The house creaked as she dragged herself down the stairs to the kitchen. On her way, she’d stopped at a convenience store to get the essentials: instant coffee, creamer, and a box of white powdered donuts. She stuffed one into her mouth and chewed as she heated the coffee in the inn’s ancient microwave.
Mew.
The small, desolate sound reminded her that she wasn’t alone in the inn. She turned, eyeing the cat who now crouched in the doorway. It looked repentant, its big, luminous eyes reflecting the sunlight coming in through the kitchen window.
Mew.
It must be hungry. Cat food had not been on her shopping list, and it still wasn’t, but she couldn’t just leave him with nothing. She rinsed out the inner plastic container that had housed the donuts—the remnants now toppled onto the outer cardboard shell—and filled it with water. She hadn’t considered the cat might need water and food… or other necessities.
She didn’t even have a litter box in the house, which probably meant that she would be in for a fun surprise somewhere in the inn while she did the cleaning. One more reason why she needed to get rid of this cat.
When she lowered the container to the floor, the cat gingerly advanced on it. It lapped at the water, its hungry blue eyes never leaving her. Julie crumbled under the weight of those eyes. Did cats eat donuts? Hopefully, they weren’t too unhealthy for them, but if this one had been living in the basement fending for itself, it had probably eaten less healthy things.
“You’re going to get diabetes,” she muttered as she broke pieces off the donut. She left them on the floor next to the container.
The cat gave her an imperious look as if to say,What is this?It nibbled at part of the donut anyway.
Funny thing, the cat did look pretty well-fed for a stray. And clean too. Hopefully, if someone owned it, they would check in with the animal shelter, where the cat would be after Julie dropped it off this morning.
The microwave beeped, and she retrieved her steaming mug of coffee. She cradled the white stoneware mug she’d taken from the cabinet between her palms and inhaled. It didn’t feel like home, but it definitely made her morning better.
At least until she returned upstairs to find that her suede boots were utterly ruined. Grimacing, she snapped a picture of them and sent it to Cheryl. The picture message took forever to go through, but at least it did at last.
The reply arrived a minute later when she was fully dressed in yesterday’s dusty jeans and a fresh sweater. She wished she’d thought to bring some older clothes for cleaning. Maybe she could pick up some cheap T-shirts in town. She checked her phone.
Cheryl: Reason #425 why Boston is better than Podunk, Vermont. Cleared sidewalks. No snow!!
With her boots mangled, Julie couldn’t argue. Except the snow in Boston was closer to slush. It never really crystalized but lingered in the shadow of the sidewalks to splash onto your boots whenever a car passed.
One glance out the window showed a very different scene. Fields of white snow reflected the pink morning light like it was crusted with tiny diamonds. The trees near the house were capped with more snow. A red cardinal sat on the nearest branch, its chest puffed out. For a minute, Julie watched, captivated. When she tried to snap a picture, the cardinal flew away.
Oh, well. The window was probably too dirty to get a good picture, anyway.
Julie: The snow isn’t *that* bad.
Cheryl: Don’t get used to it.
Julie glanced again at her ruined boots. She shook her head.
Julie: No chance of that.
Cheryl: Good. Because I talked to HR, and I’m sure they’re going to call you for an interview any time now.
Goodness, Julie hoped so. After an idyllic sort-of vacation in Vermont, the icing to cap off her trip would be to return home with a job lined up and her life back on track.
For now, she pulled on her boots and went to find the cat carrier. It was time to get rid of her unwanted guest.
* * *
No amountof plaintivemewscould convince Julie to keep this cat. She had a fresh set of scratches on her hands from coercing the little demon into the cat carrier. She was starving, having shared her stale breakfast, her feet were freezing despite having turned the heater on full blast, and her boots were ruined.
But as she reached the town proper, her sour mood started to fade. Frosted evergreen trees gave way to neat one- and two-story houses with painted shutters and Christmas decorations on the lawn. Julie slowed as she passed one house in particular that looked like a life-sized version of a gingerbread house. You didn’t see things like that in Boston. At least, not on her apartment block.
The houses, in turn, gave way to shops interspersed by old-fashioned streetlamps decorated with swags of evergreens and wreaths with red bows. Each shop had added to the decorations in an eclectic but charming mishmash of candy canes, gingerbread men, Santas, and reindeer. The door to the pet store had cat toys hanging from the wreath, to match the plush cat with a Santa hat in the window display. Grinning, Julie checked her GPS as she continued past it. The animal shelter was on the other side of town, but considering how small Pinecone Falls was, and how prettily it was dressed up for Christmas, Julie didn’t mind. The cat was silent in the carrier on the passenger’s seat as Julie passed other businesses in town—a hardware store with little elves using the tools to make toys, a café with a window display of a gingerbread house that looked delicious, and the local grocery store with a donation bin outside wrapped in brightly colored wrapping paper and a sign that readTOY DRIVE. Each successive shop made her feel just a little more cheerful and less homesick for the city.
The animal shelter was less boisterously decorated than some of the other shops, but it, too, had lights strung up around all the windows and a humongous wreath on the door. There were plenty of spots, so she parked near the door.
When she came around the side of the truck to open the passenger’s side door, the cold crept back into her numb feet. The cat turned in the carrier to glare at her through the bars, daring her to come close enough to get scratched.
