But I would have to let go—and soon.
I had four days left on Earth.
After the picnic, we strolled along the boardwalk. It was early evening, the last bits of light dappling the sea. Stanley was particularly interested in the cotton candy stands, in the humans fishing off the pier.
Q and Norma trailed in front of us, chatting like old friends do—and when they were out of earshot, Olive pulled me quietly to the side, bending down on the boardwalk. She said she had something to tell me. “I’ve figured it out,” she whispered, eyes glistening. “How we will get to Yellowstone. There’s a train station just outside of Turtle Beach, and if we make the right connections, we can go all the way to Salt Lake City, Utah. I called, pretended to be Norma, and reserved a ticket as an ‘unaccompanied minor.’ Then we take a shuttle to Yellowstone. We leave in two days.”
I was speechless. Olive was willing to put herself on the line—for me. She was bringing me to back to the hive: helping me to safety, to home; and for that, I owed her everything. It took a few seconds before I could pull myself together—emotion was flooding my chest—but I managed to purr, nudging my face against hers. Thank you, the gesture said. Thank you for the plan.
“Welcome,” she said, understanding me perfectly.
The next hour came and went, the cheese settling in my stomach. Q purchased one of those pirate hats with the faux parrot on the side, and challenged Olive to a swordfight; they dashed along the sand, clutching dried stems of beach grass. Stanley continued his seagull hunt, stalking them on the shore. And Norma—Norma excused herself to take a phone call. I watched her with curiosity as she paced through the surf, her free hand carving the air.
It was a long phone call.
So long that Olive stopped beach-grass fighting, her silhouette illuminated in the dying light. “Who do you think she’s talking to?” Olive asked Q.
Q appeared slightly worried, an expression I wasn’t used to seeing on his face. His jaw tensed as he said, “Dunno.”
We found out quickly enough.
Norma ended the call and stood there for a long moment at the edge of the shore, foam collapsing around her ankles. My first night on Earth, I was blown away by the sturdiness of her. Now, against the backdrop of the ocean, I couldn’t imagine anything smaller. I could see Olive in her, in the lines of her face, the nimble stretch of her fingers. Finally, she trudged over to us—Q, Olive, Stanley, and me, waiting by an empty picnic table.
“You better sit down,” she told Olive.
“What is it?” Olive said, voice quivering. “Is it bad? Did someone die?”
“No!” Norma said quickly. “No, no, nothing like that. Just sit down, will ya?” So we all did—even Stanley, snuffling through sand and crumbs under the picnic table. Norma inhaled a gusty breath. “That was your mom. She wanted to talk to you, but I said it was better to break the news in person. So here it is. Frank’s been offered a new life-coaching job with an agency in Sacramento. It pays a lot more than his old gig, and your mom’s got some leads on a new job, too. What I’m trying to say is . . . you’re moving to California. And they’re picking you up tomorrow night.”
I stiffened.
Olive twitched with panic. “What? That’s not— Wait. Tomorrow? My mom said she wasn’t coming to get me until August.”
Norma didn’t look pleased, either. She kept loosening the bandanna around her neck, as if it were strangling her. “That was the plan. But things seem like they’re moving quickly, and your mom misses you. She said this’ll give you more time to get a fresh start in a new place, get you adjusted before school begins.”
“But that’s . . .” Olive said, beginning to tremble. “That’s not fair. She promised!”
“We had a good run, didn’t we?” Norma asked, words softer than usual. “A darn good run. Maybe you’ll even come back next summer.”
Olive stood. “I don’t want next summer! I’m not done with this summer. What about the turtles? What about the tr—”
She paused, biting her lip. Because she almost said it: What about the train? I knew that Olive leaving for California had disastrous consequences for me. Would I go with her, not to Yellowstone? What about our ticket to Salt Lake City? But right then, all I could focus on was the pain sliding across Olive’s face: how it was swallowing everything about her.
On the walk back to the car, Olive announced that she “needed a minute.” The stars were beginning to pop into view, and I was wondering if I’d ever see them on my home planet again.
“We can wait right here,” Q said, stopping by the seashell stand, “if you want.”
“Go on,” Norma said, bobbing her head at Olive. “It’s okay.”
Somberly, Q and Norma both dug their hands into their pockets, and I believe that Stanley would have done this, too—if he had pockets or hands. There was something rather sullen in the black curve of his lips, as he watched us disappear into the glittering darkness of the arcade. All around us were whirring noises, electric bells, shrill pops. And the lasers! Don’t even get me started on the lasers. Thin beams of light, racing everywhere. Nothing about the arcade helped my heart rate—and I don’t believe it was doing much for Olive, either. She darted to the back corner, near the pinball machines, and started to pace, hands on her head. Her breath came unsteadily, matching my own.
The place was mostly deserted, except for a couple shooting a bouncy ball into hoops, so no one noticed when Olive blurted, “This is a total disaster.”
I couldn’t agree more. There was a numbness near my claws, as if the stress had traveled right to the tips of me.
“They couldn’t have waited a few more days?” Olive asked. “Why’d it have to be tomorrow? I gave you my word, Leonard. I promised that I’d get you to Yellowstone—and the train was going to be really special. You know they have skylights and everything? We were going to eat in the club car and play I Spy out the window and—ugghhh.” She let out a guttural sound, which rattled through me. I was trying hard to look at her, but the lasers were crossing my eyes.
“Now we can’t do any of that,” she said, voice cracking a little. “Now you might have to use a litter box forever and get stuck on Earth forever, and it’ll all be my fault—because I promised you, I promised you.” Her last words were so strained, I could barely hear them.
But none of this was her fault. None of it. It was mine.
Mine, I told her, pawing at my chest.
She didn’t hear, didn’t see.
Her hands tugged at the roots of her hair. “What are we going to do?”
And that, perhaps, was the most frightening thing of all. I had absolutely no idea.
It is my experience on Earth that events come in twos or threes. Try not to quote me on this—I’m still learning—but on the drive back to the house, as we were all reeling from the blow, a second phone call arrived.
At first, Norma seemed hesitant to pick it up.
She ignored it.
The phone rang again.
This time, it was Q—calling from his car. Norma put it on speakerphone, and his voice filled the space: “The sea turtles! They’re hatching.”
Norma gasped, then grunted. “I’ve still got Stanley and Leonard with me. Should I drop them off back at the house?”
“No time,” Q said. “They’re just going to have to watch from the sidelines. Turtle hatching is, without a doubt, the world’s greatest spectator sport.”
Olive piped up from the back seat. “What do I do?”
The smile in Q’s voice was clear. “You, my friend, are going to help save some turtles.”
And so we drove on, a coal-black sky gleaming above us. In terms of Earth towns, Turtle Beach isn’t too large—just a few ice cream shops, a marsh, a library with a South Carolina flag shivering in the breeze. It took us very little time before we were swinging into another parking lot, a crowd already forming. Humans with red flashlights lit the way to the shore.
Olive led both me and Stanley along t
he boardwalk, a sense of anxious excitement all around us. In the distance, I could already see them in the moonlight: a dotted line, moving slowly across the sand. Q met us on the boardwalk, then guided us to a nearby picnic table, telling us to wait just a second; he and Norma scampered toward the nests. I perched on my forelegs, tail swishing through the sand—inching closer and closer to get a better look. Olive reminded me with a soft hand on my shoulder that I was a cat, a predator, and I needed to give them space. What you may not know about sea turtles is that they’re incredibly fragile when they’re young and fresh from the nest, when their eyes are barely open and the only thought in their minds is sea, sea, sea. Sure, Olive understood that I wouldn’t hurt them, but the turtles would only smell the outer layer of me—so I stayed still.
Eventually, Q wandered back at a slower pace and told Olive, “I’ll hold these guys. You go on ahead. Help them get to the water.”
“How?” Olive asked. “I don’t want to mess up.”
“You won’t. Promise. All you do is keep ’em in line, make sure they don’t dart from the path—but don’t touch them. Watch out for seagulls. The turtles will do the rest.”
Obviously nervous, Olive nodded and then jogged over to Norma, who was on her knees in the sand, already guiding the hatchlings to the sea. And it was beautiful. I don’t use that term lightly—but it really was: the little turtles shuffling across the sand until they reached the shuddering waves. Their shells were so thin, their flippers no bigger than one of my toes. They must be terrified, I thought. They must be overwhelmed, like I was, at the beauty and newness of it all. Indeed, it occurred to me as I watched them—as they trailed inch by inch across the beach—that they were Earth. That they were beauty and terror, wonder and danger. Was it better to live this way? To really live, to experience everything, the good and the bad?
Above all, they had each other.
Q told me, as we were standing there, “They only leave the nest in groups.”
My heart swelled.
I have never felt more human than in that moment.
I have never felt earthlier than in that moment.
Q crouched to his knees, puffing out a breath. Something about his face told me that my good feeling wouldn’t last long.
And I was right.
Because these were the next words he spoke: “Leonard, my man . . . I think I know what you are.”
I thought I’d been stealthier. I thought I’d been more careful. What gave me away? The raincoat, the day with the penguins, the way I cleaned my belly—too awkward for a real cat?
“It was the computer,” Q said, answering my question without even realizing it. “I saw you with Olive once, after I’d dropped you off. Forgot my keys on the porch, and there you were in the kitchen, clacking away. Not many cats know how to touch-type.”
Moonlight pelted my back, my heart rippling like the tide. You might be able to imagine my panic at this point. No? Then let me elaborate. I felt completely exposed, entirely vulnerable, paws frozen in the sand. My tail hadn’t puffed that much since the night of the storm, but there it was, prickling hair by hair. Q’s eyes searched mine—not in a threatening way, not at all—but I was still unprepared for it. The correct etiquette escaped me.
Should I deny his words with a sharp hiss, or head-bonk him lightly on the nose, signaling that yes, yes, it was true?
“Whoa there, don’t stress out,” he told me, echoing what I’d once said to Olive: I am an alien do not be scared. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Promise. I’ve always believed in aliens—never been afraid. Ever heard of Roswell? Now that’s some cool stuff. The deep sea, too. Plenty of aliens in the deep sea, I’m sure of it. Humans don’t know even half of what’s out there.”
Stanley, perhaps smelling my worry, licked the crest of my skull, licking and licking and licking until I wasn’t entirely sure that I had any fur left. I’m sorry to say that it did nothing to help the anxiety. In fact, dog saliva was now dripping into my eyes.
“You’re still Leonard,” Q said. “Me figuring it out doesn’t change a thing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s none of my business. I just wanted to say that you can come to me, if you ever need help. Earth can be a scary place for a—”
“Oh,” Olive said, pulling up short. I hadn’t seen her approach, hadn’t even heard her footsteps in the sand. “What’s going on?”
She asked the question, but she knew. Maybe she could tell by the look on my face, the way my eyelids were fluttering. To punctuate the moment, Stanley barked once—loud and piercing.
Q stood, sand stuck to his knees. “Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “I was just letting the cat out of the bag.”
I assumed that was a human expression, but I didn’t understand it. My head was swimming. There were no backpacks anywhere, not that I could see.
“Sorry,” Q said, “bad joke.” Besides Olive, the closest human was easily ten yards away, well out of earshot, but Q still softened his voice to continue. “I figured it out. Not that I was really trying to figure it out—but the answer was there. To me, anyway. Leonard isn’t like any cat I’ve ever met. Because he’s not really a cat, is he?”
Olive shook her head, perhaps unable to push any words from her human mouth. “No,” she said finally. “No, he’s not.”
Q nodded. “Okay, then.”
“You believe me?”
“I believe both of you.”
“And you don’t think it’s all in my head?”
“’Course not,” Q said, taken aback. “I saw those penguins with my own eyes. What kind of cat could get them to bow?”
Above us, a seagull squawked, and I nearly jumped from my fur. Not because I was afraid—but because I was concentrating extremely hard. I was listening to the conversation, where it was heading. Logically, I knew what came next.
Olive nervously jittered her fingertips. “He has to go home.”
“What, he’s worn out his welcome already?”
“No,” Olive said, shaking her head. “No, I mean he needs to go home. He’s not supposed to be in South Carolina at all. He’s not even supposed to be a cat. And if I don’t get him to Yellowstone National Park in the next four days, he’ll be stuck here, in that body, forever. And he’ll die. Eventually he’ll die, and then it’ll be my fault, and I’ve gotten us a train ticket and a shuttle ticket but the train doesn’t leave for two days, and my mom’s coming to get me tomorrow, which means I’m going to fail him and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Q said, and I was sure that we were thinking the same thing. None of this is your fault.
Olive bulldozed on. “His pickup point is Yellowstone. And if I’m leaving for California, I don’t know how to get him there. Norma doesn’t want to drive.”
“Norma knows?”
“I couldn’t exactly . . . figure out how to say it.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Q said, scratching his chin. Something in his face was falling. “I think you’re old enough to hear this, Olive, so I’m going to tell you. After your dad passed away in that car accident, your grandmother just about disappeared. For weeks, she locked herself up in that house of hers, barely showered, and stopped talking to almost everyone but me. She had to recalibrate her entire existence. There was a lot of darkness. I want to help keep her in the light. This has been a particularly light summer. I’m not sure you know how much it means to her that you’re here.”
Olive breathed a single word. “Really?”
“Really,” Q said. “Now, I’d hate to see her go back to that place again, where she felt like the world didn’t make sense. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that losing someone and finding out about Leonard are the same thing. Not even close. What I am saying is that Norma specifically told me: I can’t take another shock. I’d like to respect that. I think that telling her ‘Aliens are real and Leonard is one of them’ might fall into the shocking category.”
“That makes sense,” Olive said, after digesting this information for a lon
g, long time. “What should we do, then?”
Once again, Q peered down at me, shivering in my raincoat, the fur of my tail half puffed. “You said that Leonard needs to get to Yellowstone by when?”
“July twenty-first.”
“And your mom’s getting here tomorrow night?”
“With Frank,” Olive added, a bit under her breath.
“Well, there’s two ways you can play this. You can go with them tomorrow night, and take your chances with Leonard. Or . . .”
“Or?” Olive said.
“Remember at the beginning of the summer, when I told you that some people take the roads and some people take the marshlands? This might be one occasion where we need those roads. I understand that you don’t want to disappoint your mom. I’ve met her. She’s a good person. But when something’s this important, I think it’s okay to bend the rules.” Then he said the most wonderful words. “Leonard, my man, how do you feel about motor homes?”
“This is absolutely nuts,” Norma said the next afternoon, clanking dishes into the sink. And I would have liked to tell her: I know, we are leaving so quickly; we haven’t even had time to bowl.
Q leaned against his shoulder in the kitchen doorway, ankles crossed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There will be plenty of places to stop along the way. Olive will love it—get that kid a proper education. Best thing to teach you is the open road. What else is summer for?”
Norma grumbled. “Her mom’s getting here in ten hours. And you can’t just take off on a vacation that you thought of last night.”
“Educational adventure,” Q corrected her.
“For Pete’s sake! What about the aquarium? Two hundred guests are on their way.”
“Taken care of. TJ and the rest of the crew are going to step up their hours, and we’ve just got a boatload of new volunteers for end-of-summer events. Plus, I have a bunch of time-off stored up. Been saving it for a rainy day.”
Leonard (My Life as a Cat) Page 10
