Lending a Paw(32)

“How well does anyone know anybody?” I quietly asked the fish. “Can anyone really depend on someone else?” I felt a flash of longing for a love long gone, a love I’d once thought would last to the end of time. Most days, most weeks, I was happy with the places my choices had taken me, but every so often, every once in a while . . .

A flash of black and white went past my left shoulder and landed on the counter.

“Eddie!” Laughing, I elbowed him away from my dinner and encouraged him onto the floor. “You are a horrible cat.”

His four paws hit the linoleum with a quadruple thump and he gave me a look that, if the universe had been created by cats, would have instantly frozen the blood in my veins.

“Oh, here.” I gave him a small piece of fish.

“Mrr,” he said, and slurped it down.





Chapter 7


The next morning, Eddie did his best to accompany me throughout my showering, dressing, and breakfasting. He blinked at me all the way through the assemblage of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the bagging of a handful of potato chips, the shoving of food and a jug of water into my backpack, and the writing of a note on the whiteboard.

When I zipped the backpack closed, he bounced into action. Off the bench, across the floor, and up against the door before I’d taken more than a step in that direction.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I picked him up, gave him a small noogie, and put him back on the bench. “It may be Bookmobile Day, but you’re not coming with me. That was a onetime deal. I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day.” Not that Eddie could understand what I said, of course. Still, it was kind of like wearing your favorite underwear to a job interview. You knew it didn’t make any difference, but why take the risk?

I opened the door. A fraction of a second later I heard Eddie’s front and back feet double-thump the floor. The sound of elephant feet raced toward me and I slammed the door shut before either of us got out. “Not a chance, pal.”

He slid to a stop. Stood on his hind legs. Pawed at the door.

I blew out a breath. “Listen, buddy. Remember that long talk we had? Cats don’t belong on a bookmobile. And no bringing up Dewey. He was in a library. Different situation altogether.”

Still scratching, he looked over his shoulder. “Mrr?”

“You are pathetic. Adorable, but pathetic. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to work.” I picked him up again, put him on the bench again, gave him the gentlest of shoves to send him off-balance, and raced to the door. By dint of sliding out sideways like one of those skinny fish, I got safely outside before Eddie could get a paw in the doorway.

I heard his yowls as I walked off the dock and across the marina’s dewy grass. Even halfway to downtown I thought I could hear poor Eddie calling to me. My steps slowed . . . but, no. It wouldn’t work.

I put my fingers in my ears and walked on.

• • •

“Where is she?” A portly, gray-haired man looked around the bookmobile.

“I’m sorry?” Thessie, my seventeen-year-old volunteer, looked puzzled. “Minnie is the bookmobile librarian.” She pointed to where I was standing, maybe ten feet away from the man, working with a six-year-old boy to find a book about butterflies.

“No, no.” The man brushed away her gesture. “The cat. I heard there’s a cat on the bookmobile. I like cats. Where are you hiding her?”

“A cat?” Thessie’s eyes went big. My stomach instantly clumped together in a tight mass. “There’s no cat here,” she said.

“Sure, toe the party line, I get it.” He winked broadly. “So where is she?”

I handed the kid a book on snakes—“Try this”—and moved to intervene. “Sorry,” I said, putting on my most gracious and helpful smile. “There’s no cat here today.”

“Why not?” He frowned. “It’s a great idea.”

“Thanks, but . . .” I tipped my head to the side and we adjourned to the back of the bus. “It was a onetime deal,” I told him quietly. “Eddie was a stowaway last Friday. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread the word.”

“Stowaway Eddie?” His lips twitched.

I looked at Thessie. She was engrossed in explaining rattlesnakes to the six-year-old. In a low voice I asked the man, “Who told you the bookmobile had a cat?” Forget the consequences, full cover-up ahead!

“Well, now.” He rubbed his chin. “Seems like I heard it Sunday morning at church.” More rubbing. “Or was it yesterday at the Rotary meeting? Sorry.” He shrugged. “Can’t say for sure.”