“As long as he gets a good home.”
Before long, after purchasing numerous cat items and paying the adoption fees, Willow and Baxter were on their way home. But instead of taking him up to her apartment, like she wanted to do, she knew the kinder thing would be to take him to George. Oh, she knew George well enough to know he would protest—and perhaps even outright refuse her gift. But she had to at least try. George was lonely. A lovely cat like Baxter could make a huge difference in his sad little life. So, as much as she wanted to keep Baxter for herself, she felt like George deserved him more. The question now was how to convince him.
Willow parked in front of George’s house and, after giving herself a quick pep talk, got Baxter’s cat carrier out of the car and marched up to the door. As she rang the doorbell, she almost hoped that he wouldn’t answer and then she could leave the cat and cat things, along with a note, on the porch. But then George opened the door.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m making a special delivery. May I come in?”
George blinked, but let her inside.
“I know you probably think I’m a menace and a nuisance, George, but I found something that I feel certain you need.”
“What isthat?” George pointed to the cardboard carrier box.
“This is Baxter.” She set the box on the floor, knelt down, and gently removed the cat, holding him close to her for a moment. “To be honest, I fell so in love with Baxter that I wanted to keep him for myself, but I knew that Baxter was really meant for you, George.” She held the cat out. “He is four years old and his master has passed away. Baxter needs a good home.”
George’s eyes grew wide as she placed the cat in his arms.
She quickly relayed the information the woman at the shelter had given her, about how it was important that Baxter remain indoors for at least two weeks and a few other helpful tips. “Please excuse me for a moment.” And before George could speak, Willow rushed out. She gathered up the miscellaneous cat items she’d purchased from the shelter, carried them back into the house, and set them down on the coffee table.
“What am I supposed to do with this stuff?” George set the cat down on the floor with a disgusted expression. “You can’t just—”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got an art show to prepare for. It’s Final Friday again.”
“But you can’t leave—”
“Like I said, I have a show.”
“You know what you are, Willow West?” George shook a fist in the air. “You are a camel’s nose.”
“What?” Willow stared at him in shock. “That’s a fine thing to say!”
“Have you ever heard the parable about the camel in the tent?”
She frowned. “Seriously, are you about to tell me a story?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” He smiled smugly, folding his arms in front of his chest. “The setting is a cold night on the Sahara desert. An Arab traveler is snug in his tent and his camel is outside shivering.”
“Really, George, are you—”
“The camel says to his master, ‘I’m so cold, please, let me slip my nose into your tent to get warm.’ Well, the master agrees and lets his nose inside. Then the camel asks if he might slip his head in as well, and then he asks for his shoulders. And before long the whole camel is inside the tent and there’s no room for the master and—”
“So, you’re saying that I’m a camel’s nose?” Willow sniffed indignantly. “I get it, George, I can take a hint.”
“Then take back your cat,” he demanded.
“Look, George.” She waved an angry finger in the air. “If for some reason you decide that you and Baxter are not compatible, just call me. I will gladly come pick him up ASAP.” She glared at him. “Thank you very much!” Then without giving him a chance to say one more insulting word, she rushed out the door. As she drove home, she wasn’t sure which was more upsetting—George’s nasty attitude toward her, or leaving that lovely cat behind. But it sounded as if she would get Baxter back anyway. Well, fine!
George honestly thought that Willow was more than just eccentric—the woman was certifiably crazy. Who gets a cat for someone—without asking first—then dumps it and leaves? He stared at the feline on the floor. He didn’t even like cats. Why on earth would he want to trouble with thisone? Pets were messy and dirty and needy and noisy. This was absolutely ridiculous. Willow would have to come right back and take this cat with her.
George went over to his phone, picking up the receiver and preparing to dial, when Baxter rubbed against his legs. Something about that movement felt so familiar ... just like Buddy used to do. George replaced the receiver, then knelt down to examine the cat more closely. He could hear the animal purring happily. As he stroked the cat’s head, he felt stunned to see how much this cat resembled Buddy. It was rather uncanny.
“Baxter?” George spoke quietly. “Do you really want to live with an old curmudgeon like me? I’m so set in my ways. I don’t even like cats. Well, most cats.” He sat down in his favorite armchair, trying to think clearly. Sometimes it felt like Willow cast some sort of spell over him, making him say things he didn’t want to say or do things he never intended to do.
Like that painting. He stared up at the old pickup in the poppies and just shook his head. He’d never wanted an oversized piece of colorful art on his wall ... and yet he knew he couldn’t take it down. He didn’t even want to take it down. And what about that coffee? After a week of grinding his own beans, George knew he’d never go back to the canned variety. How did such things happen?
Baxter jumped up onto George’s lap, so gracefully that George couldn’t even feel the cat’s claws on his legs. Then he looked up at George with amazingly intelligent mossy-green eyes and a sweet, contented expression that looked strangely familiar. George stroked the cat’s thick coat. It felt exactly like Buddy’s had once felt. George examined the big fuzzyfeet, also very familiar. “Are you related to Buddy?” George whispered. Naturally, the cat didn’t answer. But as he nestled into George’s lap as if they’d always been friends, George knew he’d gotten his answer. Although it made no sense, George felt fairly certain that Baxter would stay.
As she ran errands and worked in her studio, Willow kept her cell phone handy. She fully expected George to call and demand that she pick up the cat. But no call came. She even checked with the gallery later in the afternoon, but Leslie assured her that George had not called.
