“But if ye come across Baxter on yer travels,” Irene continued, “ye be sure to send him home. Tell him if he isnae home by bedtime, he’ll be getting no supper tonight.”
“Sure,” Izzy said, wondering whether this Baxter was anything more than a figment of Irene’s imagination. She’d seen no sign of a cat during her hike and what self-respecting cat would come all the way up here anyway? “But I think I ought to—”
“Off ye go now,” Irene said, waving her off. “And remember what I told ye, Isabelle. The choice is yers to make.”
Without another word, the old woman turned and strode off into the moors, moving with a steady, sure gait. In only moments, she was lost amongst the heather.
Izzy stood in silence for a long moment, feeling the wind whip around her and watching the old woman’s retreating figure. What a strange encounter.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Calling Snaffles to heel, she set off, hurrying down the rugged path in the direction of her car parked by the trailhead.
As she walked, Irene MacAskill’s words kept running through her head. They didn’t mean anything, surely? Irene was obviously some eccentric old dear who liked to say strange things. That was all it was. Wasn’t it? She’d spoken of choices and paths, but in such ambiguous terms that she could have meant anything, like some two-bit fortune teller who seems to say something and nothing all at once.
Ahead, the trail began passing through a boulder field, gigantic limestone monoliths that must have been carried here by the retreating ice-age many eons ago. She’d crossed this on her way out and was perhaps only a mile from the car now.
Snaffles suddenly halted. His ears pricked up and he raised his muzzle to sniff the air. A low growl rumbled in his throat, quickly escalating into an eager bark. Izzy tried to see what had caught his attention and her eyes were drawn towards a spot where some tumbled boulders had fallen against each other, forming a rudimentary arch.
Something was sitting beneath that arch. Something furry, with pointed ears and a tail curled around its feet.
Wait. Was that acat?
Izzy’s eyes widened. Yes, it was indeed a cat. A large, striped tabby to be precise. It sat beneath the arch as though it didn’t have a care in the world. Or as though it was waiting for something.
Snaffles’ barks became more high-pitched and excited, echoing through the hushed landscape. The cat didn’t even flinch. It yawned nonchalantly, showing an impressive display of white teeth. Just to be on the safe side, Izzy took out the leash and clipped it onto Snaffles’ collar.
“Baxter?” she called softly, taking a few steps towards the arch.
The cat’s ear twitched and he turned his head to gaze at her lazily. Izzy moved closer, her boots crunching softly against small pebbles.
“Irene is looking for you,” she told the cat. “And she says to tell you that if you aren’t home by bedtime you’ll get no supper.” She felt faintly ridiculous talking to a cat as though he could understand her. “Go on home now. Shoo!”
Baxter ignored her, sauntered over to one of the boulders that formed the archway, and began sharpening his claws on it.
“Baxter! Come on, kitty—”
She fell silent as something beneath the arch caught her eye. In the space between the fallen stones, the afternoon light seemed to waver and shimmer as though a curtain of mirage was hanging in the air. It cast an ethereal glow on Baxter’s tabby stripes.
Izzy blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. Yes, there it was. A nebulous shimmering, like heat haze on a blisteringly hot summer day. What on earth?
Baxter gave a stretched-out yawn, then gracefully shook himself from head to tail. His tail swished lazily from side to side as he sauntered forward, eyeing Snaffles with a haughty look of disdain.
Snaffles’ barks climbed in pitch, and finally unable to contain himself any longer, he lunged for the cat, ripping the leash out of Izzy’s hands and sending her stumbling face first into the mud. She looked up just in time to see Baxter dashing under the arch, with Snaffles in hot pursuit.
“Snaffles!” she yelled. “Get back here! Bad dog!”
She scrambled to her feet, feeling a lot more sympathy for the family whose daughter Snaffles had pulled over, and sprinted after the unruly hound.
“Snaffles! Heel!”
She ran up to the arch and a strange sensation washed over her. The air was thicker here, the smell of damp moss and cold stone more pronounced. That strange heat haze was still shimmering in the space between the stones.
Sprinting headlong after the disobedient hound, Izzy dashed through.
