“This ain’t the crawl space. This is just a teeny tiny space under the house. I’ve been telling my son for months he needs to come over here and close it up, but his wife doesn’t like him spending time over here.”
I need to get on this woman’s good side. “Maybe that’s for the best,” I say. “It doesn’t sound like you’d want her showing up with him whenever she felt like it.”
The woman glares at me as if I’ve insulted her. “I would never be disappointed by a visit from any of my family. Even her. But nobody ever wants to come out here and see me.”
I’ve said the wrong thing, but I’m beginning to get a feel for this woman. She’s lonely, maybe even scared out here alone. “That’s a shame,” I say. “You keep your home up beautifully. It seems very welcoming to visitors.”
Finally, she looks at me with something approaching a smile. “I work hard on the flower beds. I’m out here weeding every day.”
“It shows. You said the cat is stuck in there?” I do not ask how a cat could be stuck when there’s an exit fully big enough for it to walk out whenever it pleases. I feel like I just won a gold medal in the charm Olympics.
"I can leave a live trap here and come back tomorrow to pick up the cat,” I say. “It shouldn’t be a—”
“No,” she practically screams. “He’s trapped. I can hear him scratching down there, and I’ve tried luring him out with food. Nothing works. If he could get out, he’d already be out. You have to help him.”
Her eyes are genuinely glassy with tears. The tough woman clearly has a soft spot for animals, and I can certainly relate to that. “Is there another cat or dog on the property that might be scaring the cat enough for it to feel it’s not safe to come out?”
“I don’t have any pets,” she says. “I work long hours, and it wouldn’t be fair to an animal for me to keep him.”
“Cats actually can do really well at home alone for long hours, especially if you have more than one.”
Her eyes light and her lips finally tip up just the tiniest bit. “You really think so?”
“I work long hours myself and just got a cat. I really think so.” I don’t tell her that my cat is going so stir-crazy being stuck inside that he’s been tearing up the house while I’m gone. I hate to even think it, but we might not be able to keep Marmalade.
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” She clasps her hands together and smiles for real.
“Let me just grab a few things, and I’ll see if I can get in that hole and rescue your cat.” I can already hear Shaleigh yelling at me for not following procedure.
I’m not taking a chance with another animal if it really is stuck.
And I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.
“My cat,” she says. “I do like the sound of that.”
It seems highly unlikely this cat has an owner who cares about it, since the nearest house appears to be over two miles away. I’ll still check once I get it out, but we can worry about that after I rescue the cat. If he does belong to someone, I’ll send Mrs. Hughes over to the Weston farm for that kitten I rescued last week.
For the second time in less than a week, I find myself crawling under a house, this time, though, it’s into complete darkness.
I’m not particularly afraid of snakes or spiders, but I have a healthy respect for them and I don’t like the fact that the beam of my flashlight is only able to penetrate a couple of feet into what is clearly a huge space under this house.
Once I shimmy myself through the tiny entrance, there’s plenty of room to move around and plenty of places a cat could hide.
“Do you see him?” Mrs. Hughes hollers after me.
Her voice triggers some movement, and I shine my light in that direction, but can’t make anything out. I really don’t like this. I shove the cat carrier ahead of me and scoot forward after it.
“Here, kitty kitty,” I say in a low voice. “I’m a nice person. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Something hisses from the darkness. I freeze. That sounded like a cat, right? Not a snake?
I shine the light all around and see nothing. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. I can hear Shaleigh yelling at me to get out and follow procedure, but that starving, dehydrated kitten’s adorable face from earlier this week keeps flashing in my memory and drowning her out.
“I’ll be careful,” I mutter.
I army crawl forward through the dust, the scent of mold and rich earth tickling my nose.
Finally, I see a flash of black fur. Just a few more scoots forward, and I can grab the cat, but I’d rather lure it to me. I don’t feel like being bitten today.
