Critters of Mossy Creek

by Deborah Smith

  “Sit,” I said. snapping my fingers over Glinda’s head.

  She sat immediately, though she kept her attention on Emma.

  “I don’t know about this,” I said, ready to grab Glinda if she lunged for my beloved cat.

  “Just wait,” Win said.

  For a long moment, the natural enemies stared each other down. Then as if they’d reached some agreement they weren’t sharing with the humans, Glinda laid down and Emma turned her back and began licking her paws.

  “‘Plays well with others’ is on her resume,” Win said. His smile was so proud, you would’ve thought Glinda was his own offspring.

  Glinda’s ears perked up, then she was off the couch in a flash.

  “Anudder mouse!” Matt scrambled off the sofa.

  Win and I followed. Sure enough, Glinda produced another kill.

  “I didn’t realize there were so many in the bed . . .” I turned to find Win’s horrified attention directed toward the shelves in the corner of the bedroom over Matt’s single bed. I followed his gaze to the clown collection.

  “You . . .” His voice was squeaky, and he cleared it. “You collect clowns?”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. Matthew, my husband, loved clowns. We never missed a circus. He and I both collected them. Though the fact that I haven’t bought any since he died tells me that my interest in them was all for him. Why? Is it a deal breaker?”

  His gaze dropped to mine and held.

  In that single question was a wealth of information, and I watched as he processed it. First he realized that I’d seen through his gift, knew that it was his version of a bouquet of roses brought by a courting swain. Then came the understanding that I returned his interest.

  His dark brown eyes melted like a chocolate chip baking in a cookie. “Perhaps not.”

  “Look, Daddy! Anudder mouse!”

  I was about to correct Matt for the six hundredth time on the meaning of “Daddy” as I turned to see him holding the dead mouse by the tail.

  “Matt! No! Put that thing—”

  Win caught me from rushing over. “It’s okay.”

  “Those things are nasty!” I insisted.

  “He’s a boy. It comes natural,” Win said. “You can wash his hands afterward. That’s a good lesson for him to learn, too.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to pick them up?”

  I shuddered.

  “I didn’t think so. Go over there and praise Glinda while I show Matt what to do with it. Then we can get down to work.”

  I tuned out what was going on in the bathroom as I sat on the bed and patted it.

  Glinda jumped up immediately, excited that she was asked.

  I petted her. “You sure are cute with your little Yoda ears.”

  I scratched behind them and she leaned into the caress. Harder, Mama. Harder!

  Mossy Creek Gazette

  Volume VII, No. Seven • Mossy Creek, Georgia

  The Bell Ringer

  Booster Club Plans Fundraiser

  To Catch A Coach

  by Katie Bell

  In the big leagues, sports teams lure winning coaches with perks like bonuses, houses, private box seats for the whole family, stuff like that. Here in Mossy Creek we hold bake sales!

  The new Mossy Creek High School Booster Club is swinging into full coach-bait mode with a big schedule of moneymakers to pad the pure-t embarrassing salary being offered in the search for the school’s head coach. Since a certain local poohbah who shall remain nameless (Dwight Truman) is blocking a decent wage for the position, (kinda makes this Bell Ringer wonder if Dwight continues to be way too cozy with our rivals down in Bigelow), Win Allen and other local business folk are leading the campaign to raise money.

  No word yet on whether the fundraisers will include that ever-popular carnival moneymaker, the dunk tank.

  Your Bell Ringer votes to put Dwight on the dump seat. A sure-fire way to raise a million dollars in a day.

  “I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little,

  they become its visible soul.”

  —Jean Cocteau

  Sandy Has Faith

  “Your BP’s still high. Are you sure you feel like going to work today? Maybe you should take a few days off,” Jess said. My big old Teddy bear of a husband pulled apart the Velcro closure of the blood pressure cuff that encircled my arm.

  I reached up and cupped his face in my palms, smoothing the worry lines out of his forehead with my fingers. “You’re very sweet to worry, but I’m fine. Besides, what are the people of Mossy Creek supposed to do without Officer Sandy Bottoms Crane to make the streets safe?”

  Jess didn’t even smile. “You know what Doc Champion said yesterday. You probably have preeclampsia. If anything happened to you or the baby . . .”

  Doc Champion wasn’t an OB/GYN, but he’d delivered me and had been our family doctor all my life. I trusted him and had insisted he deliver our baby.

  I put my fingers against his lips. “There’ll be none of that kind of talk. Me and little Faith are going to be just fine.”

  Jess smiled and gently rubbed my baby bump. “I love that name, Babe.”

  “Me too. Of course, she picked it out herself, so how could we name her anything else?” On the night my husband told me I was pregnant I’d first dreamed of my little girl with blond ringlets and a cherub’s smile. The second time I dreamed of her, she told me her name was Faith.

  “Have you dreamed about her lately?”

  The question made me a mite nervous. I was a little more concerned about the gestational hypertension than I let on, but I believe in keeping a positive attitude—in having faith—so I just shook my head. “She’s been shy lately. I think she’s just waiting for her big entrance.”

  “She’ll be here when she’s ready. Have a good day. I’m going out to the construction site after work to see how the house is coming along. When I get home I’ll give you a nice foot massage.”

  “When do you think we can move in?”

  “It’s going to be a race to see which gets done first—the new house or the baby.” Jess handed me a brown paper bag. “Here you go. I packed you a special lunch. No more Bubba’s Bodacious Burritos for you until after the baby comes.”

  I peeked into the bag. “Baked chicken and salad,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Yum.”

  “Salt free,” Jess said proudly.

  “Thanks, Hon. You are a wizard with that George Foreman grill.”

  I kissed Jess good-bye and waddled out the door. Doc Champion was on a soapbox about salt, and I could understand why. Besides the blood pressure, my feet were swollen so much my brothers Mutt and Boo had taken to calling me Big Foot. Ha ha, flippin’ ha.

  I had reached the stage in my pregnancy where I was getting uncomfortable and so grumpy I’d even been snapping at poor Jess now and then, even though he’d been taking great care of me. The extra thirty-five pounds I carried on my petite frame made me look like a bowling ball with a badge.

  I was one of those women you hear about who was way far along before realizing she was pregnant. That made the swelling and weight gain seem sudden.

  I’d barely got the cruiser cranked when my cell phone rang. It was my brother, Boo, who’s a firefighter and paramedic. “Sandy, Addie Lou Womack’s I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up transmitter just went off. Since you’re closer, could you go and see about her? Give us a call if she needs anything other than her usual upending.”

  “Ten-four,” I said.

  Miss Addie Lou had a body like a bowling ball too, but not because she had a bun in the oven. She just happened to be built that way, and since she was no longer a spring chicken, she lacked the strength to get herself up when she fell down, which was frequently. And when Miss Addie Lou was down for the count, she was about as helpless as a beetle on its back, all arms and legs flailing, and unable to right herself.

  Her older sister, Miss Inez Hamilton Hilley, was forever trying to g
et Miss Addie Lou to attend Tai Chi classes with her down at the senior center to strengthen her core muscles. But Miss Addie Lou wasn’t having any part of what she called ‘Eastern mumbo jumbo.’

  “Mind your own core muscles,” Addie Lou had said.

  Inez had responded with, “Go ahead and flail around like a Betsy bug, then, you old heifer.” And that was that.

  When I got to her house, sure enough she was lying on her belly right beside her garden shed working her arms and legs like a tortoise on a hot skillet. “How can you help me up in your condition?” she asked when she saw me.

  “I’ve got an idea.” I went into the shed for her wheelbarrow. I backed it up right in front of her and helped her grasp the handles one at a time so she could pull herself up.

  “I always said you was a right smart girl,” she said when she was finally on her feet.

  “Thanks. How’d you manage to fall anyway?” I handed Miss Addie Lou her cane.

  “I didn’t fall. I got down on my knees to get a better look at her and forgot I can’t get up by myself. When you get old like me you forget what you can’t do no more.” She pointed to a little burrowed-out place under the shed.

  “Her?” Although I wasn’t completely sure I could get back up myself, I knelt down to look under the shed and found myself staring into the wide green eyes of a small grey cat who made a pleasant little trilling sound when she saw me.

  The kitty marched in place for a couple of steps with her front feet and gave me the slow eye blink that meant she trusted me on sight. “Aww,” I said. “She likes me.”

  “She’s fixing to pop, too,” Miss Addie Lou said. “When I first saw her go under there, I noticed that her belly was practically dragging the ground. She’s looking for a place to have some kittens. She must be the one who’s been putting presents on my doorstep.”

  “Dead mice?” I guessed.

  “Yep. She’s a good mouser. I think she’s about gotten rid of the ones that took up in my root cellar.”

  Having to deal with dead mouse carcasses on your doorstep was gross, but it was kind of touching that a little animal liked you enough to bring you a gift of food. It was just so neighborly.

  “Is she yours?” I asked.

  “Nope. I imagine somebody put her out because she’s pregnant.”

  Normally, I’m not the weepy kind of woman, but with my hormones all atwitter, I just about boo-hooed looking at that poor, sweet homeless cat. “Poor little thing,” I said, and put out my hand to her. She looked like she wanted to come to me so bad, but she was afraid.

  “She looks kind of scrawny, except for the gut.” As if the town gossip in her just couldn’t resist, Miss Addie Lou lowered her voice. “I wonder who the father is.”

  The critter did look downright hungry. “I’ll be right back,” I told Miss Addie Lou, and went to retrieve my sack lunch from the cruiser. I shrugged off my guilt at giving away the lunch Jess packed for me, pulled out the baked chicken and tore it into shreds with my fingers.

  I reached underneath the shed and put a small piece near the kitty cat, who sniffed at it delicately and then proceeded to scarf it down. I placed each subsequent morsel of meat closer and closer to the outside until she was eating in the open, completely untroubled by me and Miss Addie Lou being there.

  “She’s a pretty little thing,” Miss Addie Lou said. “I wish I could keep her, but I’m just not able.”

  I nodded my understanding. Miss Addie Lou couldn’t risk falling on her face every time she leaned over to fill a pet’s food and water bowl. Her center of gravity was just too out of kilter. Not to mention how it would tax the resources of the fire department.

  When the kitty had eaten her fill, she padded over to me and rubbed her body against and around my legs in fuzzy figure eights that covered my uniform pants in grayish white fur.

  Braced on her cane, Miss Addie Lou bent over gingerly and rubbed the little creature’s back, making the kitty purr loudly. The old woman started leaning like a willow in a stiff breeze and I helped her right herself before she went on over and balled up like a roly-poly bug.

  “Thanks,” Miss Addie Lou said. “Well, I guess I’ll go and call animal control.”

  I pictured the poor little thing behind bars, peering at first one passerby and then the next, just waiting for someone to take her home, and I almost teared up again. Spring was kitten season and the county animal shelter would already be overrun with furry babies. I picked up the cat and held her in my arms. She fitted herself on my shelf of a stomach and laid her head against my shoulder.

  “I’d dearly love to have her myself,” I told Miss Addie Lou. “But with the baby coming, us building the new house, and Jess working two jobs—at the newspaper and finishing his second book—I just don’t know how we could take care of a pregnant kitty.”

  “Lawsy, I know, Hon,” Miss Addie Lou said. “It’s a responsibility. You have enough on you right now.”

  “I’m taking her to Doc Blackshear’s,” I said. “Maybe they’ll be able to find her a home.”

  “Good idea. I tell you what. I’ll get a shoe box and an old towel and we’ll make the kitty a bed for the ride to the animal clinic.”

  With the critter ensconced in the old lady’s San Antonio Shoemakers’ box in the front seat of the Crown Vic, I waved good-bye to Miss Addie Lou. “You’re coming to my shower tomorrow, aren’t you?” I called before squeezing myself behind the wheel.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she assured me. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  When I got to the animal clinic, Casey was behind the desk helping out. She greeted me with a big grin, but as soon as she saw the kitty in the shoebox she said, “Uh-oh.” Then, when she got a better look at the cat’s condition, she amended her greeting. “Double uh-oh.”

  I sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Is Hank around?”

  “No, he’s out vaccinating livestock. Please tell me that cat is yours.”

  “’Fraid not,” I said apologetically.

  Casey reached out and stroked the kitty between the ears. “She’s a sweetie. Where’d you find her?”

  I told her about Miss Addie Lou and the shed. “I’ll have to give Miss Addie Lou some of my upper body exercises. That will help her get up when she’s down.” Casey flexed her well-toned biceps. Although she was in a wheelchair, Casey was still an athlete, both coaching softball and keeping up with a toddler.

  “How far along do you think the cat is?” I asked.

  Casey gently rubbed the cat’s abdomen. “I’d say she could give birth anytime.”

  “Any guess as to how many kittens are in the litter?”

  “Hank could probably tell, but I don’t have his expertise, I’m afraid.”

  I steeled myself for the next question. “Do you think you can find the cat and kittens a home?”

  Casey sighed. “I don’t know. The county animal shelter just farmed out some kittens to us today. They do that when they’re running over with homeless pets and we have a little room to spare. I’ll see what we can do, though. We can at least take her until she has the kittens.”

  I didn’t want to think about the possibilities if nobody stepped forward to adopt her. “I’d appreciate that. Meanwhile, I’ll ask around,” I said. “Maybe I’ll run into someone who wants a pretty little cat like that. What do you call this coloration anyway?” I stroked the kitty’s fur backward, revealing snowy white under coat beneath the longer grey guard hairs.

  “She’s a blue cream,” Casey said, bending over to rub noses with the cat. “Say, I have an idea. We could give her away as a door prize at the shower tomorrow.”

  I laughed. I had made Inez and Lucy Belle promise not to play any of the silly games that usually get trotted out at bridal and baby showers. “That’s not a bad idea. Maybe one of the guests will want her.”

  It was hard to say good-bye to the kitty, even though Casey promised that she would take good care of her. I picked her up and held her again, roc
king her back and forth as if she was a baby herself instead of an expectant mom like me.

  “I can’t wait for your baby to come,” Casey said. “You’re going to be a great mom.”

  “I’ll be happy if I’m as good a mom as you,” I said. “How is Li HaiKui?”

  “Perfect,” Casey said proudly, handing me a picture of the beautiful little black-haired girl. “Have you picked out a name for your baby yet?”

  “Faith.”

  “I love that,” Casey said.

  I returned the cat to her box with a final pat on the head. I felt like I’d bonded with the little kitty, especially since we were both about to give birth. For some reason, I just wanted to protect her. I said good-bye to Casey with a final backward glance into the sad green eyes of my new fuzzy friend.

  I couldn’t get the little animal off my mind as I continued on my shift. I asked each and every citizen I met that day if they wanted a beautiful and affectionate little cat. There were no takers. I even tried to bully my brothers into adopting her, but they resisted me. I must be losing my touch.

  By the time I got home to Jess that evening I was downright depressed and more than a little cranky. As usual he was pounding the computer keys so that he could meet the deadline on the second horror book in his publishing contract.

  His job at the Mossy Creek Gazette was demanding enough with its long and crazy hours. Sometimes Jess would barely have time to come home for supper before he had to set off again to cover a city council meeting, a zoning board hearing, or a high school sports game.

  As soon as he got home from covering all those stories, he’d sit down at the kitchen table and work until past midnight on his book.

  “I’m home,” I said on entering the house.

  “How was your day?” Jess asked, not looking up from the keyboard.

  “I found a pregnant stray cat,” I said.

  The keyboard sounds stopped and my hubby looked up from his laptop. “Please tell me you didn’t bring it home with you.”