Walking Wounded

by Lee Rowan

  “I’d just as soon keep on. Is there any place in Portsmouth we can find cat food?”

  “I’m sure there is.” John unzipped his jacket halfway and tucked both kittens inside, next to his body. “In fact, I can phone Pat and see if she’s got any suggestions. She can probably loan us a few tins. I don’t suppose they’ll eat much.”

  “She doesn’t have a nice motherly cat, does she?”

  “Unfortunately, no. They’ve got four already, all fixed. Oh, shite!”

  “What?”

  “We’ll need a litter pan as well. And I’ll have to wash this shirt.”

  Kevin was finding it difficult to keep a straight face. “John. Are you planning to keep these animals?”

  “I couldn’t just leave them out there, could I? And who knows what will happen if I turn them over to…. Yes, I’d like to. Unless you’re allergic, or hate cats. You don’t, do you?”

  Kevin glanced over. The yellow kitten was halfway out of the jacket, gnawing on Johnny’s finger. There was nothing visible of the other but a pair of huge frightened eyes above a pink nose. And John himself was clearly smitten. “No, I don’t. My mother’s always had a few moggies around. I don’t mind.”

  Kevin had a strange premonition of domesticity: the two of them as old codgers, tottering around a cottage in the Cotswolds, surrounded by a petting zoo. Amazingly, the image wasn’t as awful as he would have thought. In a way it was a treat to be concerning himself with the fate of two small felines instead of a gang of hot-tempered, quarrelsome, heavily armed humans and the safety of all of Britain. “Most animals are more reasonable than most humans, come to that. Though I don’t fancy increasing the family beyond these two, and I’m not looking forward to them screeching us awake at five in the morning.”

  “That’s parrots. Cats just climb all over you.”

  “Lovely. Well, they can’t weigh much. But just these two, Johnny. And no goats.”

  “I’m the one who’ll wake you up climbing on you,” John promised. “You’ll never notice the cats. No goats, no chickens, no cows and sheep, unless you decide you want to try your hand at farming.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “No lions, no tigers….” He wasn’t really talking to Kevin. The little cat had all four legs wrapped around his hand, acting as though he was about to bring this big catch down any minute.

  “What’re you going to call them?”

  “Best to find out if they’re Tom or Thomasina first, don’t you think?” John pulled his hand a few inches away and the kitten flung himself onto it.

  “That’s a lad,” Kevin said with conviction. “Rugby player. The other one’s his baby sister.”

  “I think you’re right.” He captured the young predator and held it up to his face. “Pay attention, sir. What would you say to Horatio?”

  Kevin hooted. “Horatio?”

  “Well, it is Portsmouth, and he’s got yellow hair. Fur.”

  “Nelson? Dear God.”

  “Don’t know. Maybe the old Roman at the bridge. If he hadn’t been standing there, I’d never have seen either of them. He’s Nelson right now, undersized and feisty. But he might grow up to be an Admiral—”

  “Johnny, it’s a cat!”

  “Then the last name doesn’t matter. He can have one of ours.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “I don’t know yet. She’s asleep.”

  “Still—Horatio?”

  “I’ve been working on a project for one of my classes. We have to do a psych profile of a historical figure, come up with a plausible diagnosis, identify the dysfunction or disorder, speculate on causes, or take a disorder and find someone who fits the diagnosis, then do a workup of that. You know—Bonaparte had a Napoleonic complex, that sort of thing, only seriously.”

  “You’re psychoanalyzing Nelson?”

  “Well, not psychoanalysis, exactly, but why not? He was an interesting case. Look at him: humble upbringing, physically small, massive ambition—he might have been overcompensating, but he had the ability to pull it off. Massive ego, too, but where Bonaparte was all about himself, Nelson really was dedicated to his country. He had a brilliant career up to a point, but then he got involved with Hamilton’s wife, contrary to any kind of good sense, and that was a financial and political disaster for him. What I suspect is that he may have been suffering from brain damage. Until the injury that reduced his eyesight, he appeared to be a devoted husband, attentive and affectionate. After he recovered, he insulted his wife in public and ran around with Emma. Brain injuries can cause that sort of change in behavior and personality.”

  Kevin found himself unwillingly interested, carried along by John’s enthusiasm. “But nothing else was affected, was it? He was just as effective an officer.”

  “Yes, that’s part of what’s so interesting. You’d expect more dysfunction, but if anything he just got better at what he did. He even took advantage of the disability—that old story about disregarding orders by holding his telescope to his blind eye so he couldn’t see the signal flags. Of course, by then his men loved him so much that he could do no wrong in their eyes.”

  “I suppose you’re in the right place for the research, too.”

  John laughed. “Absolutely. You’d be surprised at how much grief I’ve been given for criticizing the man. But I never meant it that way. What he was able to accomplish, as small as he was and missing an eye as well as an arm—having only one eye meant no depth perception—he was really phenomenal. Especially when you think about what life was like then, with men stuck on those tiny ships for months or years at a time.”

  “Rum, sodomy, and the lash,” Kevin teased. “Kiss me, Hardy! Is there something you’re not telling me, Johnny? All the sailors around here…?”

  “God, no!” John shook his head. “It’s interesting to study, but the system was completely mad. Literally—sailors had ten times the insanity rate of landsmen, and it’s hard to say whether it was the horrible living conditions, or the half-pint of rum every day killing off brain cells, or the surgeons pumping the poor bastards full of mercury as a cure for the pox. Amazing that the Navy worked as well as it did. I suppose the French and Spanish were even worse off. But I think I may have found the key—” He laughed. “Sorry, Kev, I expect it’s pretty boring if you’re not involved.”

  “You’ve never bored me. If you’re enjoying the class that much, it sounds like you’ve got the right line of work.”

  “I think I finally have. I always thought of myself charging off to do battle, but—I suppose someone has to patch up the warriors who come dragging back. It’s useful, at least.”

  Kevin didn’t like the self-deprecation. “You’re as much a warrior as any of them. There’ll be men who walk away whole again because you’ll show them it can be done.”

  John swallowed hard and let go of the kitten long enough to rest a hand on Kevin’s thigh. “Do you know what it means to have you believe in me like this?”

  He took his eyes from the road long enough to meet John’s for an instant. “Yes. Exactly.” He smiled as he returned his attention to driving. “Don’t you realize you’re doing the same for me?”

  “Oh….” John yelped as young Horatio climbed up his chest. “Damn, he’s sharp! Kev, would you mind meeting a friend of mine? I’d like her to take a look at these two.”

  “Is this your massage guru?”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that—but yes. I think she’d know how to trim his claws. They’re so tiny I don’t want to risk it.”

  “After that treatment you gave me, I suppose I owe her my thanks,” Kevin said. “The mobile phone’s in my jacket pocket. Can I drop you off and go pick up the cat necessities?”

  “You can, but I’d really like you to meet her. And I’d like for her to meet you, too. I’m afraid I’ve talked about you a lot, and it would be nice to prove that you aren’t just a figment of my imagination.”

  Kevin mulled that over while Johnny found
the phone and made the call. He was surprised to find he was harboring a speck of envy toward this unknown woman who had come to assume a place of importance in Johnny’s life. There was obviously no reason for the feeling, and he’d been gone so long he was damned lucky John hadn’t settled down with some other man. Still….

  His anxiety was dispelled when the door of a narrow house swung open to reveal a middle-sized, middle-aged woman with wire-rimmed bifocals, hair trimmed to a neat dark cap liberally mixed with gray—hardly the image of a seductive siren. “John! Come in, I put the kettle on when you called. Where are the babies?”

  “Right here, the filthy beasts. Pat, I want you to meet Kevin. I’ve told you about him. He just got into town last night. Kevin, this is Pat Sullivan-Chalton.”

  “Good lord, you’re real!” She took Kevin’s hand, and her sharp green eyes gave him the impression that he was being sized up by an expert. “I’m very glad to meet you. Come in, please. Tess is at work, she had to go teach one of her clients how to use his new website. Would you like something to eat, or some tea?”

  “Just tea, thanks,” John said. “We had a big late breakfast.”

  She glanced at Kevin and grinned. “The very best kind.”

  Johnny actually blushed. “I just need some advice, Pat—and if you have an old shirt of some kind I might borrow—it wasn’t just the rain.”

  She laughed as he opened his jacket. “Jumping right into fatherhood, aren’t you? Well, babies of any species are messy. Have a seat. I’m sure I can find something.”

  After pouring out three cups of tea, she left them sitting at the kitchen table and disappeared down a short hall. To John’s questioning look, Kevin said, “She reminds me of my mum.”

  “She’s been a big help—and a good friend. Oh, there’s something else—”

  “Here you go.” Pat had returned, followed by a huge fluffy tiger cat who strolled up and sniffed each man’s trouser legs. Kevin extended a few fingers for him to inspect and was rewarded with a vigorous head-butt.

  “Congratulations. Shadow approves.” Pat held out a dark green sweatshirt. “I think this will fit well enough for now. Would you like to clean yourself up?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Johnny hung his jacket on the back of the chair and handed one kitten each to her and Kevin. As she exclaimed over the marmalade kitten, John went off down the hall to wash up.

  “Thanks for taking the time for this,” Kevin said.

  “It’s no trouble.” She smiled warmly. “I’ve been telling John for ages that he needs a cat to look after him, but he seems to have hit the jackpot all at once. Two cats, and a long-lost—what’s brought you into town? Oh, never mind. I saw the news. The pictures of you were terrible, nothing like the one John showed me. I wasn’t completely sure it was you, but the name matched. He never mentioned it—I wondered if he’d heard of it at all.”

  “No, he hadn’t.” Kevin shifted, uncomfortable. “I told him.”

  Her keen, inquisitive expression softened. “And he’d have welcomed you just the same if you really had been to blame. He was so certain you were gone forever, and—well, I’d better not say any more. Sorry to pry. It’s just that John’s such a dear, and I’d love to see him settle down with the right man. They say the one drawback of a happy marriage is that you want to see all your friends in one, too.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a drawback.”

  An eyebrow lifted. “It’s so good to hear you say that. Now, then, what can you tell me about these waifs?”

  “Not very much. On our way back from shopping, John saw their mother lying dead by the road—hit by a car, I suppose—then he spotted that little chap. We went back and picked them up—we could only find the two of them. We’re not sure if they’re boys, girls, or one of each. Oh, and John was hoping you could trim their claws. He’s already lost some blood.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, I’d say this lad is five or six weeks, no older. He has teeth, but you see his eyes? Still that bluish-gray, like human babies. And I do believe he’s a lad, though that’s hard to tell at this age. He looks old enough for solid food, which will make your lives easier, but they’ll need feeding every few hours.”

  “Like babies?”

  “Oh, you can leave dry kibble out for them overnight. And a nail clipper should do the trick for the sharp bits. I can show you or John how to do it. Who will they be living with?”

  “Um….”

  “Both of you? You’re back together? How wonderful!”

  “Yes, I think so.” He blinked. If this woman ever decided to leave massage and go into interrogation, she’d be a natural. “We may need to find a bigger place, but John is so close to finishing his degree, it would be silly to leave Portsmouth now.” The words coming out of his mouth surprised him, and so did the feeling of warm anticipation that came with them. This decision, which from the outside must look very spur-of-the-moment, felt unaccountably right. “We haven’t worked out any details yet, of course.”

  “‘Where will wants not, a way opens.’” She passed Horatio back to Kevin, took the other kitten, and gently rolled it over. The kitten purred and batted at her fingers. “I’d guess this one’s a little girl. Yes, you’re a pretty baby, a real tuxedo cat. I love the black stripe on her nose. Do they have names yet?”

  “This one’s Horatio,” he admitted. “We haven’t thought of one for her.”

  “Ah, then you must have heard about John’s pet project by now. But this child doesn’t look like Emma Hamilton to me, and you’d be daft to breed siblings, anyway.”

  “Two is plenty!” Kevin interjected.

  “That was what I thought, but Tess and I each had two to start, and a fourth always seems to turn up if we lose one.” She nodded toward the hall, and he saw that two more cats, a hulking black beast and a tabby, were observing from a safe distance.

  “Yes, that’s a good kitty,” Pat crooned to the kitten. “Having a pair will save you time. They’ll keep each other’s ears clean and amuse one another. You ought to get them to Simko’s vet clinic as soon as you can for a checkup. She’s the best in the county. I don’t see any fleas, which is a wonder, but the cool weather may have helped on that score. You will need to have them wormed, though.”

  John came back in time to catch the last comment. “Wormed? Do they really need that?”

  “Look at their little bellies! They aren’t round like that because they’re well-fed. Almost all kittens get intestinal parasites. With strays, it’s a certainty—and some of them can infect humans. You really do not want a case of roundworms.” Kevin stifled a grin; he knew Pat was no relation of his, but she sounded enough like his mother to be her sister. “It’s easy enough to treat them,” she continued. “Just two doses of the medicine, two weeks apart. But they absolutely must see a vet. If not today, as soon as you can.”

  “I thought we could just take them home and get them settled,” John said dubiously.

  “You’re probably right. They don’t need any more fuss today. Do you have food? No, John said not. I can give you a couple of tins, but they’ll do better on kibble made up specially for kittens….” She frowned. “You’ll also need a litter pan. I have a cardboard box that should do for now, and I’ll give you litter to start them off.”

  “How do we know they’ll use it?” Kevin asked. “I remember Mum’s cat teaching her kittens.”

  “Well, they’re old enough that their mother has probably taught them to bury their messes. For all we know, they may have been indoor pets, abandoned once the novelty wore off—and don’t get me started on the bastards who do that! After you feed them, pop ’em into the box and wait until something happens. You can take their front paws and scratch the sand with them, that sometimes gives them a clue.”

  The mental image was beyond anything he had ever faced in the SAS. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’d say just leave them with me for a day or two and let Éowyn teach them, but it would be better for you
to get them to a vet before you let them socialize with other cats, have them tested for feline leukemia, FIV, all the contagious diseases. Ours have been vaccinated, but that’s never a hundred percent certain.”

  “They look healthy enough,” John said.

  “They certainly do, and apart from the worms, I expect they are. Here, let me trim their little toes, and you can get them home and fed. Don’t give them saucers of cow’s milk—they aren’t calves. Water is better for them, preferably bottled or filtered water, and not too cold. Let me show you how to tell if they’re dehydrated….”

  They left a few minutes later, armed with an invitation to dinner sometime soon, more cat-care instructions than they were likely to remember, including the need to buy or build a scratching post, the vet’s phone number, a book on cat care, plus the loan of a cat carrier loaded with food, litter, and a pair of dishes outgrown by Pat’s menagerie.

  Kevin hefted the baggage—John was carrying the kittens, of course—and whistled. “That was quite a briefing. And I think they’ve got more luggage than I have!”

  “There are two of ’em, Kev. And they’re just babies.”

  And Johnny’s protective streak was operating at full throttle. “I’m glad I got to you first, or you might not have had room for me!”

  “Oh, they’re not very big. I think I could’ve found you a little bed space.”

  “Then let’s get back to it!” He took a breath and let growing certainty override his niggling doubts. “Once we get these little buggers settled, we need to find a bigger place… or at least put my things in storage. I’ll have to go back and hire that rent-a-van. Will you come with me and help me clear out my flat in Hereford?”

  Johnny turned, open-mouthed, then smiled like sunshine and kissed him, right there in the street. It was only a quick one, but Kevin was relieved there wasn’t anyone else around—and then angry at his own reaction. He’d spent a long time undercover—and in the closet. Too long. Damn it, he did love John, he was going to move in with him, and they had every legal right to do so! This might be Portsmouth, but it wasn’t the Portsmouth of the bad old days. Their love was no longer a hanging offense. In for a penny, in for a pound, and if that gave the Brigadier fits, so be it.