The Christmas Cat Part 5

"No problem."

As Garrison hurried the several blocks to Beth's house, he actually shot up a quick prayer for help that this adoption would work out. One less cat would be real progress. And if Beth and Annabelle did qualify, hopefully they wouldn't want Harry. Perhaps Garrison would put Harry out of sight.

Garrison did a quick tour through Beth's house. Although her house was a little messy and cluttered and her breakfast dishes were still in the sink, he felt that the place was just fine for a cat. Before he left, he explained the need for another visitation after a couple of weeks. "I can't tell you exactly what day it will be. It's supposed to be a surprise visitation."

"Are you kidding?" Beth scowled.

"I know it sounds nuts," he admitted. "But can I trust you with a secret?"

Her blue eyes grew wide. "Sure."

"Well, there's a little surprise that comes with the cats. My grandmother wanted to be sure they found good homes."

"And you can't tell me what kind of surprise?" Beth looked curious. "Is it a year's supply of cat food? That would be nice."

"Something like that," he a.s.sured her. "But I can't tell you until the cat's been happily homed for at least three weeks."

"I thought you said two weeks?"

He was just finis.h.i.+ng his explanation when Annabelle walked in. "What's up?" she asked with a suspicious frown.

"You remember Garrison from Cara's?" Beth said.

Annabelle just nodded.

"He's offered to give you a cat," Beth announced.

Annabelle's face lit up. "Really? I can have a cat?"

"That's right." Beth glanced at Garrison. "I mean, we did fit the criteria, didn't we?"

"What criteria?" Annabelle asked.

"Take it from me," her mom told her. "These must be very special cats. Garrison does not just give them to anyone."

Annabelle seemed to appreciate this. "When do I get it?"

"Is now too soon?" Garrison asked.

"Not at all. Can I get a cat right now?" Annabelle asked her mom.

"Why don't you go home with Garrison? I've got a client coming in a few minutes. Be sure and bring back the pick of the litter."

As they were leaving, Garrison regretted it. This wouldn't give him time to hide Harry. What if Annabelle fell in love with Harry?

Garrison rattled the cat treat bag. Just as expected, the cats began to emerge from their favorite nooks and crannies. Before long he was introducing each feline by name. Annabelle went from cat to cat, carefully examining each of them. However, it was the moody calico that seemed to capture her attention. Annabelle offered Spooky some more cat treats and, to Garrison's surprise, she soon got the temperamental cat to eat right out of her hand.

"I want Spooky," she announced, still holding the cat-who seemed strangely content-in her arms. "Is that okay?"

"That's fine." He grinned. "That's perfect."

"I think she needs me," Annabelle said.

Garrison showed her to the cat pantry, inviting her to pick out some things she might need. He explained about the special drops Spooky needed in her food to prevent hairb.a.l.l.s and even gave her a cat bed and a carrying case as well as a bag of kitty litter.

As he drove Annabelle home, Garrison tried to conceal how elated he felt to have the moody feline off his hands. But he was glad for both the girl and the cat-they seemed perfectly simpatico. As he helped Annabelle carry the cat things into her house, she thanked him profusely, acting as if he'd just given her the greatest treasure in the world.

"You're completely welcome," he told her. "Don't forget that I have to come by to check on the cat after two weeks, and then again after three weeks."

"You can come see Spooky whenever you like," she told him. "I can understand how you might miss her. But I promise I'll take really good care of her. Don't worry."

Garrison tried not to laugh as he went back to the car. Annabelle had no idea how relieved he felt. And he knew Gram would be delighted to see how much this young girl loved her new cat.

As Garrison was leaving the church on Sunday, he was approached by an older man. Wearing a worn sports jacket and a tweed driving cap, the man waved to Garrison as if he knew him. "I'm Vincent Peterson," he said eagerly. "We met briefly at Cara's Thanksgiving get-together last week."

"Oh yeah." Garrison nodded, ducking beneath a covered walkway to get out of the rain that was just starting to pelt down. "I thought you looked familiar."

"Cara mentioned that you're looking for homes for your grandmother's cats. I might be interested. That is if you still have any cats left."

"Definitely," Garrison a.s.sured him. "I have four."

Vincent looked relieved. "I had a cat named Gracie for years. A big orange cat that I was very attached to. But she got a kidney disease and pa.s.sed away last winter. I told myself I wouldn't get another cat, but I suppose I'm having second thoughts now."

"Cats can be great companions," Garrison said positively as they moved closer to the wall to escape the windblown rain.

"Yes, I think you're right. And since I'm spending more time at home . . ." He grimly shook his head. "You see, I was forced into retirement last spring. So I find myself rambling around my house. Last week Cara was trying to convince me that I need a cat." He chuckled. "The more I think about it, the more I think she might be right."

Garrison quickly went over the preliminary questions and, convinced that Vincent was a good candidate, he explained about the need for a home visit. Although Vincent looked bewildered by this, he agreed. "Why don't you come over for coffee tomorrow morning," he suggested. "That'll give me a chance to straighten up some."

They agreed on the time and Vincent gave Garrison directions to his house. Garrison tried not to do the Snoopy happy dance as he hurried across the parking lot to the car. If Vincent took a cat, that would leave just three cats to place. And his new ad hadn't even been run in the local paper yet.

As he drove home, he pondered over the fact that Cara had sent two potential cat owners his way. Perhaps she didn't despise him as much as he'd imagined. Or perhaps she was just concerned for the cats in his care. Whatever her motives, he still owed her his grat.i.tude.

On Monday morning, Garrison showed up at Vincent's house at ten o'clock sharp. It was a small, modest, midcentury home, but it was tidy and neat in a plain and simple sort of way.

"Do you mind having coffee in the kitchen?" Vincent asked apologetically. "I'm not used to entertaining much."

"The kitchen is perfect," Garrison told him.

"This isn't exactly how I planned for my life to go," Vincent said as he placed a coffee mug in front of Garrison.

"How so?"

"Well, I had hoped to retire with my wife by my side." He let out a sad sigh as he sat on the other side of the well-worn table. "Lynnette left me about ten years ago. Talk about being blindsided." He took a sip. "Sure didn't see that one coming."

"Sorry about that."

"And then there was my retirement." Another long sigh. "Thought I'd walk away with a nice little package and benefits, you know. Not a windfall, mind you, but enough to do a little traveling or maybe just fix up my little house."

"That didn't happen?"

Vincent let out a sarcastic laugh. "Not hardly. Seems the economy is responsible for my loss. Anyway that's what I was told. Didn't even get a gold watch. But I guess that's not so unusual these days."

"That's too bad."

He shrugged. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky to still have this house." He glanced around. "I know it's not much, but at least it's mine. Just wish I could afford to do some improvements though. I'm pretty handy with hammer and nails."

"Well, the house looks st.u.r.dy enough," Garrison observed. Then he explained about how he was doing some much-needed repairs to Gram's house. "But I have to admit I don't really know what I'm doing."

Vincent's brows arched. "Well, if you need any help, just call."

"Really?" Garrison studied him, gauging if this offer was just casual friendliness or something he could depend upon.

He nodded. "You bet. At the very least I can give you some pointers and tips. And I've got lots of time."

"That'd be great, Vincent. I'll take you up on it." Garrison described some of the projects he wanted to complete before it was time to return to Seattle, and Vincent had some brilliant suggestions. He even pulled out some do-it-yourself books for Garrison to take with him. Then they arranged for Vincent to come over and see the cats in the afternoon.

"And maybe you can show me how to fix that door that sticks," Garrison said hopefully.

"You got it."

As Garrison drove home, he wondered if it would be selfish to hide Harry in the laundry room when Vincent came to view the cats. Yet, at the same time, he knew that was silly. Besides that, Vincent seemed like a nice guy. He would probably provide a great home for a nice cat like Harry.

Vincent showed up around one, just as Garrison was finis.h.i.+ng up painting a wall in the kitchen. He'd chosen a nice b.u.t.tery yellow that really warmed the room up. It was the first time he'd ever painted anything, and he didn't want to admit it, but he felt pretty pleased with himself.

"That looks good," Vincent told him as Garrison showed him his work. "But it would be a lot quicker and easier if you used masking tape."

"Masking tape?" Garrison frowned.

Vincent explained how to tape off areas that weren't in need of paint. "Like that baseboard there."

Garrison laughed as he pulled out a brand-new roll of blue tape. "So that's why the guy at the paint store insisted I buy this. I could blame my ignorance on Uganda. I spent the last nine years there and sometimes I feel like I'm still catching up on American culture."

Vincent showed how to mask off the cabinets and a couple of other tricks.

"I'm going to have to put you on speed dial," Garrison said as he set his paintbrush aside. "Now would you like to meet the cats?"

"Absolutely."

Garrison led him into the living room where the cats usually hung out. Harry was the first one to approach them, rubbing himself affectionately against Garrison's legs. "This is Harry. He's a Maine c.o.o.n cat and, in my opinion, the pick of the litter." He chuckled as he bent down to scratch the top of Harry's head.

"Handsome fellow." Vincent nodded with approval.

"And this is Muzzy." Garrison pointed to the oversized Siamese who immediately began "talking" in loud meows. "She's very social. As you can see, she likes to talk."

"She's a pretty cat," Vincent said. "But I'm not overly fond of the Siamese breed." He went over to the chair where Rusty and Oreo were snuggled up together. "And these cats?"

"They're both males," Garrison said. "The black-and-white is Oreo. This one lives to eat and could probably get a lifetime members.h.i.+p in Overeaters Anonymous. He always thinks it's dinnertime. The orange one is Rusty. They both have wonderful dispositions. Good-natured and easygoing and friendly."

"Rusty?" Vincent picked up the big orange cat. "You're a big guy, Rusty," he said in a friendly tone.

Garrison could hear the cat purring happily. "Rusty is ten years old. No health problems. My grandmother took him in about six years ago."

"You want to go home with me, big boy? Leave your cat friends behind?"

"All his friends are relocating," Garrison reminded him. "That is, unless you'd like more than just one cat?"

"Oh no, I don't think so."

Garrison was highly tempted to tell Vincent about the cash prize that was attached to each cat. He suspected Vincent could really use the money. But at the same time, it seemed unfair to tip his hand like this. Perhaps it was better for people to make up their minds about the cats without any extra incentive. That was probably the way Gram had wanted it.

Vincent grinned down at Rusty. "I thought I wanted a female cat, but maybe I was wrong. You seem like a good pal to me."

Rusty looked perfectly content. In fact, unless it was Garrison's imagination, he almost seemed to be smiling. "Well, I think you've made a friend," Garrison said to both of them. He explained about the two- and four-week visitations. "I know it sounds a little goofy," he said quickly. "But my grandmother was really attached to her cats. They were like her children. She just wanted to ensure their future."

"I don't mind a bit," Vincent told him. "It's been a little lonely at my house. I'd welcome your visits. And, like I said, I'm available to help with your home improvements. Just give me a call."

Garrison led Vincent to the cat pantry. "Feel free to take some things for Rusty." He explained Rusty's dietary preferences, removing an eight-pack of cat food cans as well as some other things. "And there's a cat carrier out on the porch."

Before long, Vincent and Rusty were happily headed out the door. Garrison watched as Vincent drove the car away. "Three down, three to go," he said as he closed the door. "Not bad for just over a week."

As he returned to painting, he knew he really owed Cara one. Make that two, since both Spooky and Rusty had found homes thanks to her intervention. He wondered how he could express his grat.i.tude to her without offending her. He also wondered if there was any way to win her friends.h.i.+p . . . short of handing over Harry. As willing as he was to do just that-really there was no one else he'd rather give Harry to-he knew he had to honor Gram's wishes.

7.

Garrison finished up the walls in the kitchen. After giving the cats each a kitty treat and promising to be back soon, he cleaned himself up and drove Gram's old car to town. His goal was to get a nice bouquet of flowers for Cara. His way to thank her-both for Thanksgiving dinner and for her help finding homes for Rusty and Spooky.

At the florist, he looked long and hard at the arrangements. He didn't want to get anything too romantic-like roses-because he felt certain that would scare her off even more. He just wanted something pleasant and una.s.suming. Finally he decided on a sizeable pink poinsettia plant that was prettily potted in a large metallic green container. Very festive and Christma.s.sy. It would look nice on her big, round dining table. He also found a card that he took the time to write inside. Nothing too familiar or presuming-but just casually friendly and grateful.

"I'm going to make it a hood," the saleswoman told him as he was pocketing his receipt.

"A hood?"

She pulled out a long strip of brown paper. "To protect it from the chilly air as you transport it to the car."

"Huh?" Sometimes he felt like an alien from a different planet. Since when did plants start wearing clothing?

"Poinsettias are very sensitive to the cold. Make sure you get it directly into the house. Otherwise the petals will fall off."

He blinked. "The petals will fall off?"

She nodded grimly. "Yes. And we have a no-return policy."