The Christmas Cat (7 page)

On Monday morning, Garrison showed up at Vincent’s house at ten o’clock sharp. It was a small, modest, midcentury home, but it was tidy and neat in a plain and simple sort of way.

“Do you mind having coffee in the kitchen?” Vincent asked apologetically. “I’m not used to entertaining much.”

“The kitchen is perfect,” Garrison told him.

“This isn’t exactly how I planned for my life to go,” Vincent said as he placed a coffee mug in front of Garrison.

“How so?”

“Well, I had hoped to retire with my wife by my side.” He let out a sad sigh as he sat on the other side of the well-worn table. “Lynnette left me about ten years ago. Talk about being blindsided.” He took a sip. “Sure didn’t see that one coming.”

“Sorry about that.”

“And then there was my retirement.” Another long sigh. “Thought I’d walk away with a nice little package and benefits, you know. Not a windfall, mind you, but enough to do a little traveling or maybe just fix up my little house.”

“That didn’t happen?”

Vincent let out a sarcastic laugh. “Not hardly. Seems the
economy is responsible for my loss. Anyway that’s what I was told. Didn’t even get a gold watch. But I guess that’s not so unusual these days.”

“That’s too bad.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I should consider myself lucky to still have this house.” He glanced around. “I know it’s not much, but at least it’s mine. Just wish I could afford to do some improvements though. I’m pretty handy with hammer and nails.”

“Well, the house looks sturdy enough,” Garrison observed. Then he explained about how he was doing some much-needed repairs to Gram’s house. “But I have to admit I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Vincent’s brows arched. “Well, if you need any help, just call.”

“Really?” Garrison studied him, gauging if this offer was just casual friendliness or something he could depend upon.

He nodded. “You bet. At the very least I can give you some pointers and tips. And I’ve got lots of time.”

“That’d be great, Vincent. I’ll take you up on it.” Garrison described some of the projects he wanted to complete before it was time to return to Seattle, and Vincent had some brilliant suggestions. He even pulled out some do-it-yourself books for Garrison to take with him. Then they arranged for Vincent to come over and see the cats in the afternoon.

“And maybe you can show me how to fix that door that sticks,” Garrison said hopefully.

“You got it.”

As Garrison drove home, he wondered if it would be selfish to hide Harry in the laundry room when Vincent came to view the cats. Yet, at the same time, he knew that was silly.
Besides that, Vincent seemed like a nice guy. He would probably provide a great home for a nice cat like Harry.

Vincent showed up around one, just as Garrison was finishing up painting a wall in the kitchen. He’d chosen a nice buttery yellow that really warmed the room up. It was the first time he’d ever painted anything, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he felt pretty pleased with himself.

“That looks good,” Vincent told him as Garrison showed him his work. “But it would be a lot quicker and easier if you used masking tape.”

“Masking tape?” Garrison frowned.

Vincent explained how to tape off areas that weren’t in need of paint. “Like that baseboard there.”

Garrison laughed as he pulled out a brand-new roll of blue tape. “So that’s why the guy at the paint store insisted I buy this. I could blame my ignorance on Uganda. I spent the last nine years there and sometimes I feel like I’m still catching up on American culture.”

Vincent showed how to mask off the cabinets and a couple of other tricks.

“I’m going to have to put you on speed dial,” Garrison said as he set his paintbrush aside. “Now would you like to meet the cats?”

“Absolutely.”

Garrison led him into the living room where the cats usually hung out. Harry was the first one to approach them, rubbing himself affectionately against Garrison’s legs. “This is Harry. He’s a Maine Coon cat and, in my opinion, the pick of the litter.” He chuckled as he bent down to scratch the top of Harry’s head.

“Handsome fellow.” Vincent nodded with approval.

“And this is Muzzy.” Garrison pointed to the oversized Siamese who immediately began “talking” in loud meows. “She’s very social. As you can see, she likes to talk.”

“She’s a pretty cat,” Vincent said. “But I’m not overly fond of the Siamese breed.” He went over to the chair where Rusty and Oreo were snuggled up together. “And these cats?”

“They’re both males,” Garrison said. “The black-and-white is Oreo. This one lives to eat and could probably get a lifetime membership in Overeaters Anonymous. He always thinks it’s dinnertime. The orange one is Rusty. They both have wonderful dispositions. Good-natured and easygoing and friendly.”

“Rusty?” Vincent picked up the big orange cat. “You’re a big guy, Rusty,” he said in a friendly tone.

Garrison could hear the cat purring happily. “Rusty is ten years old. No health problems. My grandmother took him in about six years ago.”

“You want to go home with me, big boy? Leave your cat friends behind?”

“All his friends are relocating,” Garrison reminded him. “That is, unless you’d like more than just one cat?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so.”

Garrison was highly tempted to tell Vincent about the cash prize that was attached to each cat. He suspected Vincent could really use the money. But at the same time, it seemed unfair to tip his hand like this. Perhaps it was better for people to make up their minds about the cats without any extra incentive. That was probably the way Gram had wanted it.

Vincent grinned down at Rusty. “I thought I wanted a female cat, but maybe I was wrong. You seem like a good pal to me.”

Rusty looked perfectly content. In fact, unless it was Garrison’s imagination, he almost seemed to be smiling. “Well, I think you’ve made a friend,” Garrison said to both of them. He explained about the two- and four-week visitations. “I know it sounds a little goofy,” he said quickly. “But my grandmother was really attached to her cats. They were like her children. She just wanted to ensure their future.”

“I don’t mind a bit,” Vincent told him. “It’s been a little lonely at my house. I’d welcome your visits. And, like I said, I’m available to help with your home improvements. Just give me a call.”

Garrison led Vincent to the cat pantry. “Feel free to take some things for Rusty.” He explained Rusty’s dietary preferences, removing an eight-pack of cat food cans as well as some other things. “And there’s a cat carrier out on the porch.”

Before long, Vincent and Rusty were happily headed out the door. Garrison watched as Vincent drove the car away. “Three down, three to go,” he said as he closed the door. “Not bad for just over a week.”

As he returned to painting, he knew he really owed Cara one. Make that two, since both Spooky and Rusty had found homes thanks to her intervention. He wondered how he could express his gratitude to her without offending her. He also wondered if there was any way to win her friendship . . . short of handing over Harry. As willing as he was to do just that—really there was no one else he’d rather give Harry to—he knew he had to honor Gram’s wishes.

G
arrison finished up the walls in the kitchen. After giving the cats each a kitty treat and promising to be back soon, he cleaned himself up and drove Gram’s old car to town. His goal was to get a nice bouquet of flowers for Cara. His way to thank her—both for Thanksgiving dinner and for her help finding homes for Rusty and Spooky.

At the florist, he looked long and hard at the arrangements. He didn’t want to get anything too romantic—like roses—because he felt certain that would scare her off even more. He just wanted something pleasant and unassuming. Finally he decided on a sizeable pink poinsettia plant that was prettily potted in a large metallic green container. Very festive and Christmassy. It would look nice on her big, round dining table. He also found a card that he took the time to write inside. Nothing too familiar or presuming—but just casually friendly and grateful.

“I’m going to make it a hood,” the saleswoman told him as he was pocketing his receipt.

“A hood?”

She pulled out a long strip of brown paper. “To protect it from the chilly air as you transport it to the car.”

“Huh?” Sometimes he felt like an alien from a different planet. Since when did plants start wearing clothing?

“Poinsettias are very sensitive to the cold. Make sure you get it directly into the house. Otherwise the petals will fall off.”

He blinked. “The petals will fall off?”

She nodded grimly. “Yes. And we have a no-return policy.”

“Right . . .”

“Is it a gift?” she asked as she taped the “hood” loosely around the plant.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t leave it by the front door. That would kill it for sure.”

“Right.” He hadn’t realized a poinsettia was so temperamental.

“Does the person you’re giving it to have pets or small children?”

“No.”

“Good. Poinsettia leaves are poisonous if ingested.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt she will eat it.”

The woman laughed.

Garrison was tempted to tell the woman he had changed his mind. Who knew a simple plant could be such high maintenance? Almost as bad as a houseful of cats.

“Well, I hope she enjoys it. It’s really a lovely gift.”

Garrison carefully picked up the plant. “Thanks. I hope I can get it safely to her.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t worry. I probably made it sound worse than it is. Just be careful with the cold air.”

He hurried the delicate plant out to his car and, fastening the seatbelt around it, he quickly started the car and cranked up the heat. As he drove to Cara’s house, he wondered what he’d do if she wasn’t home. At first he had hoped she would be gone so that he could leave it on her porch. Now he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps he could leave it with a neighbor? Or else he could take it home with him. Except that it might poison the cats.

Feeling a bit silly and uneasy, Garrison pulled into her driveway and carefully extracted the plant from the car, hurrying to take it up to the front porch where he rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he looked down at the bundle in his arms. He longed to just leave it, but the image of Cara discovering a dead plant on her porch was definitely not a good one.

“Hello?” a male voice called from the house next door. “Are you looking for Cara?”

“Yes,” Garrison said eagerly. “I have something for her, but she doesn’t seem to be at home and I don’t want to leave it on the porch.”

“You can leave it with me if you like.” The guy waved him over. “Cara and I are good friends. She’s usually home, but Monday is her day to go into the office. If you like, I can take it over to her when she gets home.”

“Great!” Garrison hurried over to the tan house next door. “I’d leave it on her porch, but the flowers can’t handle the cold.”

“Are you a delivery man from the florist?” The neighbor glanced over at the old Pontiac with interest. “That doesn’t look like their usual van.”

“No, I’m just a friend of Cara’s.” Okay, Garrison knew that was a stretch. “A relatively new acquaintance actually.”

“I’m David Landers.” He smiled as he extended his hand.

“I’m Garrison Brown. I live a few blocks from here.”

“Nice to meet you, neighbor.” David appeared to be about the same age as Garrison, but unlike Garrison, this guy oozed confidence.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Garrison held out the plant. “And thanks for taking—”

“Why don’t you come on in?” David opened the door wider.

“Okay.” Garrison was pleasantly surprised at this unexpected hospitality. “I didn’t realize poinsettias were so fragile when I bought this.”

“No problem.” David closed the door and pointed to a glass-topped table in the foyer. “Just set it there for now. I’ll get it to Cara as soon as she gets home. Probably around five.” He grinned. “I like having an excuse to run over and see her whenever I can. When she first moved in, she used to come over here a lot to borrow stuff. It’s her first time living in a real house and she’d need a potato peeler or some basil or whatever. I didn’t mind a bit. After she got settled, I missed her visits so I started making up reasons to pop in on her.” He chuckled. “But we’re beyond that now.”

“Right . . .” For some reason Garrison felt uncomfortable hearing this.

“How do you know Cara?” David gave him an overly curious look.

Garrison gauged his answer. “We met on the street just last week. And then my neighbor took me over to Cara’s for Thanksgiving—a get-together for the single folks in the
neighborhood.” He studied David closely, trying to calculate his age. Somewhere between thirty-five and forty, he would estimate. “I don’t believe you were there.” He glanced around the homey-looking room. “But maybe you’re not single.”

“I’m divorced. Three years last summer. And I would’ve gone to Cara’s little shindig, but I had a previous commitment with my family in Spokane. My parents wanted to see Jackson.”

“Jackson?”

“That’s my son. I have full custody of the kid. Jackson just turned eight.” He called over his shoulder. “Hey, Jackson? You still in the kitchen? Come on out here.”

A young boy came shyly around a corner, peering into the living room.

“Say hello to Mr. Brown.” David looked uncertainly at Garrison. “It was Brown, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Garrison smiled at the boy. “Hello, Jackson.”

“He-hello,” the boy said with uncertainty.

“Mr. Brown brought a plant over for Miss Wilson,” David told his son.

Jackson just nodded as he moved toward the staircase, nervously grasping the banister with one hand. “I—uh—I’m going—to my room.”

“Okay,” David said easily.

“Nice to meet you, Jackson,” Garrison called out as the boy scurried up the stairs.

David frowned. “I like to give him every opportunity I can to interact.”

“Sure.” Garrison pretended to understand, although he wasn’t completely sure what David meant.

“Because, as you can probably see, Jackson has difficulty
conversing,” David continued quietly. “They say he’s got a social anxiety disorder. But things got worse when kids at school started teasing him. So I took him out. I don’t mind homeschooling so much since I work from home anyway. And Jackson is really bright. But I do worry about his social interaction. I wish he had someone his own age to talk with.”

Garrison nodded, realizing that he could probably relate more to David’s insecure son than to the self-assured dad. “Yeah, that would probably be good for him.”

“I’m thinking about getting him a dog for Christmas. Although I need to make sure our budget can handle it. It hasn’t been exactly easy getting my home business up and running. And I know dogs can be expensive. But it might be worth it . . . for Jackson’s sake. Not that a dog can carry on a conversation exactly.” David pulled back a corner of the brown paper hood to peek in on the poinsettia. “Pretty.”

“How about a cat?” Garrison said suddenly.

“Huh?” David’s brow creased as he pushed the paper closed again. “A cat?”

Garrison quickly explained about Gram and her cats and the need to re-home them. “I still have this Seal Point Siamese. About eight years old. Nice and big. And she talks
all the time
.”

“She
talks
?” David looked skeptical.

“I know it sounds crazy, but this cat
talks
. In cat language, of course, but she’s really chatty. I have a feeling she carried on lengthy conversations with my grandmother.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, I’m not great at conversing with cats. I’m sure poor Muzzy is completely fed up with me.”

“A Seal Point Siamese? I’ve seen pictures of those. Nice-looking cats.”

“Muzzy is really pretty. Nice, sleek dark coat. Big blue eyes. And like I said, she loves to talk.”

“Eight years? Is that very old? I mean, for a cat?”

“My grandmother had a cat named Genevieve that lived to be twenty-three.”

“No kidding.” David shook his head. “And Jackson is eight years old—just like Muzzy.”

“No worries that she’ll have kittens,” Garrison assured him. “And she’s in good health. I have the vet records.”

David narrowed his eyes as if really considering this. “You really think this cat could encourage Jackson to talk more?”

“I’m almost certain of it. The cat really wants to engage with someone. She’s a real chatterbox.” He didn’t add that she could drive a quiet person crazy. Let them discover this. Besides, it was clear that David liked to chat.

“And a cat wouldn’t pass judgment on Jackson.”

“Not at all. And she’d be a good companion for him too.”

“I like this idea.” David nodded. “I like it a lot.”

Garrison told David a bit about his grandmother’s will. “I know it sounds a little eccentric, but Gram’s cats were her family. She had to make sure they got good homes.”

“I don’t blame her a bit.” David invited Garrison to remove his coat and sit down to go over the details of Gram’s slightly eccentric requirements.

It didn’t take long for Garrison to realize that this would be a great home for Muzzy. “And I know my grandmother would be pleased to think that Muzzy could be an encouragement to your boy.”

“I want to do this,” David declared. “It makes perfect sense. Jackson isn’t getting a dog for Christmas. He’s getting a cat.”

“Great.” Garrison frowned. “But I hope you don’t want to wait until Christmas.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m trying to get things tied up before that. I actually hoped to get the cats placed this week. And then I have to head back to Seattle for a job. I’d been looking for months and finally got an offer. Can’t afford to let it go.”

“Sure.” David nodded. “I can understand that. And, come to think of it, I’ve heard that you should never give pets right at Christmas. Too much going on. They can get stressed out . . . or sick.”

“So would you be interested in getting Muzzy sooner then?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I could bring her by anytime you want,” Garrison offered. “Well, unless you’d like to meet her first. Or maybe you want to talk to Jackson—”

“No, I think I’d rather surprise him.”

“I can show you a picture.” Garrison pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got photos of all the cats on here.”

David peered over Garrison’s shoulder as he flicked through the photos. “There’s Muzzy.” Garrison held up the phone.

“She is a pretty cat.” David smiled with satisfaction. “And you mentioned the two-week policy . . . Can I assume it works both ways?”

“Both ways?”

“If Muzzy doesn’t fit in here. If she and Jackson don’t hit it off—I can send her back?”

Garrison considered this. “Sure, of course. I know that my grandmother would not want Muzzy placed in a home that didn’t work for everyone.”

David stuck out his hand. “Then it’s a deal.”

“Deal.” Garrison grinned.

“When can we have her?”

“If you like I can bring her over tonight.”

“That’d be great.”

Garrison felt like letting out a victory yell as he hurried out to his car. Finding a home for Muzzy—a cat whose constant “talking” was driving him up the walls—was fantastic. And if she could help Jackson with his social anxiety—well, it was a real win-win situation. At home, he felt slightly guilty as he gathered up a generous supply of cat things for Muzzy. It wasn’t that he disliked the loud Siamese so much. In fact, she’d actually grown on him the last few days. But at the same time, he knew she needed a good home. Just the right kind of home. And he felt fairly certain he had found it.

Using a special gluten-free kitty treat to entice Muzzy into a cat carrier, he assured her that she was going to a happy home with a young man who would adore her. With her safely away from the other cats, he took a moment to give the others their dinner. Then he packed a box with everything a new cat owner could possibly want, including a nearly full bag of her special cat food, and loaded it into the back of the Pontiac. With the cat carrier safely buckled into the seat next to him, he drove over to David’s. Was it really possible he was down to just two cats? Not to mention they were two of the most congenial cats. Finding them homes should be a piece of cake.

Feeling hopeful and optimistic, Garrison toted the cat carrier up to the front door of the Landerses’ house. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a car pulling into Cara’s driveway. Glancing over, he watched as the sky-blue Volkswagen Bug parked. While knocking on the door, he watched Cara climb out of
her car and look curiously in his direction. Smiling, he waved, then knocked on the door again. It opened a moment later.