Ruth took a deep breath, and her exhale was shaky. “Other cats have been coming to my barn. A new one arrived this morning, and by her swollen teats, I can tell she’s just given birth. What am I going to do with all these cats? And where are her kittens?”
Shawn shook his head, looking frustrated. “I can’t go check this out right now, and I refuse to call that useless animal control officer.”
The one who has the restraining order against you? I said to myself. Shawn thought the officer was lazy and uncaring, which had resulted in a shoving match last year and subsequent legal action.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked.
“You’re good with cats,” Shawn said. “From what Ruth has explained, they don’t sound feral.”
Shawn had explained to me more than once that all ferals are strays, but not all strays are feral. I looked at her. “They come up to you, then?”
“One of them does, and I can tell the others want to, but they’re skittish,” Ruth said.
Shawn said, “Could you assess the situation, Jillian? Tell me what we’re dealing with? I can start networking with other no-kill shelters to take on these cats if need be, but that will take some time. I got my hands full here or I’d go myself. Someone has to feed those newborns, and a man called to say he’s bringing me a dog he found.”
“Okay. Assess the cats how?” I said.
“Take a cat count, see what, if any, health problems are obvious. Fleas, ticks, abscessed teeth, wounds from catfights. I’ll load up your van with food from my donation box. Ruth here has come on hard times, like so many small farmers.”
I turned to Ruth. “You’re a farmer?”
“I own several acres. I do small stuff,” she answered. “Tomatoes, okra, corn, beans, peaches and berries. I have a stand in the summer, canned fruits and veggies in the winter. But the Whole Foods in Greenville doesn’t buy as much corn or okra from me as they used to, and money’s tight. Either feed what tuna I’ve got to the cats or feed it to me. Right now we’re sharing, and the supply is running short.” Her eyes glistened, and she blinked hard to fight back tears. “This is so embarrassing.”
I took both her hands in mine and squeezed. “I understand. My grandfather was a farmer, and he knew hard times, too. Let’s get this problem taken care of right now.”
She said, “That mama cat . . . her kittens. I feel so awful about what I did, and—”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You brought her to the right place.” I turned to Shawn. “Now, where’s that cat food?”
Minutes later Shawn had loaded two twenty-pound bags of dry cat food in the back of my minivan and then went to his storage shed for a couple of crates and a pair of leather gloves, in case any of the cats needed transport for medical care. Meanwhile, I showed Ruth my cat cam. Only Merlot was in the living area, his long, red fur shimmery as he crouched in a patch of sun on the living room floor. He was swishing his tail. What was he stalking now? More spiders?
“He’s so big,” Ruth said with wide eyes. “And so pretty.”
“And strong. My ninja warrior. This cat saved my life—in fact, all three of mine have done that in more ways than one. But that’s a story for another day. I’ll follow you.”
Soon I was trailing her pickup, taking the same route Candace and I had used to reach the West place, but we turned off before we reached Robin’s land and went through a gate and over a cattle grate. We then traveled a good distance on the narrow road. Hearty green kudzu invaded every foot of fence along the way.
She parked her vehicle near a tiny house with a screened porch, the porch probably equal to the square footage of the house. I parked behind her. On the porch I saw a bookcase lined with canning jars—jars filled with peaches and green beans. Maybe I could buy some to take home with me later. Her barn, painted a gorgeous rusty red, was in much better shape than Robin’s.
A calico cat peeked from behind the side of that barn, and when I slipped out of the van and knelt down, she came toward me but stopped short. Ruth came up alongside me, and I asked, “This is the one that just delivered?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “She’s still hungry, is my guess.”
“Let’s fix that,” I said.
After Ruth fetched a large plastic bowl from the porch, I said, “Do you have a paper plate? Plastic bowls can give cats little ulcers and abscesses in their mouths.”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” she said. “Is glass okay?”
“Yup. Cats have smart immune systems. They react to toxins quicker than humans, but glass is fine.”
Soon we’d filled several large Pyrex pans with dry food, set them about halfway between the house and the barn and then retreated to the porch to watch how many cats would come for supper. Since their sense of smell is so acute, I figured it wouldn’t take long. A minute later, four cats were chowing down—the calico, two tabbies and a sleek black cat that tried to push aside the other three without success. They were all too hungry to tolerate top-cat shenanigans.
Ruth, her arms wrapped around her, said, “Those are the only ones I’ve seen—unless there are more tiger cats and I can’t tell one from the other.”
“Have you been able to pet them?” I said.
“The calico and the black one. Blackie seemed healthy, has a beautiful coat. Very friendly.”
“Let me see if I can get closer,” I said.
I stepped out through the screen door and down three steps. I moved toward the cats, and this did not go unnoticed. The black one was the first to respond to my outstretched hand and quiet calls.
He was soon rubbing against me, and with a little gentle probing I learned that he was a neutered male and that he loved to have his head scratched. The mackerel tabbies took note that their friend or leader was getting attention they might like as well. Soon they came over, too—these cats had obviously been around people—and I discovered they were a boy and a girl. One had horrible ear mites, and they all had fleas, but from what I could tell, they seemed otherwise healthy.
Mother Calico had at first continued to eat but by now was finished and sat grooming herself. Would she take off to find her litter? I guessed yes, and sure enough she started to wander off, but not without a backward look. She almost seemed to be beckoning me. That raised a flag immediately. New mothers like to hide their litters, and yet I was certain she wanted me to follow her.
I patted the black cat’s head one last time. “These three are probably not going anywhere now that they know you’ll feed them,” I said. “I’ll follow Miss Calico. My bet is she hasn’t traveled far in search of food.”
“Thank you, Jillian. These cats deserve better than what I can give them right now.”
“They wouldn’t have found you if they didn’t think you were the right person to help them. It isn’t all about the food, you know.”
I took off, but following the calico proved far more difficult than I’d imagined. It wasn’t that she disappeared. No, she kept meowing, and her mostly white coat offered little camouflage in the verdant landscape. Yup, she wanted me to follow, but the terrain wasn’t exactly friendly. Brambles and bugs and blackberry vines with prickly stems attacked me along the way. My shins below my capris looked as if I’d shaved my legs for the very first time when we finally reached a barbed-wire fence. Our journey had taken about twenty minutes.
Miss Calico slipped underneath the fence, but I stopped dead. When I didn’t follow her, she turned, sat and offered a wide-mouthed and very loud meow.
“You did a great Lassie imitation, but this is tricky, little mom.” I glanced right, checking the fence, which seemed to extend forever. It was also covered with that damn kudzu vine, which was as tough as the barbed wire and entwined every inch of the fence. And it hid the barbs that lurked beneath the lush and tricky green vines.
But to my left, the fence turned a corner. I walked that way, and when I reached a post, I wiggled it. It gave enough for me to know that the wood might have rotted some at the bottom—this part of the fence was r
usted and old, and not quite as obscured by strangling vines. I used both hands to loosen the post even more, and it didn’t take much for the thing to lean away from me, taking down a section of fence with it.
Being careful not to get stuck by rusted metal, I stretched one leg as far as I could. The fence was still not flat enough, so I used even more force to loosen the post.
Who’s trespassing now, Jillian? I thought. But I hadn’t seen any POSTED notice like Candace had mentioned yesterday. I wondered whether that meant I’d be warned and not arrested if caught by the property owner, or whether a fence was enough to get me in trouble. This time, using the post to hang on to, I extended my leg just past the fallen barbed wire, though I was practically doing the splits. And I don’t think I’d ever done the splits before.
I quickly learned that I’m no yoga goddess. Maybe if I had been, I wouldn’t have fallen.
I yelped in pain as a barb tore through my cotton pants and punctured my flesh. I carefully crawled off the fence, adding new scratches to the ones I’d already sustained in my trek.
“This better be worth it, Miss Calico,” I said to the cat sitting patiently waiting for me to get my act together. “Because now I might need a tetanus shot.”
Checking the back of my thigh where I’d ripped my pants, I saw a small, widening bloodstain. First aid later, Jillian. Let’s find out what this cat is trying to show you.
We traveled over a small hill wild with Carolina jasmine and goldenrod—a beautiful yellow sea. Miss Calico picked up her pace and headed toward more fences. I squinted, trying to make sense of what I saw.
Seconds later I stopped in shock. “Oh my God,” I whispered.
I saw a long, cream-colored metal shed and shiny new galvanized steel fences that looked like the dog runs at the shelter. Bordering these compartmentalized spaces were long sand trenches. They looked like outdoor litter boxes. And not well cared for, either. Very smelly.
They were for the cats.
So many cats.
Five
I had no time to consider exactly what Miss Calico had led me to because just then the shed door squeaked open. I dropped to the ground, the sweet fragrance of jasmine engulfing me and the goldenrod hiding part of me, or at least I hoped so.
I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle my surprise when I saw him. That darn trespassing professor with the funny name had come through the shed to the cat runs, a notebook in his hand. His long gray hair was tamer than before, and he wore a baggy blue suit and a red bow tie. He looked ready to teach a class at the college.
Somehow I didn’t think the cats would be interested in anything he had to say. From the cries and mournful meows rising into the late-afternoon air, I could tell they were hungry. Very hungry. The sound upset me so much, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
I resisted the urge to stand up and shout out a few hard questions. The bad vibes coming from that man, the isolation this place offered and the fact that I had no idea what was happening here stopped me. Watch and learn, I told myself. And then get help.
The professor moved to the far end of the runs and took notes as he stopped at each caged enclosure. I raised my head a tad, hoping to see how many cats were imprisoned here. I saw tiger-striped ears, orange faces, torties, black cats—maybe five or six in each cage. Those poor kitties must hate every minute of this. Didn’t he know cats needed their own space? Obviously he didn’t care, because he seemed to have no problem ignoring their cries. But it was tearing me up inside.
After he’d taken his notes at each enclosure, he went back inside the shed. I hated leaving the cats here, but this problem was too big for me to deal with alone. I was about to turn and crawl back the way I’d come when he appeared again, dragging a huge bag of kibble. I was relieved to see him begin to fill cat dishes, but when he stopped halfway down the cement walkway and took the food back inside the shed, anger boiled up into my throat. What about the rest of them?
I wanted to march down to those runs and give him what he had coming, but he appeared again before I could even move, this time carrying a gallon-size jar. He fed the rest of the cats a slimy, red, nasty- looking concoction from the jar, using what looked like a half-cup measure. The cats quieted, and when I wiped the few tears that had escaped from the corners of my eyes, I noticed long red marks on my shaking hand. Apparently I’d scratched myself on the fence, but I felt nothing but the pain of seeing those poor cats having their meager meal rationed out to them. It made me ill.
I lay in the jasmine vines for several minutes after the professor finished his task and had disappeared into the shed again. I could see Miss Calico, her back to me, lying down in one of the jails closest to me. She must have dug under the fence to get in and out. At least she seemed to be housed without other cats that might have harmed her kittens. Since she was on this end, she’d gotten the red slop for her meal. No wonder she’d been out scrounging for food. And she’d arrived back just in time, or who knew what would have happened to the kittens I assumed she was now feeding?
The goldenrod finally pushed me into action. When I started sneezing, lots of surprised cat faces turned my way. One particular tabby locked eyes with mine. He had the biggest, most gorgeous ears, but those eyes—I wouldn’t forget them. I whispered, “I’ll come back for you,” before the next sneeze hit.
I reluctantly crawled away until I was out of sight of that shed, trying hard to keep what was now nonstop sneezes as quiet as possible. I’d paid no attention to what other buildings might be on the property. A barn? A house? I’d been completely focused on the cats. But by now I feared the professor might spot me or hear me any minute.
I clambered over and down the wildflower hill, but not without stumbling on two more unpleasant surprises: dead rats. I wondered whether this was the work of the cats who’d managed to escape and make it to Ruth Schultz’s place. I stepped over them, swiping at my dripping nose. My eyes felt like they were on fire as I started back the way I’d come.
I glanced ahead in the direction of that wicked fence. Surely I could make my retreat without further injury and get back to the sanctuary. I had to tell Shawn about this. Maybe he could help me figure out what was going on with those cats.
The trek back to Ruth Schultz’s farm was taking longer than the trip out, without a calico cat to guide me. It wasn’t like I had any real path to follow. Turned out the lack of a path was the way I was supposed to walk after all. I’d stopped sneezing long enough to hear the weak sounds of a cat meowing.
I turned, thinking Miss Calico had followed me, but no, these mews were persistent, soft and up ahead to my right. I stepped slowly in the direction of the sound and soon found the source: a thin gray cat lying in trampled grass. Another escapee from the professor’s farm? Probably.
The gray made no attempt to move as I knelt and extended a hand. The mews stopped, and sunken green eyes looked up at me. Unlike the other cats I’d been close to, this one definitely needed help. I reached a hand out and gently ran my fingers along the side of the gray’s face. A minute later, he was in my arms and we were on our way without so much as a protest from the cat. He was weak, possibly dehydrated and far too thin for his frame.
I found Ruth in the field tending her tomato plants.
Since she was kneeling, she saw my nicked and scratched shins first. She looked up, her eyes wide. “What happened to you?” She rose. “And what happened to this one?”
“I found out where the cats are coming from, so I’m heading back to get this one to Shawn. This gray needs help.”
“But you need those cuts cleaned up first,” she said. “And your eyes—why are they so puffy?”
“Allergies. Really, I’m fine,” I said, shrugging off her offer and heading for my van. “Do you know your neighbor, the professor?”
She walked alongside me. “Professor? Who are you talking about?”
“There’s property about a twenty-minute walk from here. Do you know the man who owns it?”
Her
eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Someone bought that place?” She shook her head. “I get so involved in planting this time of year, I literally have my head in the sand. That old farm has been vacant for years. Most of them in this area are abandoned. Small farms are nearly extinct around here.”
“It’s not vacant anymore. Can you open the front passenger door?”
Ruth did so, and then I had her grab an old cat quilt from the back. She spread it on the passenger seat, and I laid the gray down. He meowed but made no effort to move.
I scratched an itch on my left arm. Geez. The bug bites from slithering on the ground were almost as itchy as my nose.
“All my new friends belong to this professor, then?” She nodded toward her barn, rubbing dirty hands on the front of her jeans.
“Probably—but it doesn’t seem like they’re his pets. When I met him, that’s what he called them—pets. What a liar.”
“You talked to him?” Her gaze traveled back and forth between the cat and my cuts and scratches.
“Not at his place. I’ll explain later. This cat needs help now. Since you have cat food now, will you be okay with a few extra mouths to feed?”
She smiled. “Certainly. I do want to help.”
We said our good-byes, and she reminded me once more to get first aid as soon as possible. Sweet lady, I thought as my van rumbled down the back roads of Mercy toward the sanctuary.
When I walked back into Shawn’s office fifteen minutes later, his gaze immediately went to the limp cat in my arms.
“Looks like you’ve been in combat, Jillian,” he said. “But I get the feeling it wasn’t with this cat. Give him here.”
I eased the gray into Shawn’s arms and then followed as he took him through the office and into the part of the sanctuary where he had a stainless-steel examination table. The gray didn’t like this much, tried to get up, but didn’t have the strength to resist Shawn’s firm hold. Shawn lifted the cat’s right cheek to expose the gums and pressed a finger above the upper gum. He then ran his big hands over the gray’s body, all the while murmuring that everything would be fine.
The Cat, The Professor and the Poison Page 4
