Welcome Home
Elspeth’s POV
“Can we keep him, Mom? Please?”
I looked down at my children’s pleading faces, then at the solid black cat my daughter had snuggled in her arms, and sighed. The last thing we needed was another mouth to feed.
“I don’t know, guys,” I hedged, as I tried to balance the bag of groceries on my hip.
“Pwease Mommy,” begged my son, McClure, his lower lip quivering.
I sighed again. It was late; too late to make the close to half an hour drive back into town. Even if we did, the no-kill shelter would undoubtedly be closed. The cat seemed healthy; no visible injuries, no bleary eyes or runny nose, no mange. It looked well fed and had a sleek, shiny coat. Neither ear had a notch in it so it wasn’t a known feral cat. It couldn’t have been out in the wilds for long all things considered.
“Does he have a collar?” I asked the kids who both broke into huge smiles at the question.
“No, Mommy!” they chorused.
I rubbed my temple with my free hand. Money was tight, and would stay tight through the winter months while I paid off the new furnace and water heater. We’d caught a break on the roof when the old one sustained hail damage. The insurance had paid for it to be replaced, with a much more durable metal one, but had naturally raised the monthly premiums.
Then, of course, there were the normal expenses of keeping two growing children clothed and fed, not to mention myself, plus the utilities, and the expenses associated with the animals we already owned, the maintenance of my truck. It went on and on.
At least I didn’t have to deal with a mortgage on top of everything else, since my grandparents had left the house and the land it sat on completely free and clear. Just the taxes. A coyote howled in the distance and the sound shook me from my mental list of bills.
“Tell you what. Bring it in for the night, but it needs to stay in the laundry room. Tomorrow we’ll take it to the vet, make sure it’s healthy and not microchipped and if, and that’s a big if, it is a stray and can get up to date on its shots then we can keep it.” Just the thought of the possible vet bills if it was sick in any way made me shudder.
The kids broke into cheers and performed a variation of a maypole dance around me. Sonnet teared up as she clutched the surprisingly docile cat to her chest.
“Thanks, Mommy, you’re the best,” she whispered. My heart warmed and broke a little at that sentiment. I certainly didn’t feel like the best most days, but I did try. Brushing those thoughts aside I turned my full attention back to the kids.
“Hurry up and get him inside. Night is coming in fast, and you both need to put your bikes up.” I realized I was speaking to a banging screen door; my kids had already bolted inside. Shaking my head, I muttered to myself, “I hope he’s a good mouser. That would be a boon,” then I grabbed the last bag of groceries and shut the door of my truck with my hip. I didn’t remember my grandparents having to deal with so many rodents when I was a child. It felt like I was running a mouse hotel during winter.
The kids spent the next hour playing with the cat, testing out names, and generally falling head over heels in love with it. Sonnet even went so far as to tie one of her hair ribbons to a stick of kindling to make a toy for the cat to play with, not that he was particularly interested in it.
“Don’t get too attached just yet,” I cautioned them. “It might be someone else’s pet.”
“He’s not someone else’s, Mom!” protested Sonnet as McClure nodded in agreement. “He came to us because he needs us, just like Toby.”
I didn’t have a response to that declaration so instead I focused on ladling out the Brunswick Stew I’d made earlier for our dinner. Toby was our Heinz 57 dog who’d shown up a month after I’d left my worthless husband and relocated to the Shenandoah valley.
That had been four years ago, but sometimes it felt like yesterday. Toby was a big dog, though not quite Labrador sized. He was tan and shaggy, and had been great with the kids from the very beginning. It had been easy to house train him and it was like he had been made to order just for us.
He brought me a great deal of comfort out here in the countryside since the closest house to ours was vacant. It was situated across the street on another parcel of land similar in size to this one. Around the other sides of my two acre farm stretched woodlands and meadows that were part of a nature preserve. In fact, our nearest neighbor was almost a half a mile away.
I liked the privacy that our home provided us, but sometimes the isolation started to get to me, especially at night. Toby seemed to sense that and stayed close by me whenever those feelings of paranoia and panic started to bubble up inside me.
If it had been up to me, I would have chosen to live in a house closer to town. But as long as I couldn’t afford to add a mortgage or rent to my expense sheet, free and isolated would have to do. At least out here no one could complain we were too loud.
I always paid attention when Toby didn’t like someone or something. For a dog that was normally so laid back he was asleep on the floor, he had demonstrated a fierce level of protectiveness a number of times. He’d freaked out when the handyman who came to repair the dryer had shown up. His reaction had been so extreme that I’d panicked and locked the doors, and canceled the service visit.
The man had gotten out of his truck and proceeded to jerk off on the front porch. I’d immediately called the police and turned over the doorbell camera footage that showed everything in disturbing detail. He’d been arrested for indecent exposure, and when they ran his prints it turned out he was on the database for sex offenders and had a warrant for his arrest in two other states. Toby had gotten roast chicken for dinner that night.
So it was only normal for me to check how he was responding to the cat. When I saw that Toby was waiting patiently next to the chair that I normally sat in for meals, I relaxed more than I probably should have. If Toby didn’t care beyond giving it a cursory sniff when Sonnet had introduced the two, it was okay with me too. Even though it was only a cat, the Toby seal of approval brought me extra peace of mind.
“Go ahead and put the kitty up in the laundry room, then wash your hands.” I finished scooping some of Toby’s homemade food out for him in a bowl, and then passed it to McClure as they carried the cat through the kitchen. A quick online search had revealed that most of it was also okay for cats. All I had to do was pick out most of the apple pieces. I’d make up a separate batch of food just for him if we ended up keeping him.
Before heating up our dinner I had fixed up a litter box for the cat with a lid from one of the packing boxes still in the basement and the litter we had left over from the ice storm last year. I’d hated having to splurge on kitty litter when we hadn’t owned a cat, but I needed something animal safe to give me traction on the icy areas near the chickens and the barn.
Sonnet admonishing the cat to be a good boy and eat his dinner brought a smile to my face. I carried our bowls of stew to the table while they washed up. Once we were all settled around the table I asked a question that had been nagging at me since the kids had appeared carrying the cat.
“How do you know it’s a male cat?”
Sonnet pulled a face. “His underside is different from the underside of Fig Newton, and since Figgy is a girl I just figured.” My daughter had referenced her best friend’s Siamese cat. I laid the blame for Sonnet’s cat obsession squarely at Figgy’s feet. Not that I could blame her. Figgy was an excellent ambassador not just for her breed, but for cats as a whole.
I wrinkled my nose and mentally added getting the cat fixed to my running tally of expenses. At least boy cats were cheaper and easier to fix than females, and we wouldn’t be hit with a surprise litter tomorrow at the vet.
“Oh, well, good deductive reasoning, Sonnet. Now, what was the funniest thing that happened at school today?” That question set off a lively discussion, one I was a wee bit regretful about initiating as their anecdotes involved classmate’s bodily functions. I changed the subject as quickly as I could and soon enough the meal was over.
Later that evening, after I’d seen the kids off to bed, I settled into my own with my latest paperback romance novel. I wasn’t sure why I still bothered to read them. I’d given up on the concept of romantic love years ago, long before I’d even mustered up the resources and resolve to bolt from my farce of a marriage.
Perhaps I still read them for the same reason so many people enjoyed fantasy novels, as pure escapism from a life filled with bills, chores, and loneliness. I shook those dreary thoughts off as I burrowed deeper into my blankets in order to read about Mariah and Jesse, her cowboy with a heart of gold and a cock of magnificent proportions and skill.
Before I got lost in their story I said a silent prayer that the cat wouldn’t be too destructive this evening. The laundry room wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t huge either. At least it had a cabinet for the laundry supplies so I’d only have to wake up to spilled water or food, not detergent or bleach. I’d also thought to move the trash can out into the kitchen while the kids had entertained the cat, currently bestowed with the moniker Mr. Void.
When I asked them where they’d come up with that moniker, Sonnet almost rolled her eyes at me for my lack of meme and internet knowledge. Apparently solid black cats were known as voids by all the cool kids. I crossed my fingers that we’d find a better name for him than that one, if we wound up keeping him, of course.
Maybe all that exercise from playing with the kids would enable him to sleep through the night. I hoped so. Sleep was in short supply for me these days. I didn’t need to add awake due to cat shenanigans to the list of why I was up at weird hours. Putting all thoughts about our new feline friend aside, I flipped my book open. Jesse was getting ready to put his warm hands somewhere fun when I’d finished the previous chapter.
