As always, thinking in midaction was disastrous. One paw snagged, its claws still extended.
“Let go.” Sam tapped her offending paw with a finger. “Yeah, I’d say he’s starting to look pretty spry here. Let go.“ He tapped her trapped paw again.
“I’m trying, can’t you see?” Jessica yanked again—and succeeded in toppling the large cushion down upon her. “Blast! Blast and—” It was all too much. Bicycling her back paws, she kicked at it viciously. She’d have burst into tears if she could. “I hate being a cat! I hate it, I hate it, I hate—”
“Whoa!” Sam sat beside her and lifted the cushion halfway off.
He was laughing, damn and blast him!
“I’ve got to put the phone down, Doc. He’s mauling the sofa. Hang on a minute.”
“I hate this, Sam.” She lay very still as he gently pried her paw free of the fabric. “It’s humiliating! And I…I’m scared.”
His hand came down on her shoulders, pinning her to the sofa, a soothing, commanding weight. He reached for the phone with his other hand.
“Okay…Yeah, I’m starting to think so, too. Maybe give it till morning, then see how he looks? Okay…No, I don’t have a cage, but…Yeah…no, I’ll figure out something.” Still talking, he glanced at his watch and frowned. “Fine. Now about my bill for this consultation, do you take credit cards? No, really, I’d like to do someth—Well, if you’re sure…”
Jessica remained motionless, her eyes closed, while they settled the matter, then Sam made his thanks. She was exhausted. Perhaps she should simply die right now. Just finish what she’d started in the first place, drift off to wherever, with the sound of Sam’s voice in her ears…
“Cat?” Sam’s face was only inches from her own. He was crouching beside the couch. “Are you with me? Damn, your pupils are sure dilated now. Are you cruising into shock?”
No, I’m just beat. I’m so tired, Sam…
He stroked the top of her head with one fingertip. “Should I call the doc back? Or have you just had a tough day?”
“The toughest day of my life.” Or no, the toughest had been the night, then the day after she left him. But this one rated a mean second. The only thing that made it bearable was…
His arms slid around her. Her eyes drooped shut as he lifted her, and she drifted, breathing in the scent of his skin. She could feel his heart thudding against her ribs as he carried her. Yes, I used to love this. Those times long after midnight when he’d come in from the bedroom to find she’d fallen asleep over her textbooks. He’d carry her off to their bed, its sheets already warm from his body…
Her eyes slit open as he leaned above a bed. His other hand reached for a blanket, dragged it down. Yes. She closed her eyes. Yes, take me to bed, hold me…Maybe this is all just a dream. Maybe all the last eight years had been nothing but a lonely dream…
They moved on…moving as one…
When she heard the click of a switch, she opened her eyes, then squinted against the harsh glare of lights bouncing off white tiles. They passed a long marble sink and Sam reached for a chrome bar. A door of frosted glass slid to one side.
“This should keep you out of mischief.”
For a moment his words made no sense at all. Why was he dropping the blanket into a bathtub? Then, as he lowered her, she realized. “Oh, Sam, no!”
He laid her gently on the blanket at the far end from the taps. “Get a good night’s sleep, and I bet you’ll be fine in the morning. Ready to take on the world.”
“Ready to throw back out on the street, you mean, damn you! Don’t leave me in a tub!“ But the door was already sliding shut. “Damn you, why won’t you listen to me?”
Because she was only a cat. Her legs gave way and she sank into the soft folds of the blanket, closed her eyes in despair.
The door slid aside a few minutes later. Sam leaned down to set a bowl of water, then another of orange glop, near the taps. “’Fraid there’s no cat food on the house menu tonight, and we’re fresh out of truffles. Think you could make do with canned chili?”
“Cold? I’d rather starve.”
“Hmm…” He studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe it’ll look better by morning.” He brushed the top of her head with a fingertip. “G’night, cat. Sleep tight.”
And don’t let the bedbugs bite. That was something his father used to say while tucking him into bed when he was a child, she remembered dully. Sam had mumbled it in sleepy tenderness to her on more than one night. “Fat chance they’ll find me in here, Sam!” But he was gone, and a second later the lights went out in the bathroom—then between her ears.
CHAPTER NINE
WATER SURGED, then gurgled away down a nearby pipe, and Jessica opened her eyes—to gaze blankly at a porcelain wall. A tub…Sam…the looming monster that was his car…Bit by bit, past and present meshed, then the glass door slid to one side and Sam looked in. “How’re you feeling, cat? A little run-down?”
“Funny, funny man.” Jessica stood, then stretched, spine arched into a tight, inverted U. “Oof—I feel like I slept in a tub.” That movement done, she straightened, then, bowing till her elbows grazed the porcelain, stretched out her front legs. She yawned enormously. “Erk!” She stood again and—final position—daintily pointed first one back leg, then the other. “There.” She was stiff, but she would do.
“If you’re quite, quite finished?” Sam hooked one palm under her rib cage, the other around her haunches and whisked her out of the tub. He deposited her on a blackand-white tiled floor.
Ears angled backward, tail swishing andante, she glared up at him. “And if I wasn’t?” It was disconcerting to say the least to be hoisted from here to there at a giant’s whim. That the hands that cupped her body with such blithe familiarity were Sam’s only made it somehow worse. Irritation melded uncomfortably with arousal—skittered along her nerve endings, ruffling the fur along her spine. And realizing that she herself had treated Cattoo with the same unthinking disrespect only made her mood the blacker.
“Not a morning cat?” Sam nudged a plastic basin with his toe. “Well, maybe this’ll cheer you up. I found some builder’s sand in the basement.”
“Right.” Domestic facilities had been less than ideal the past few days, but if he thought she’d use a box when there was a perfectly good toilet available, he had another think coming. They contemplated each other for a moment, she with wide eyes, he with narrowed.
Sam blinked first. “Right. I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m s’posed to meet Jess’s folks at the hospital by nine.” He turned away, then stopped and glanced into the tub. “Didn’t go for the chili, huh?” He collected her bowls and left the room.
A few minutes later, Jessica stalked into the kitchen, which was next door to the bathroom on the same side of a long hall, but closer to the living room. Sam stood at the stove, whistling “The Girl from Impanema” and scrambling—she sniffed, then her stomach rumbled—“Eggs!”
Sam glanced aside. “Hey, tall and tan. Facilities meet with your approval?”
“They would have, if you’d left the darned seat down.” Come to think of it, they’d wrangled about that in the old days, hadn’t they, teasing each other at first, then griping in earnest toward the end, when their nerves were frayed to the limit. And she’d thought she had troubles back then. It had taken her four tries just now to flush the darned thing.
“You didn’t finish your chili,” Sam noted, nodding at the bowl of orange mush, which now rested, along with her water bowl, on a folded sheet of newspaper below a gigantic window.
“I didn’t start it.” Jessica sat beside the bowls. “How about some eggs, Sam? And some bacon, if you’ve got any.”
“Too spicy for you?” He hit the bar on a toaster, and two pieces of bread sank from view. “You wimp Yankee cats. Down where I come from, any self-respecting cat would be begging for the hot sauce, to jazz it up.”
“And I suppose the dogs eat jalapenos on everything. I could do without Tex
as this morning, thanks all the same.”
Her eyes followed his movements as he opened a bag. Her ears pricked when coffee beans rattled into the cup of a grinder. “Coffee!” Fresh-brewed. “Sam, if you knew what I’d have done for a cup of coffee these last few days.” She glided across the kitchen to stand at his feet looking up. “Fix me a cup? Please?”
“You little beggar.” Sam hit a button. The grinder munched beans.
Jessica flattened her ears to muffle the racket. “Please, Sam. Make me a cup, too? Is that so much to ask?” She rubbed a shoulder against his calf, hating herself when she realized what she was doing, but still, if it got results…
“Hey, now cut that out.” Intent on pouring the grinds into a Melitta filter, Sam sidestepped down the counter. “None of that slinky cat stuff.”
She made another pass at his leg, a full body sweep from her cheek to her hip, then flicked him with her tail as she walked on, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Just one cup, the way I like it?” And do you still remember how I like it?
“You wouldn’t like it. Honest.” He poured boiling water over the grinds, paused to stir the eggs, hit the bar on the toaster to pop up his toast. “Shoo. Go eat your chili.”
“I’d rather die.” Which was absurd, she had to admit, considering that only yesterday she’d contemplated mice without gagging.
“Or starve to death—it’s all one to me.” He raked eggs onto a plate, added the toast, placed his breakfast on the round cherry table that was centered in front of the window. He turned and went back for his coffee.
Jessica sat, her tail slashing great sweeps across the linoleum. And I thought my troubles would be over when I got you to take me in. What a fool I was! “Sam, would you just stop and listen to me?”
Instead, he walked out of the room. She clicked her teeth in frustration, then cocked her head. He was headed all the way across the living room—which meant she had perhaps a minute?
One leap took her to the seat of his chair. From there, she hopped easily to the table. Stepping delicately past his plate, she homed in on the mug. Face over her goal, she paused to wrinkle her nose at the smell, so much stronger than she’d ever noticed before. Within, Cattoo awoke in astonishment. Cattoo had always loathed the smell of coffee.
Too bad. Go back to sleep. Jessica touched her tongue to the brew, then winced. Much too hot, but beggars, as Sam had so tactfully put it, could not be choosers. She let out a little moan of bliss as the first quarter teaspoon slid down her throat, then she hunched down, lapping greedily. He still drank his black and espresso strong. She’d have preferred a teaspoon of honey and a dash of cream, but even so…bliss.
Slow bliss. How could cats stand it, spooning up their drinks drop by tedious drop, while the busy world stormed past above them? It was a whole different conception of time and its value. Meanwhile, paper rustled on the coffee table, then Sam’s footsteps approached. One more sip, she told herself. Well…perhaps one more. Then another.
Then suddenly he was there, just around the corner. Jessica spun and leapt for the floor, twisting in midair to dodge the seat of his chair. She landed heavily, precisely as he stepped into view.
“I heard that.”
“What?” She gave him a wide-eyed look, then, not liking his scowl, turned to flick an imagined bit of dust from her flank.
He smacked a magazine onto the table before dropping to his heels, cowboy fashion, in front of her. “Don’t give me that butter-wouldn’t-melt look. You were on the table, weren’t you?”
Okay, so I was. Then suddenly it hit her—she could nod, couldn’t she? She nodded—it felt awkward. Supple as a cat’s neck was, it wasn’t normally used this way. But she managed a stiff up-and-down bobbing, once, twice, then a third time. Yes. So you busted me, I admit it. She didn’t give a fig if they could communicate. Ask me something else, she begged, beaming the thought straight between his narrowed brown eyes.
“Guess we better get one thing straight, cat, so listen up. Cats…don’t…ever…hop up on the table. That’s spelled never, never, not ever, or death, doom, disaster and a good skinning. Got that?”
Got it. She nodded slowly, earnestly, three times. And I’ll accept your abject apology later, once you understand whom you’re addressing. But right now, see what I’m doing? “See?”
He scowled. “What’s the matter? Does your neck hurt?”
Noooo. Slowly, carefully, she shook her head three times. This gesture felt even clumsier. She’d have to look up a cat anatomy book someday when she was back to normal. They apparently weren’t hinged quite the same. Ask me another yes or—
The phone rang in the living room.
“Don’t answer that!” Stay with me, Sam. Pay attention. “Oh, damn!”
Still frowning, he stood and left the room.
Blast, blast, blast, just when she almost had him! She turned a tight circle of frustration—gave her tail a bitter look when it swung into view, then swiveled her ears as Sam picked up the phone.
“Doc!” he said in surprise. “Nice of you to call.”
Her father? But Sam called her father by his given—
“Well, he seemed fine at first. Walks without limping, seems alert, meows nonstop. He’s a real talker.”
Oh, the vet—Casten.
“But he hasn’t touched his food yet, far as I can tell.”
And has no plans to, till you offer her something remotely edible. Speaking of which, Jessica jumped back on the table. His coffee was now the perfect drinking temperature. Wonder what my proper caffeine dosage is, she wondered, lapping frantically. Her ears pricked as Sam’s steps started down the hallway. He was bringing the phone back to the kitchen.
“Only one thing bothers me. He’s started moving his head funny.”
Oh, thanks. When you do it, it’s a nod. When I do it, it’s funny. By now, her nose was down a good inch into his coffee mug. She lapped up a final mouthful, then spun and launched herself into the air just as Sam came around the corner.
“Hey! You were up there again, weren’t you, you sneaky devil?”
Jessica turned back and nodded. Yes, as a matter of fact, I was.
“Yeah…He’s spunky enough to raid the table, Doc, that’s for—” Sam stopped to watch, as Jessica completed her third nod. “There! He’s doing it now—wobbling his head up and down. Looks really weird. As if he’s sprained his neck.”
No! It doesn’t, does it? Perhaps she should have practiced first with a mirror. Jessica tried it one more time, slower, with exquisite care. I just look weird, Sam, because you don’t expect a cat to—
“I’d say I bumped him straight on. He was looking right at me last I saw him, before the hood blocked my view.” Sam listened, still frowning at her. “Yeah, I suppose that’s right…His head would’ve been pushed straight back on his neck. Like a whiplash, in other words?”
“No!” Jessica wailed. “Don’t listen to that quack! Can’t you use your eyes, Sam?” She could’ve shaken him. No, this is not a whiplash! She shook her head no. “See?” This means no. She did it again. Nooo!
“There he goes again, but this time its more side to side. Could he be dizzy? Or not seeing straight? Damn.”
Double damn! Jessica stopped moving to glare at him helplessly. Sam, you lunk-head, what am I going to do with you?
“What do you think I should do? Bring him in?”
Oh, no, that was a terrible idea! The last thing she needed was a vet poking and prodding her. Besides, if Sam took her out of this loft, would he ever bring her back? He wasn’t exactly enamored with her charms so far. “No vet. I’m fine. Really. See, I’ll stop nodding, if it bothers you so much.”
“Okay, tell you what,” Sam continued. “I can’t bring him in now. I have a meeting I can’t miss in twenty minutes. Guess I’ll give him till this afternoon, and if he’s not better by then, I’ll let you check him out.”
Whew! Jessica sat down and vented a sigh of relief. “I’ll be better, believe me.”
>
Sam smacked the phone down on the counter, then sat. He shoveled eggs onto a piece of toast, clapped the second piece on top to make a sandwich, then scowled at her. “You, cat, are a royal, pluperfect pain in the ass.” He bit off a mouthful, then chewing, continued to glare at her.
“Well, that makes two of us. I never dreamed you were so close-minded. Where’s all that creativity you’re famous for? If you can imagine new functions for nonsense DNA that nobody else ever conceived of, why can’t you imagine something simple like a cat talking?” Watching him eat, she felt her mouth watering. Absently she wiped the inner side of her wrist across her lips.
That gesture set off some sort of feline reflex, Cattoo noting promptly that they hadn’t had a good bath in days. Jessica sighed and licked her wrist—then rubbed it over the top of her head, back to front, feeling the hairs stand up on end. She licked again, rubbed from top of head to tip of nose, licked, rubbed, lick-licked…
Sam laughed softly. “You’re something else, cat.” He lifted his mug and drank without looking, took another enormous bite.
“What’s so funny?” Remember how you taught me to drink tequila one night? He’d dragged her off to some smoky little bar to hear a blues guitarist who sang like a down-on-his-luck, gravel-voiced angel. He’d shown her how to lick the base of her thumb, then salt it. To hold a wedge of lime between thumb and forefinger. You licked the salt, bit the lime, took a sip of tequila, called, “Yeah!”—or at least Sam did—whenever the guitarist picked a particularly intricate riff. She remembered thinking, My parents would be utterly horrified to see me here. Remembered thinking, And I’ve never been so happy in all my life, just as Sam caught her wrist, lifted it to lick the salt from her skin, his eyes laughing into hers as his teeth closed on her lime. But he’d finished the ritual that time with a leisurely, toe-curling kiss, rather than a swig of tequila. The blues player had stopped midsong to call, “Yeah!” and everyone in the bar had laughed and applauded…
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