Chapter 9
Hello, Munchkin!
Arielle Nygard
On Sunday morning Tim comes over early to watch Austin while I head off for my first day as Munchkin’s caretaker. The drive over isn’t bad at all, and I’m pleased to note that the hospital was on the way, making my travel between jobs much easier. I drive through a very upmarket suburb, watching the walls get taller and the homes fancier. I find the house at the end of acul de sac, a pair of large, imposing wrought iron gates across the driveway. I put the car in park and find a mailbox embedded in the wall. It opens easily and I pull out a large brown envelope.
Back in my car, I extract a remote control for the gates from the envelope. They slide open soundlessly. I drive through and press the button again to make sure the gates close behind me. The driveway is wide and it leads to the front door of a French country mansion. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but the old-fashioned architecture, with its stone facade, tall windows and high-pitched ceiling, seem like a perfectly natural fit. It’s imposing though. Samuel Foster must be a pretty big deal. I start to form a picture of him. Older. Distinguished. I’d better not mess this up.
In spite of the classical feel, there’s an access pad at the front door that says the security might be a little more high-tech than I’d imagined. I fish around in the envelope and find a slip of paper inside. The words ‘Access Code’ is written on it in a strong, bold hand, followed by four digits. I unlock the door and enter the house.
“Hello,” I call out, just in case the place isn’t empty. Don’t want to scare anyone. No one answers, but I do hear a distant meow. I move in the direction of the noise. “Munchkin?” I ask and receive an answering meow, louder this time. A gray and white cat stands on a beautifully stained wooden table in the kitchen next to an empty bowl.
“Hi, Munchkin,” I say and gingerly reach out a hand to pet him. As soon as he sees my hand move, he hisses. “Okay, I understand, I’m still a stranger.” I retract my hand. I don’t want to push him to the point of attack. Besides, I’m sure that once I feed him, he’ll come around. “Give me a few minutes to read up about you, and I’ll get breakfast on the table.”
I take a seat at the table and pull out the contents of the envelope. Along with the remote for the gate and code for the house is a letter, which appears to be from my new boss.
Hi Arielle
Thank you for coming to take care Munchkin. He’s an old man now and needs some special care. But first, he’s going to need food. He gets a tin of his special food in the morning – there are some on the counter, and more in the closet. By the time you get here, he’ll no doubt be starving.
The note is written in a quaintly formal style, and my initial impression of a distinguished older man is reinforced.
Munchkin has been watching me warily and hisses again when I reach for his bowl. “Easy, boy,” I say in a soothing voice and inch my hand closer. But he’s having none of it. I withdraw my hand. “Okay, how about this? I’ll bring the food to you.” I go over to the counter and pick a tin off the top of a large stack. After opening all of the drawers, I find a teaspoon. I pop the top off the can and return to the table. The smell of fish placates the cat and while he does give me a distrustful look, he doesn’t make a sound as I empty the tin into his bowl. I mash up the contents and step away. After a suspicious stare at me, he trots over the counter and begins eating immediately. I breathe a sigh of relief. I set the empty tin and the spoon on the counter and return to my chair to finish the letter.
Once he’s done with breakfast, please wash out the bowl and fill it with a scoop of kibble. For dinner he gets another tin of food and another scoop of kibble. There’s a self-feeding dispenser on the patio, so there’s no chance he’ll run out, but I like to be sure he’s eaten some.
Now, on to the hard part - giving him his medication. Munchkin has an overactive thyroid and needs to take a pill once a day. The pills are on the counter with the food. I usually put them in a treat pocket (also on the counter) and thankfully he’s good about taking it.
Other than that, please keep him company. He mostly likes to lie on the couch in the sunroom. Make yourself at home. There’s tea and coffee, and you’re welcome to anything you find in the refrigerator or pantry.
You have my number in case you need anything, but don’t hesitate to call the vet (number below) if you suspect anything is wrong. I have an account with them for Munchkin – they know him well.
Thanks again.
Samuel Foster
“Sounds easy enough,” I say to the cat, who is still enjoying his breakfast. He gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t lift his head from his meal. I pull my phone from my purse to send Tim a quick message. I had no idea what to expect when I left the house, and Tim had said that he didn’t have any plans. Still, I want him to know to settle in for a few hours.
Hey, so I need to stay here for a couple of hours. Are you sure you don’t mind watching Austin this morning?
His reply is almost immediate.
Not a problem. We’re having some guy time.
I laugh at the thought. If Austin was a normal nine-year-old, they’d likely be playing video games or having a burping competition. But I know that things are a little different between this pair. Tim loves to tell my son about his father. It helps keep Steve’s memory alive for Tim, but it makes me feel sad because I can’t help but think about the man I loved and all things he’s missing out on. It’s Tim’s way of grieving, though, and I’m glad that he has a chance to do so without my tears to stifle him. I answer his message.
Okay, then. Have fun! I should be home by lunch time.See you later.
Munchkin has finished his food and is clearly waiting for the rest of his breakfast. I slowly reach for his bowl, watching carefully for any hint of unhappiness, but the cat doesn’t stir. I take the bowl to the sink and give it a quick wash, then dry it and take it to the counter. I add a scoop of kibble from the bag and prepare the medication. I take both back to the table and offer the pill pocket to Munchkin. To my surprise, and delight, he takes it without issue. I set his bowl down in front of him, and he digs into the second course.
I pull out my phone again.
Hi, Mr. Foster, just wanted to let you know that Munchkin is having breakfast. He took his medication like a champ.
A minute later my phone pings.
Thanks so much. It’s a relief to know he’s in good hands. I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble.
Not at all. He’s a sweetheart.
No way was I going to tell him about the cool reception I’d received.
That’s good to hear.
‘Well, that’s over with,’I think. At least things have gotten off to a smooth start.
