“But—”
“Go on. She’s nice. She can help your cat.”
I reach down into my right pocket and touch Cheshire’s fur. He is so quiet that I am afraid he might already be dead. I wonder what the Cat Lady would do if I handed her a dead cat.
“Go on, Alice!” Tweedle Dweeb looks mad now. Like he’s worked so hard to get me here, and I’m just standing on the sidewalk acting like a complete idiot. Then the two Tweedles begin to walk away, and I am torn. Do I stay with them or take a chance on saving Cheshire’s life with a total stranger. I am seriously afraid that they’re just playing a mean trick on me. Maybe someone truly evil lives in this house. Maybe someone who eats cats, or people. Or maybe someone who will take me away, lock me up, steal my thoughts, or reprogram my brain. How can I know for sure?
Just then I notice a fat black cat walking up to the tiny porch. He meows for a bit, and after a while the door opens, and an old woman steps out and says, “Why, Oliver, where on earth have you been all day?” And the fat cat strolls into the house as if he owns the joint.
The woman stays on the tiny porch peering out toward me. “Do you need something?” she calls out.
“I, uh, I have a cat.”
She nods. “That’s nice, dear.”
“He’s very sick.”
Now she frowns as she steps out onto the narrow walkway that leads from the sidewalk to her house. “What’s wrong with your cat?”
I take a step toward her, glancing over my shoulder to see if the Tweedles are still nearby in case I need them, but they have vanished into the foggy evening air. Were they even here at all?
The woman is next to me now. She has on a lavender cardigan and red polyester pants, and she smells like onions. I open my coat pocket so she can peer in.
With both hands she reaches into my pocket and removes my lifeless cat. I am certain he is dead now. She sighs deeply and heads back toward her house, then pauses on the porch. “Are you coming, dear?”
I hear Amelia whispering at me, telling me to stay away from this woman, to go back to the bridge and finish what I’d started. But Cheshire seems to be speaking to me too, saying, “Don’t leave me alone here.”
So I follow the Cat Lady into her box house and watch as she gently lays Cheshire on her plastic-topped kitchen table. She puts on the glasses that are hanging from a rhinestone chain around her neck and stoops over to peer more closely at my cat. Then, looking very much like a doctor, she examines him. I watch in wonder as she carefully checks him out. Then without saying anything, she leaves and goes into another room.
I wonder if this means I’ve been dismissed. Should I take poor Cheshire and go now? Perhaps he is too far gone and there is nothing she can do. Or maybe she is calling the authorities and accusing me of cat abuse. Worse yet, she may actually be a spy, and this might be a big setup. I am ready to grab my cat and run for my life, but even as I consider this, she returns with a small box and a faded blue towel. She gently lays Cheshire in this box, wrapping him in the towel. I am afraid this is meant to be his coffin, and I begin to cry.
“Is he dead?”
She pats my arm and says, “No, dear, but it’s close.” She putters over to the refrigerator, and I hear her open the door and then run water in the sink. She hums as she does this, but I keep my eyes on Cheshire. I don’t want him to die.
“Have you prayed for him?” she asks as she returns with what looks like a miniature baby bottle filled with something whitish gray.
I shake my head no.
“Well, if you really love him, you should pray for him. God loves all creatures great and small, you know. He cares about the tiny sparrow when it falls from its nest. He cares about sick kitties, too.”
I bow my head and close my eyes and honestly try to pray. But I am not sure what kind of words to use. I am afraid that God is still really mad at me for not honoring the golden key. What if I pray for Cheshire, and God decides to smite me by killing my cat—just to show me that I’m evil and that he is still the boss? I sigh deeply, and feeling like a failure, I open my eyes. The Cat Lady is attempting to interest Cheshire in the contents of the bottle, but he is not responding.
“Dear Father in heaven,” she says in a soft voice, “we ask you to help our little feline friend here tonight. We know he’s not well, and we want you to make him better. We know that you love all your creatures. We know that you are a great healer. Please reach down your loving hands and touch this poor cat. Help him to eat the food he needs to nourish his little body. Help him get better quickly. Amen.”
I nod and echo her “amen.” And I mean it. I mean it with all my heart.
“He appears to be starving,” says the Cat Lady, eyeing me carefully as she holds the bottle in one hand. “You don’t look too good either.”
I press my lips together and look down at my feet, my shabby red slippers. Suddenly I wonder what I am doing here. Once again it occurs to me to run. But I don’t.
“When did you last eat?”
I shrug.
She makes a tsk tsk sound between her teeth, then hands me the tiny bottle. It is warm, and the warmth feels comforting in my hand.
“I have an idea.” She picks up Cheshire now, still wrapped in the blue towel. “Why don’t you sit down and hold your cat like a baby—cradle him, you know?” She leads me to an overstuffed chair that’s covered in an old quilt. A large golden cat is curled comfortably in the seat.
“Time for you to move, Juliet,” she says as she gently pushes the cat away. I notice that a number of cats are curled up contentedly here and there. Also a lively pair of black-and-white kittens are wrestling together on the large braided rug that covers the linoleum floor.
“Here.” She takes my arm and guides me into the chair. “See if you can get him to eat something.”
I sit down, and she arranges Cheshire in my lap, and I try to feed him from the little bottle. She returns to the kitchen, and I am able to relax better on my own. I stroke his furry head with one finger as I hold the bottle temptingly near his tiny mouth. “Come on, Cheshire,” I say quietly. “Come on and eat something. You’ll feel better if you do.”
Finally, after what seems like a long time, he begins to lick the milky liquid from the rubber tip, just barely moving his little pink tongue. Soon it seems he likes the taste, and he begins to drink more. It takes a while, but he eventually empties the whole bottle. I want to jump up and down and shout for joy, but I control myself. I simply pet him and praise him for this accomplishment.
“Oh, good for you,” says the Cat Lady when she returns to the living room. “I thought he might drink it if it came from you. Cats are like that, you know. They attach themselves to you just like a baby to its mama.”
She reaches down and gently removes Cheshire from my lap, and I wonder what she plans to do with him now. I sense that she is kind, that she really loves cats. Why else would her house contain so many?
“Time for you to eat something too,” she announces as if that’s the most normal thing in the world.
“But I—”
“I will hear no arguments,” she insists as she walks back into the kitchen. “It is suppertime, and I expect you to be a good girl and join me.”
So I return to the kitchen to find the plastic-topped table, where Cheshire has been recently lying, now set with two places. The Cat Lady carefully arranges Cheshire back into the box that is sitting on a chair in the corner. Then she turns and looks at me.
“Would you like to wash up?”
I look down at my grimy hands and nod.
She points down a hallway from the kitchen. “The first door on your right.”
I find an old-fashioned bathroom that is painted a robin’s-egg blue. It has a claw-foot tub and several cat boxes. Some that need to be emptied. I scrub and scrub my hands, then worry that I am taking too long, I quickly dry them and return to the kitchen, noticing that the yellowed wallpaper in there has lots of faded cats prancing about on it.
&nb
sp; “Would you like me to take your coat?” she offers.
“No.” I pull it more tightly around me.
“That’s fine.” She smiles as she points to a shiny red vinyl-covered chair that looks as if it emerged right out of the fifties. “Have a seat.”
Obediently I sit and wait as she carries two white bowls of what appears to be tomato soup to the table. I can tell by the creamy orange color that she made it with milk. For a moment I remember my aversion to animal products, but then I figure if it’s good enough for Cheshire, it’s good enough for me. My mouth actually begins to water as I remember how much I loved soup like this as a child, and then I think I’m about to cry. She begins to pray, and I listen.
“Dear Father, we thank you for our food and for how much you love us. I thank you for my young guest and her little cat. I pray that you will take precious care of both of them and keep them safe in your ever-loving arms. Amen.”
I repeat her “amen” and open my eyes. I want to tell her “thank you,” but the words seem lost inside me. Instead I pick up my spoon and hesitantly dip it into my soup. Then, worried that this is just a dream that will suddenly end, I quickly slurp a spoonful of the soup. But it tastes real. I feel the warm creamy fluid wrapping around my tongue, and I hurry for another spoonful.
I am afraid that Amelia is going to show up any minute now, and I know she will chastise me for being here. Or tell me that the soup’s been poisoned. However, I honestly believe that drinking delicious poison soup in a warm house might be preferable to diving off the bridge. I wonder what Amelia would say to that. Surprisingly, and to my relief, she doesn’t make an appearance.
I realize the Cat Lady is talking to me now, and I fear I have been rude not to answer.
“Pardon?” I am amazed that I still know how to use that word.
She smiles. “I asked your name, dear.”
I nod. “Alice. My name is Alice. And my cat’s name is Cheshire.”
She laughs. “Just like Alice in Wonderland.”
“Yes,” I manage to say. “That’s right.”
“My name is Faye, but lots of people call me the Cat Lady.”
“Yes. That’s what I heard.”
She laughs again, and I think her laughter sounds like tinkling bells. “I don’t mind the title,” she says. “There are worse things to be called, you know.”
I nod again. Yes, I know. There are things like “crazy girl” or “nut case” or “retard” or “loony” or “weirdo” or “whacked-out.” Suddenly I wonder if I’m saying this all out loud. But the Cat Lady, or rather Faye, is still smiling and eating her soup as if nothing whatsoever is wrong with me.
Suddenly she stands. “Goodness, I almost forgot our second course.”
She returns with two golden brown grilled cheese sandwiches, and I think I have actually died and gone to heaven. Her eyes seem to light up. “You like?”
I nod eagerly as she sets a sandwich on my side plate. “Thank you.”
She smiles. “It’s nice to see someone with a hearty appetite.”
“This is very good.” I am proud to have said this much.
“Thank you.”
We proceed to eat our meal quietly. This is a relief to me, for I am unsure that I can manage to carry on a conversation and eat at the same time. I am not very good at doing either of those things anymore, and to do them simultaneously in the company of another feels utterly impossible.
I can’t remember when I ever felt this stuffed, but I somehow manage to eat all my soup and most of the sandwich.
“I don’t have anything for dessert,” she says apologetically.
“I am so full,” I say, “I couldn’t eat anything else anyway.”
“Maybe we can have some tea later.”
I nod, wondering what “later” means. I wonder if I should offer to help clean up, but I don’t quite know how to say this. She stands and begins to pick up the dishes. I follow her and do the same. Then I join her at the sink, and without speaking I try to make myself useful. She seems to appreciate my help, and amazingly I don’t break anything. This is a relief, for I suspect her pretty, although mismatched, dishes might be valuable, at least to her.
“I think you should try to feed Cheshire again in about an hour,” she tells me after consulting the clock. “We can retire into the living room now.”
I walk into the living room and look around. Cats, cats everywhere. And where there are not real living cats, there are statues and pictures of cats. “You must really love cats,” I say.
She laughs as she eases herself into the big overstuffed chair, scooping the golden cat into her lap as she does this. “Have a seat, Alice. Feel free to move the cats as needed. They think they own the place, and I suppose in a way they do, but humans get first pick at the furnishings.”
I gently lift up the colorful calico that is nestled into the padded seat of a rocking chair. I set her in my lap and slowly begin to stroke her fur. “She’s pretty,” I say. “What’s her name?”
Faye smiles. “I see you know enough about cats to know that calicos are always females. Her name is Constance, but I call her Connie.”
“Hi, Connie,” I say quietly, shyly, as if the cat might be an uppity sort, the kind that snubs certain types of humans. But she seems to appreciate my fingers as I scratch the top of her head.
“So, tell me, Alice, do you have a home in Portland?”
I sigh and look back down at Connie, thinking it odd that a cat has a home, but I do not.
“I didn’t think so.” Faye puts her feet on a needlepoint footstool and leans back in her chair. “So many young people out on the streets these days. Such a shame.”
“Yes.”
“Have you been on your own for long?”
“Sort of.” I try to remember time, but the concept of months and days is confusing to me. “I’m not sure exactly. I was still going to school at Portland State during September or maybe October, I think. How long ago was that?”
She appears to be thinking. “Well, this is early December. So it’s been a couple of months.”
I nod as if this makes perfect sense.
“So you are a student?”
I frown. “I guess so. I mean I was back in BC anyway.”
“BC?”
“Before, I mean.” I glance away. That old nervousness is coming on me again, like floodwater rising steadily. I’m afraid she’s going to figure me out and send me away or else have me locked up.
She just nods, as if she understands. “Oh, I see. We all have a before, don’t we?”
“Yes. We do.”
We talk some more, but I’m finding it harder to stay on track. And I’m not sure whether I’m speaking or not. When I look at her face, she doesn’t seem to mind. She just goes on talking as if I’m really listening and responding in a normal fashion. Finally she looks at her watch and announces it’s time to feed Cheshire again. I help her prepare the bottle this time, and she explains that it’s soy milk and vitamins, and very good for him. This time he seems to understand what he’s supposed to do and quickly downs the bottle. Already he’s looking a little bit better. I hold him like a baby and stroke his striped fur.
“Next time we’ll see if he can lap it from a saucer,” she tells me as she rinses out the bottle. “Then by tomorrow he might be ready for some soft food.”
“Oh.” Now I am unsure what I should do. Does this mean it’s time for me to go? Do I leave Cheshire here? Or take him with me?
As if reading my mind, and this does not surprise me at all, she says, “You and Cheshire can sleep in the spare bedroom. It’s a bit cluttered and messy in there, but the sheets on the bed are clean.”
“Really?”
I’m sure she sees my astonishment, because she pats my arm and looks me in the eyes and says, “Really.”
“I need to go tend to some things, and then we can have our tea. Unless you’d prefer cocoa.” Her smile reminds me of a little girl’s. “I adore cocoa, but I almost ne
ver have it by myself. Cocoa seems like something you should share with someone else, don’t you think? Do you like cocoa, Alice?”
I nod. “Yes, I love cocoa.”
“Oh, good.” She shuffles down the hallway, and I carry Cheshire into the living room. I wonder what it is she needs to tend to. I hope she’s not on the phone telling the authorities to come pick me up. Somehow I don’t think she is. Still I’m not sure. I distract myself by introducing Cheshire to the other cats, but I only know three by name. Oliver, Juliet, and Connie. Then I show Cheshire the elaborate scratching post that dominates one corner of the small living room. It has little carpet-covered boxes of varying colors—green, blue, and yellow—and carpet-covered poles that go clear to the ceiling. Right now the black-and-whites are playing tag on it. “You can play with them when you’re feeling better,” I promise him.
Finally Faye returns, and she has a plastic shopping bag with her. “Here,” she says as she hands me the bag. “Some overnight things for you.”
“Thank you.” I want to peek in the bag but fear that might be rude. Still, I am amazed at this woman’s kindness to me. Part of me believes I am imagining this whole thing or that I’m sleeping beneath an overpass and simply dreaming. But my reality is so blurry that I think perhaps it doesn’t matter where I really am.
“There are some bath things, if you’d like to bathe. And some pajamas and, well, whatnot. I see that you don’t have anything with you.”
I wonder if she thinks I am dirty. I know that I am. I know I must be disgusting. I haven’t bathed in … so long. And sometimes I feel people looking at me, and it embarrasses me when they scowl at me on the street, turning up their noses as if I smell bad. I probably do, although I can’t smell myself very well. I’m far better at detecting bad smells on others than with myself. A “bath.” I say the word as if it’s something magical.
She smiles. “I have a nice big tub, you know. You can put bubbles in it if you like.”
“A bubble bath?” I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a bubble bath in my entire life.
“I can take care of Cheshire while you bathe,” she offers, holding out her hands.
Finding Alice Page 13
