“Then why didn’t it climbout?”
“Oh, stop calling the kitten an ‘it.’” She lifted the creature’s tail. “I’m no expert, but I believe this is a she—seems to be missing some equipment. Also, every calico I’ve ever met has been female.”
Why hadn’t I thought to look that up?
Probably because you were busy worrying about fleas and food and because neither your mother nor your nana ever allowed you to have indoor pets. Well, any pets.
“Fine. Why didn’tsheclimb out?”
“God has a sense of humor?”
“Well, you’re older and thus in need of a cat sooner. You can have this one,” I said. “I’ve got a starter kit for her for you and everything.”
“Oh no. This kitten is yours.” Havisham put the cat on the couch and stood. “The universe wants you to have it. You put out a request, and behold ... the cosmic cat-distribution system has answered.”
The kitten in question cocked her head and then mewed. Loudly.
“Good luck!” Havisham said as she reached the door.
“But what if I have to do surveillance? I can’t leave her here by herself, can I?”
“Of course you can. You’ve got a litter box, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Put her in the bathroom with food, water, and a litter box, and be sure to play with her when you get back. She’ll be fine.”
“But that seems so ... cold.”
Havisham snapped her fingers. “Good call. Put a warm blanket in there for her to curl up on. Maybe one of your sweaters so she’ll have your scent.”
“You’re no help!”
“Au contraire, I’ve just been remarkably helpful, a fount of knowledge. Besides, you wanted to be a cat lady. Toodles.”
Havisham left. The kitten ambled over to my feet and batted at my untied shoelace.
My heart contracted from the cuteness but then hardened. Nana had once said she wouldn’t have another pet because losing her last dog had almost killed her. I vaguely remembered her bichon frise, Buffy, a fluffy sweetheart who had been too old to play by the time I came along.
Then, when I was ten, Mom had dated a guy with a golden retriever named Skip. We’d go to the park sometimes, and she’d hold his hand—the man’s, not the dog’s—while I played fetch with Skip. At one point she even gave me the speech about how I was going to have a stepdaddy.
Then poof! Both the guy and Skip disappeared from my life. When I asked my mother why we hadn’t seen them in a while, she looked me in the eye and said, “No sense in getting too attached to anyone or anything. They all leave you in the end.”
As if to prove her point, she promptly took herself off to Florida, leaving me with Nana once again.
Funny how I could remember the dog’s name but not the name of the guy who’d almost been my stepfather.
The kitten rolled over on her back and grabbed my shoelace, chewing on the aglet while her little back feet kicked together against the lace. I started to bend and pick her up but thought better of it.
Mom and Nana never agreed on anything, but they somehow shared an opinion on the subject of pets and people: They all abandon you eventually.
I told the cat, “Don’t get too attached.” But I had to wonder if I was talking to her or to myself.
Chapter 11
The next morning, I drove to the mountains of North Georgia to serve papers on a preacher. As my favorite lawyer boss, Lawless, and I had suspected, the pulpit was the best place to find a preacher on a Sunday morning.
While it might’ve been fun to interrupt the service, I instead waited outside the doors of the church. To while away the time, I fretted over my kitten. By the time Brother John Fitzhugh finally wrapped up his sermon—complete with three altar calls—and shook the hands of each of his flock, not only was my stomach growling but I’d also imagined at least twenty scenarios in which the kitten could’ve hurt herself.
