The Christmas Cat Part 4

"If you know anyone who wants to adopt a cat," he said quickly. "Someone who lives in my grandmother's neighborhood."

"I do know of a good no-kill animal shelter. Perhaps you could-"

"No, no. It's my grandmother's last wish that I make sure they find good homes."

Her thin brows arched. "Oh, my. Well, I wish you luck with that. Last I heard there was an abundance of cats in the Northwest."

As Garrison drove home, he wondered if it was time to revamp his feline relocation plan. The attorney had discouraged him from letting the word out about the monetary reward that would go to adoptive homes. But perhaps he could drop some subtle hints in a revised cla.s.sified ad. Sweeten the deal, so to speak.

5.

The morning after Gram's memorial service, Garrison called Mr. Miller. "I have some questions I hadn't considered when I spoke to you last week," he told him.

"Yes, I expected you would. Any luck finding homes for the cats?"

"I placed one right next door." Then he explained about his ads and posters and how he'd almost found a home for another cat. "But the woman didn't fit Gram's criteria. She'd only lived in the neighborhood a few months. But she seemed like a good choice, I wish I could've given-"

"Sorry, Garrison. My job is to respect your grandmother's final wishes. I'm sure you can understand that."

"Yes, well, that's not really why I called. Mostly I wanted to know what's to become of my grandmother's house. I know she'd had that reverse mortgage on it. But since I'm kind of stuck here for a while-I mean, until I get the cats resettled-I hoped I could empty it out a little. Also, there are some family things I'd like to keep if that's all right."

"It's all yours, Garrison. Other than what your grandmother set aside for the cats, the remaining estate is yours. However, you won't officially inherit it until you get the cats successfully placed in new homes. It's all spelled out in the packet I gave you."

"Oh . . . yeah . . . I haven't read through the whole thing yet."

"So feel free to do as you like with the house. As I mentioned in my office, your grandmother paid off the reverse mortgage. The house is free and clear."

"Free and clear?"

"Absolutely. I have the t.i.tle on file here. When your task is finished, it will be signed over to you."

"So this is my house?" Garrison looked around the cluttered and run-down kitchen with wonder as reality set in.

"It will be. When the cats are re-homed."

"Right." Garrison considered this. "That's really great. Thanks!"

"Thank your grandmother."

"Yeah, of course."

When Garrison hung up, he walked through the somewhat shabby four-bedroom house, taking it all in and suddenly seeing it with a fresh set of eyes. This place had real potential. If he fixed it up and sold it, he might get enough capital to start the halfway house he'd been dreaming of creating. He closed his eyes and sent a silent thank-you to his grandmother. She really hadn't forgotten him. Not at all.

For the rest of the day, Garrison threw himself into cleaning, sorting, repairing, and disposing. It was good therapy, and the results were making themselves visible by Wednesday.

"My goodness!" Ruby exclaimed when she came in to see what was happening. "I hardly recognize the place. What's going on?"

"It started with removing some of the furnis.h.i.+ngs that were beyond hope," he confessed.

"Yes, I saw the mess in the front yard."

"Sorry about that. I've got someone coming to pick them up on Friday." He adjusted his particle mask, wiping a streak of sweat from his upper lip. "After that I just kept going. One thing led to another." He glanced around the somewhat vacant living room. Other than the scratching posts and a couple pieces of furniture, the place looked stark. "I'm afraid I've upset some of the cats." He nodded to an old chair where Rusty and Oreo were nestled together. "I hauled this piece back inside so they'd have something familiar."

Ruby pointed over to where Spooky was sitting on the stairway, looking at them through the banister with what seemed a disgruntled expression. "That one does not look happy."

He shook his head. "Yeah. Spooky is pretty mad at me. And Muzzy has been very loudly expressing herself too. Harry's the only one who seems to still like me." He made a sheepish grin. "But I figure I'm doing them all a favor . . . making it easier for them to go."

"Any responses to your ads?"

"A couple of calls, but the people didn't fit Gram's criteria."

"Too bad. Viola is settling in very nicely at my place. She doesn't even seem to miss the other cats."

"Good to know." He considered mentioning the bonus Ruby would receive in a few weeks. "Any interest in taking on a second cat?"

"Oh, no. Viola is plenty of cat for me. And I do believe she's happier having me all to herself." Ruby chuckled. "She's already decided that my bed is her bed and truth be told, I don't mind a bit."

"That's great. Well, I guess I should write up another ad for the cats. Maybe I can put some kind of Christmas spin on it. Give your loved one a cat for Christmas?"

Ruby looked uncertain. "Speaking of Christmas, I came over to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Some single folks in the neighborhood are getting together to share potluck."

"Right, I almost forgot about Thanksgiving. That sounds great. What can I bring?"

"Nothing." She waved her hand. "I just saw the condition of your kitchen. Doesn't look like any real cooking is gonna happen in there."

"I'm getting ready to paint in there. But I could pick something up at the-"

"Never you mind. These old gals are already cooking up a storm."

"If they cook half as good as you, it should be delicious."

"Dinner is at two," she said as she was leaving. "You can drive us."

"It's not at your house?"

"No. But I have directions. We'll leave a little before two."

After working all Thursday morning, Garrison showered and shaved and dressed in his favorite black pullover sweater and tan cords. As he pulled on his jacket, he felt Harry rubbing himself against his legs. Realizing that he'd forgotten to put on a fresh particle mask after shaving, Garrison was surprised that he wasn't having another sneezing fit. Maybe his allergy meds were working better these days. Or maybe he was building some resistance. He bent down and scratched Harry's head. "You're a good old boy," he told him. "More like a dog than a cat."

Harry seemed to nod, almost as if he understood and agreed.

"Take care of things, buddy. I'll be back in a few hours." He chuckled. "I'm off to dine with-a bunch of old ladies."

Ruby directed Garrison several blocks away. "There, that's it. The little brown house with the gingerbread trim. Inviting, isn't it?"

"Unless there's a wicked witch living inside." He chuckled as he parked across the street.

Ruby snickered. "I don't think our hostess would appreciate that comment."

He carried Ruby's heavy basket of food, following her up the narrow brick walkway. "Lots of cars out here," he said as she rang the bell. "This house looks a little small. Think we'll all fit?"

"Cara insisted on having it here. It's the first time she's lived in a real house and she really wanted to host this gathering."

"Cara?" He suddenly remembered the pretty brown-haired girl on the bike. "Is this Cara, uh, elderly?"

Ruby laughed. "Not in the least."

He felt his face flus.h.i.+ng as Cara opened the door. Wearing a garnet-colored knit dress and with her dark hair pinned up, she looked even prettier than he remembered. Suddenly he wished he'd thought to bring a hostess gift. Like a cat.

"Come in." She blinked in surprise as she opened the door wider.

Ruby started an introduction, but Cara stopped her. "Garrison and I have already met." She made a forced smile. "He refused to part with one of his precious cats."

Ruby frowned at him. "Oh . . . but Cara would make a wonderful pet owner. I would vouch for her. I've known her aunt for ages and-"

"Speaking of that, Aunt Myrtle is in the kitchen." Cara took their coats. "She and Gladys have taken over and I think they'd appreciate your help, Ruby. They both agree that you make the best gravy." Cara led Ruby back through the somewhat crowded house. Left to his own, Garrison proceeded to introduce himself to some of the other guests. Although a few were younger, most of them seemed to be closer to his grandmother's age. Before long, he found himself cornered by a pair of elderly sisters who had been good friends with Gram. Naturally, they wanted to hear all about him and what he'd been doing the past couple of decades.

After answering the Dorchester sisters' questions about Uganda and explaining how he'd contracted malaria, he used the opportunity to tell them about Gram's cats. "I'm looking for good homes," he told them. "Can I interest you ladies in adopting a cat or two?"

The older sister wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry, Garrison, but I don't care much for cats."

"That's right," her sister agreed. "Winifred had a bad experience as a child. She abhors cats."

"To be honest, I'm not terribly fond of cats myself, but I'm trying to adapt to them. I tell myself it's mind over matter. I hope that if I don't think about it too much, it won't matter." He chuckled and then explained about his allergies. "If I forget to take my antihistamines I am a complete mess."

"You should eat ginger," the older sister said. "It helps with my hay fever."

"Really?" Garrison nodded at them as he glanced over to where Cara was welcoming an older man into her home, hugging him and taking his coat. The perfect hostess . . . to everyone else.

Garrison put great effort into acting natural and relaxed as he chatted and dined with his neighbors, but the whole while he felt uneasy. Plus he was distracted with keeping one eye on the pretty hostess. Partly because he couldn't help himself, and partly because he sensed that Cara was purposely avoiding him. She was never rude, but at the same time she never exchanged more than the briefest of conversation with him. Yet she remained friendly and warm and congenial to everyone else. It was unnerving.

For that reason, Garrison made an excuse to leave early-even before dessert was served. He knew it was bad manners as he abruptly thanked his hostess, but it was the best he could do under the circ.u.mstances. After being rea.s.sured that Ruby could get a ride home, he explained his need to see to his cats. Naturally, this led to some goodhearted teasing at his expense. Particularly from some of the younger guests that, due to the Dorchester sisters, he'd not had the opportunity to get acquainted with.

He forced a smile, waved goodbye, and tried to take the whole social fiasco in stride as he left. So what if they shared some laughs at his expense after he was gone. He was just relieved to get away from there. Not only had that "charming" little gingerbread house been overly small and overly crowded, it had literally felt as if the walls had been closing in on him.

As he drove home, he thought about Cara. She had looked so pretty in that deep-red dress. And she had such an engaging smile. An endearing laugh. Yet it was obvious that the girl was harboring a serious grudge against him. She must've taken it personally when he'd refused to hand over Harry. He wished he could explain the will dilemma to her again-to somehow make her understand-but really, what more could he say? Perhaps it was best to let sleeping dogs lie . . . or should he say sleeping cats?

6.

Garrison knew that his heart was softening toward Gram's small herd of cats. Okay, he didn't actually like all of them. Muzzy's obnoxious Siamese howling was truly disturbing and Spooky's moodiness was irritating, but he attributed their bad manners to their general displeasure with him . . . and missing their previous owner. However, Rusty and Oreo were fairly easy to get along with. And then there was Harry . . . that big, slightly wild-looking animal had the best feline manners, not to mention intelligence. Harry was clearly his favorite. Even so Garrison knew he needed to find homes for all five of them. Good homes. No regrets.

This was driven even more firmly home when his phone rang on Friday morning. The man who had interviewed him last week, the same day that Gram had died, was calling to offer him the job. Garrison explained about his grandmother. "So I really need to see to some things regarding her estate," he told him. "I might be able to tie it up in a week. Maybe two if I'm lucky."

"No problem. December is always a slow month for the foundation. Although I would like to get you in the office for some important meetings before Christmas." He listed some specific dates. "That's when we start planning for the upcoming year. We have a big fundraiser in February and I like getting tasks pinned down before Christmas. Makes January go smoother."

"I'm sure I can wrap this up in two weeks max," Garrison a.s.sured him. "I'll be there in time for those planning meetings. Thank you, sir."

"I look forward to working with you, son. I really liked your resume and that you'd spent that much time in Uganda. I can tell you're a diligent young man, and that you take your responsibilities seriously and see things through. I know you'll be a real a.s.set to the team, Garrison."

In the spirit of diligence, Garrison started constructing a new ad on Friday afternoon. It was obvious that his first ad had been ineffective. For the new ad, Garrison decided to lure interest by mentioning that the cats would come with a special "Christmas bonus." He was careful not to mention cash, but he did word it in a mysterious way that he hoped would garner some prospective pet owners' curiosity.

He was just editing the ad when the phone rang. "Hey, Garrison," a woman's voice said. "I heard you're looking for homes for your cats."

"That's right," he said eagerly. "Did you see my ad or-"

"Actually it was Cara who mentioned it. I was at her Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. We barely met. My name's Beth, and I was there with my daughter, Annabelle. Although Annabelle had her nose in her phone and hardly said a word to anyone."

"Oh yeah," he said. "I know who you are." He remembered the flashy, middle-aged redhead with too much makeup and the teen girl who looked like the poster child for post-Goth.

"Anyway, Cara told me you had cats to give away. And, ever since we moved here, I've been promising Annabelle that she could have a cat."

Garrison cringed to think of the strange-looking girl with multiple piercings taking home one of his cats. But then he chided himself for being too judgmental. After all, he'd gone through some rough teen years himself. "You say you just moved here?" he ventured.

"Oh, it's been a couple years now. I kept making up new excuses not to have a cat. But Annabelle's not letting me off the hook."

He explained a bit about Gram's will. "I know her requirements might sound extravagant to some people, but I have to respect her wishes. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?"

"Not at all." She giggled. "Imagine being interviewed to adopt a cat."

"I know." He pulled out Gram's list and went over the preliminaries, and all seemed to be in order. Beth was a solid candidate. "Sounds good," he told her. "But I'll still need to evaluate your house."

"For what?" she sounded worried.

"To make sure it's a safe, healthy place for a cat."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. It's not like I'm inspecting your housekeeping."

"Well, like I said, I do hair from my home, so I did pa.s.s that inspection."

"That's great," he told her. "Mind if I come by for a quick look? And, trust me, I'm as eager to find homes for these cats as you are to have one of them."

She told him where she lived, and he asked when he should come by.

"Can you do it right now?" she said eagerly. "Annabelle is out and I'd rather she not know about this. I mean, just in case it doesn't work out."