I make things worse when I insist that we eat breakfast. Neverhave I ever seen a kid scarf down Fruity Pebbles so fast. I, on the other hand, eat at a normal human pace, which gives Mom a chance to come down and join us.
She kisses us both on the head on her way to the fridge. “Well, this is a nice sight.” Then she sees the full pot of coffee I’ve already made and gives me a second kiss on the head.
Goldie blurts out our plans for the morning with way more excitement than a kid should have at the prospect of digging through someone’s old stuff.
It’s not like I planned on being so absent, it just happened. But the fact that something so little is bringing her this much happiness just makes me feel guilty all over again for putting her off so much.
I hurry to finish the rest of my breakfast, then, with an apologetic look to Mom, leave the dishes for her to do. One more thing this house doesn’t have is a dishwasher. I don’t think she minds, though, and seeing the way that Goldie is bouncing in the doorway, she certainly understands.
“Go,” she whispers to me. Followed by “thank you.”
Mrs. Mayhew has indeed been up since 5 a.m., which she cheerfully informs us of when she pushes open her front door.
“Ollie just could not wait for his breakfast this morning, could you, my boy?” The big cat she’s holding licks his lips while another seemingly identical cat winds between her feet. “Yes, you too, my sweet Stan. Now let’s move back so our guest can come in.” The cat in her arms meows. “Yes, you are right, Ollie,guestsplural.” Then she looks at me as though noticing Goldie isn’t alone for the first time. “Lili! It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Mayhew. I hope it’s all right that we just dropped by like this.”
“Of course, I told Goldie she’s always welcome and now you know you’re always welcome too. The boys and I just love company, don’t we?” She bends down to scoop up the second cat, then jiggles them both until they meow.
My sister grabs my arm and tugs me in after her, and I choke back a gasp once we step inside.
Cat houses, dozens of them in all shapes and sizes, and so many scratching posts. The furniture is covered by pillows with cat faces crocheted on them, blankets with little paws stitched onto them. A mirror shaped like a cat head rests above the fireplace, and every single surface everywhere is covered with cat figurines. In contrast, there are empty shelves angling up and down all over the walls that I don’t understand until Mrs. Mayhew lowers her cats to the ground and Stan and Ollie immediately dart up them like ramps. I’m not even allergic to cats, but I feel the need to sneeze just looking at everything.
“So,” she says with a grin at me. “I hear you’ve been spending quite a bit of time at that museum I recommended.”
I turn away from a floor-to-ceiling cat tree shaped like a pirate ship, complete with tiny portholes for the cats to peek through, miniature sails for them to climb, and even a crow’s nest at the top. “Yes, thank you for that. Wren has been a huge help.”
She beams. “He’s such a sweet boy, isn’t he? You tell him he’s still got my MacKenzie-Childs black-and-white casserole dish.”
I don’t know what that means but I guess Wren will. “Sure, I’ll let him know.”
Goldie nudges me to move forward. “Come on, I want to showyou something.” Then to Mrs. Mayhew: “Can I show my sister what I found yesterday?”
Mrs. Mayhew is in the middle of scolding one of her cats for biting the other one and waves us off. “Of course, sweetie. Just mind the Swarovski cats on the desk.”
Goldie leads me through the living room, then down a hall that has just as many framed cat photos lining its walls as it does people photos, and pushes open a door that leads into what looks like a library.
As soon as we’re inside, I turn around to face my sister. “You could have warned me that we were about to enter the house of a thousand cat figurines.”
“There are only three hundred eighty-one cat figurines,” Goldie corrects before moving to a specific bookshelf. She runs her finger along the spines, yanks a book out, and quickly hides it behind her back.
“What’s your favorite book in the whole world right now?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “That’s an impossible question. You have to at least narrow down by genre.” Then I frown at her. “Wait, are you holding a first edition ofAnne of Green Gablesor something? Because that would be pretty cool.”
Goldie grins and shakes her head.
“I’m supposed to keep guessing?”
She nods, still grinning like a maniac.
“The Hobbit?The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?”
More head shaking.
“Anything by Jane Austen? What then? Am I at least warm?”
“Older than Jane Austen. At least I think. When did she write stuff?”
