Short Street was full of craft and food stalls, and a marquee set up as a pet-adoption stall hosted by Hartbridge Veterinary Clinic in conjunction with the Humane Society.
“Oh, what a splendid day,” Mrs. Stevens said.
She had her arm linked through mine as I walked her from my car to the mall.
“It is indeed,” I replied.
I was thrilled to see her at my first monthly book club meetings, and she’d said she was ready to adopt again. So I’d offered to escort her down to see if she could find a little doggo in need of a new home.
Deacon and his parents were busy, and by all accounts, it seemed the day was a success. Even Mildred was there with a pink Humane Society bandana. Deacon was showing an information brochure to someone, but he looked up as we walked in, smiling at me before addressing Mrs.Stevens. “Good morning,” he said. “Thank you for coming today.”
“Good morning, Deacon,” she said. “Winter here was just telling me you gave him flowers and have a Valentine’s Day date tonight. How exciting.”
Deacon’s gaze shot to mine. “Did he, just?”
I grimaced. “I was making conversation,” I said quickly. “So, the dogs...” I said, grinning at him. “Shall we make some introductions?”
“Hmm.” He led her around the area set up with crates and cages to where all the dogs were waiting. There were big dogs, little dogs, fluffy dogs, short-haired, happy and yappy, and sleepy dogs.
Mrs. Stevens took her time, meeting them all, one dog at a time. I could tell by her expression she wasn’t feeling it.
Maybe she wasn’t as ready as she thought she was.
I suggested we sit a while and ponder, and she was clearly disappointed. Only her chair was beside a cage with a tabby cat in it. He was a big, chonky boy, and immediately began meowing at Mrs. Stevens. Then he stood up and tapped the cage, still meowing at her.
“I think he’s trying to say hello,” I said.
“Oh, he’s very vocal, isn’t he?” she said.
“I have two cats,” I said. “Well, kittens. They’re like three months old now, and I love them to pieces.”
Deacon took the cat from his cage. “Maybe he’s trying to tell us something. You know, it’s common for an animal to choose the human, not the other way around.”
He gently placed the cat on her lap. I worried the cat might try and run, or worse, claw her in the process. Deacon kept close, but there was no need to worry. The cat put his paws on her chest, leaned up to nudge her chin, then lay down, settling in right there, closed his eyes, and began to purr.
Mrs. Stevens looked at me, her mouth pulled down, and she had a little cry. “Oh my goodness,” she said.
I got teary right along with her. “I think he found his human.”
“I came for a little dog,” she said.
I read the details for her. “His name is Rupert,” I said, “and he’s five years old.”
She pet him. “Rupert, huh? That’s a very gentlemanly name.”
“It is,” I agreed. “What a sweetheart.”
She looked at me. “He chose me, didn’t he?”
Considering he was like a loaf on her chest, purring contentedly, eyes closed, I’d say yes. “He did. I think he’s got a lot of love to give.”
And that was that.
Mrs. Stevens was now a cat mom to a very happy, chonky boy, and the adoption day was a great success. The whole market day was. Local producers were happy to sell their wares, and the town residents were very happy shoppers.
It was all over by mid-afternoon. I helped Deacon and his parents pack up their stall, and when we were done, we headed to the diner for a milkshake and some of Jayden’s peanut brownies.
Deacon was positively shining.
