted his particle mask, wiping a streak of sweat from his upper lip. “After that I just kept going. One thing led to another.” He glanced around the somewhat vacant living room. Other than the scratching posts and a couple pieces of furniture, the place looked stark. “I’m afraid I’ve upset some of the cats.” He nodded to an old chair where Rusty and Oreo were nestled together. “I hauled this piece back inside so they’d have something familiar.”

Ruby pointed over to where Spooky was sitting on the stairway, looking at them through the banister with what seemed a disgruntled expression. “That one does not look happy.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. Spooky is pretty mad at me. And Muzzy has been very loudly expressing herself too. Harry’s the only one who seems to still like me.” He made a sheepish grin. “But I figure I’m doing them all a favor . . . making it easier for them to go.”

“Any responses to your ads?”

“A couple of calls, but the people didn’t fit Gram’s criteria.”

“Too bad. Viola is settling in very nicely at my place. She doesn’t even seem to miss the other cats.”

“Good to know.” He considered mentioning the bonus Ruby would receive in a few weeks. “Any interest in taking on a second cat?”

“Oh, no. Viola is plenty of cat for me. And I do believe
she’s happier having me all to herself.” Ruby chuckled. “She’s already decided that my bed is her bed and truth be told, I don’t mind a bit.”

“That’s great. Well, I guess I should write up another ad for the cats. Maybe I can put some kind of Christmas spin on it.
Give your loved one a cat
for Christmas
?”

Ruby looked uncertain. “Speaking of Christmas, I came over to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Some single folks in the neighborhood are getting together to share potluck.”

“Right, I almost forgot about Thanksgiving. That sounds great. What can I bring?”

“Nothing.” She waved her hand. “I just saw the condition of your kitchen. Doesn’t look like any real cooking is gonna happen in there.”

“I’m getting ready to paint in there. But I could pick something up at the—”

“Never you mind. These old gals are already cooking up a storm.”

“If they cook half as good as you, it should be delicious.”

“Dinner is at two,” she said as she was leaving. “You can drive us.”

“It’s not at your house?”

“No. But I have directions. We’ll leave a little before two.”

After working all Thursday morning, Garrison showered and shaved and dressed in his favorite black pullover sweater and tan cords. As he pulled on his jacket, he felt Harry rubbing himself against his legs. Realizing that he’d forgotten to put on a fresh particle mask after shaving, Garrison was
surprised that he wasn’t having another sneezing fit. Maybe his allergy meds were working better these days. Or maybe he was building some resistance. He bent down and scratched Harry’s head. “You’re a good old boy,” he told him. “More like a dog than a cat.”

Harry seemed to nod, almost as if he understood and agreed.

“Take care of things, buddy. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He chuckled. “I’m off to dine with—a bunch of old ladies.”

Ruby directed Garrison several blocks away. “There, that’s it. The little brown house with the gingerbread trim. Inviting, isn’t it?”

“Unless there’s a wicked witch living inside.” He chuckled as he parked across the street.

Ruby snickered. “I don’t think our hostess would appreciate that comment.”

He carried Ruby’s heavy basket of food, following her up the narrow brick walkway. “Lots of cars out here,” he said as she rang the bell. “This house looks a little small. Think we’ll all fit?”

“Cara insisted on having it here. It’s the first time she’s lived in a real house and she really wanted to host this gathering.”

“Cara?”
He suddenly remembered the pretty brown-haired girl on the bike. “Is this Cara, uh, elderly?”

Ruby laughed. “Not in the least.”

He felt his face flushing as Cara opened the door. Wearing a garnet-colored knit dress and with her dark hair pinned up, she looked even prettier than he remembered. Suddenly he wished he’d thought to bring a hostess gift. Like a cat.

“Come in.” She blinked in surprise as she opened the door wider.

Ruby started an introduction, but Cara stopped her. “Garrison and I have already met.” She made a forced smile. “He refused to part with one of his precious cats.”

Ruby frowned at him. “Oh . . . but Cara would make a wonderful pet owner. I would vouch for her. I’ve known her aunt for ages and—”

“Speaking of that, Aunt Myrtle is in the kitchen.” Cara took their coats. “She and Gladys have taken over and I think they’d appreciate your help, Ruby. They both agree that you make the best gravy.” Cara led Ruby back through the somewhat crowded house. Left to his own, Garrison proceeded to introduce himself to some of the other guests. Although a few were younger, most of them seemed to be closer to his grandmother’s age. Before long, he found himself cornered by a pair of elderly sisters who had been good friends with Gram. Naturally, they wanted to hear all about him and what he’d been doing the past couple of decades.

After answering the Dorchester sisters’ questions about Uganda and explaining how he’d contracted malaria, he used the opportunity to tell them about Gram’s cats. “I’m looking for good homes,” he told them. “Can I interest you ladies in adopting a cat or two?”

The older sister wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry, Garrison, but I don’t care much for cats.”

“That’s right,” her sister agreed. “Winifred had a bad experience as a child. She abhors cats.”

“To be honest, I’m not terribly fond of cats myself, but I’m trying to adapt to them. I tell myself it’s mind over matter. I hope that if I don’t think about it too much, it won’t matter.” He chuckled and then explained about his allergies. “If I forget to take my antihistamines I am a complete mess.”

“You should eat ginger,” the older sister said. “It helps with my hay fever.”

“Really?” Garrison nodded at them as he glanced over to where Cara was welcoming an older man into her home, hugging him and taking his coat. The perfect hostess . . . to everyone else.

Garrison put great effort into acting natural and relaxed as he chatted and dined with his neighbors, but the whole while he felt uneasy. Plus he was distracted with keeping one eye on the pretty hostess. Partly because he couldn’t help himself, and partly because he sensed that Cara was purposely avoiding him. She was never rude, but at the same time she never exchanged more than the briefest of conversation with him. Yet she remained friendly and warm and congenial to everyone else. It was unnerving.

For that reason, Garrison made an excuse to leave early—even before dessert was served. He knew it was bad manners as he abruptly thanked his hostess, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. After being reassured that Ruby could get a ride home, he explained his need to see to his cats. Naturally, this led to some goodhearted teasing at his expense. Particularly from some of the younger guests that, due to the Dorchester sisters, he’d not had the opportunity to get acquainted with.

He forced a smile, waved goodbye, and tried to take the whole social fiasco in stride as he left. So what if they shared some laughs at his expense after he was gone. He was just relieved to get away from there. Not only had that “charming” little gingerbread house been overly small and overly crowded, it had literally felt as if the walls had been closing in on him.

As he drove home, he thought about Cara. She had looked so pretty in that deep-red dress. And she had such an engaging smile. An endearing laugh. Yet it was obvious that the girl was harboring a serious grudge against him. She must’ve taken it personally when he’d refused to hand over Harry. He wished he could explain the will dilemma to her again—to somehow make her understand—but really, what more could he say? Perhaps it was best to let sleeping dogs lie . . . or should he say
sleeping cats
?