“What do I do? Pick it up? Are you crazy? It might bite me. Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.”
Her? What about him? He was the one who was dying.
She hadn’t cared. It had been all about her. Still crying and babbling, she’d returned to her fancy car and roared off, leaving Ambrose alone and in pain. Heartless creature. For all she knew he could have been on his last life.
And now, here she was again, back like a bad dream. She still had the same long, yellow fur on her head and her mouth was painted bloodred. She was wearing shoes designed to make her look almost as tall as the man and pants that stuck to her skinny legs. Over them she wore a long coat trimmed with … fur! If there’d been any doubt before there couldn’t be now. The woman was an animal hater.
Why would this kind-hearted guy want to be around such a person? Was she even young enough to produce offspring? Like Ambrose, she’d seen a few lives since their last encounter. Ambrose could tell by the small cracks around her eyes.
Well, this was simply further proof that the man wasn’t too bright and needed help from someone wiser, someone who had the kind of wisdom that could only come from having several lives under your collar.
“I told James he doesn’t have to be home till midnight,” she said. “Which means I don’t have to be, either.” She slipped off her coat to reveal something black and shiny on her top half that barely covered her skin. “You like?” she purred.
Oh, gag me with a hairball. What was there to like?
Something, since the fool was eyeing her the same way Ambrose once watched the tempting canary that cost him his fourth life. “Oh, yeah,” the man said, and his voice, too, was a purr.
Ambrose watched in disgust from his spot in front of the fire as they fit themselves together and kissed (a popular human custom connected with mating that seemed a complete waste of time). This was the first fire his new human had lit since Ambrose had moved in and now he realized that it hadn’t been lit for him. The man had built that fire for this unworthy female. Ambrose and Adelaide, his old woman, had watched plenty of TV, and Ambrose knew exactly what this Baby person was. She was a cougar, just like in the show Cougars in Connecticut. The rude and naughty behavior Ambrose had seen on that show—it had been enough to make him glad he was a cat. The last thing this poor fool needed was to be mating with that type of female.
They finally broke apart and the cougar moved into the living room. She got halfway to the couch and stopped short at the sight of Ambrose. Yeah. Remember me? I’m back.
“Zach, what’s this? You got a cat?” Her tone of voice made it sound like the guy had contracted some fatal disease.
A cat? How about the cat you flattened? Obviously, humans didn’t remember things they’d done in past lives.
“You didn’t tell me,” she said.
Ambrose had heard this enough over his lifetimes. Human females expected their men to tell them every little thing. What a pain. He was glad he was cat.
“More like he got me,” said the man called Zach. “I rescued old Tom and he followed me home. I’m keeping him until I can find a place for him.”
Tom. Ambrose cringed at the mention of his pathetic new name. And what did Zach mean by that? This was Ambrose’s place. It was where he was supposed to be, where he was supposed to earn his nice, long, ninth life.
The female looked down her nose at Ambrose. “Good luck with that. He’s not the best-looking cat on the block, is he?”
What? Was she serious? What did she know about what made for a handsome cat? The ladies liked him just fine. So what if he was missing the tip of his right ear? Battle scars … Baby.
“Hey, Blair, you’ll hurt his feelings,” said Zach.
Ambrose narrowed his eyes. He knew a teasing tone of voice when he heard one. Suddenly Zach didn’t seem to care very much about his feelings. Blair Baby sure didn’t bring out the best in Zach. Hardly surprising, considering her past.
“Well, I’m sure he’s really sweet. Aren’t you?” she cooed to Ambrose.
“Tom, come say hi to Blair,” said Zach.
Ambrose was no dummy. He knew she was only fussing over him to impress Zach. Well, he was having none of it. Instead of coming to the cat killer, he walked away and brushed against the leg of an old chair, marking it. I’d rather identify with this chair than get anywhere near you.
“He makes my nose itch,” said the cougar, rubbing a finger underneath her nose. “I hope you’re not going to have him for long.”
Ambrose narrowed his eyes. We’ll see who stays around the longest … Baby.
Brave talk, indeed, considering how much Zach seemed to like Blair Baby. It wasn’t long before he and Blair were entwined on Zach’s leather couch, talking, touching, laughing. Ambrose left for the kitchen before his appetite got completely ruined. At least the cougar didn’t live there. She’d soon be gone.
Maybe not. Blair Baby hung around like a giant burr, clinging to Zach and stealing his attention. They ate. They went upstairs to Zach’s bedroom and shut the door in Ambrose’s face. Finally they came back downstairs, turned on the TV, and cuddled up on the couch. She put a bowl of popcorn in Zach’s lap—right where Ambrose would normally be sitting.
Humph. Ambrose settled by the fire and turned his back on them. Out of sight, out of mind.
But he could still hear just fine. And he heard a voice in the TV, reminding Zach and Blair to come to Pet Palace and get their pet’s picture taken with Santa.
Santa! He was big and sadistic. He grabbed little children and made them sit on his lap, terrifying them and making them cry. Ambrose knew. He’d seen the pictures. Humans obviously used Santa at this time of year to punish their offspring. But who would do that to a defenseless animal?
Pet Palace, of course. The place was evil. He shuddered, remembering that day in his fifth life when his owner had taken advantage of Pet Palace’s discount coupon for neutering. Emasculation! He had been so terrified that first time. No wonder he’d had a heart attack and died on the operating table.
“You should take Tom to get his picture taken with Santa,” said Blair.
Nooo, he shouldn’t.
“I don’t know,” Zach said. “That’s right up there with putting reindeer antlers on your dog.”
Wearing reindeer antlers? That sounded like something a dog would do.
“I’m just thinking that if you put a cute picture of your lost cat all dolled up in a Santa hat on Craigslist or Pet Finder you’ll get a home for him.”
Cute! Ambrose didn’t do cute, and he certainly didn’t do cute with the big mean Santa monster. He’d rather throw himself into that fire than fall into the clutches of the man in red. And what did she mean by lost? He wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was.
Ambrose used the need for a stretch as an excuse to turn back around and observe. Zach was frowning slightly.
“James will be with his father next weekend, so I can help you,” said the cougar. “The poor cat should have a home. In fact, the sooner the better,” she added, and rubbed her nose again.
Now Zach was looking thoughtful. And that didn’t look good for Ambrose.
FOUR
The next time Blair came by the house she barely gave Zach a chance to kiss her before she wrinkled her pretty nose and said, “Ugh. What is that smell?”
“What smell?” He’d showered.
“Cat box,” she said in disgust. “When was the last time you changed the cat box?”
“Tuesday, before I left for the station,” said Zach.
She made a face and shook her head. “Your whole house smells.”
He sniffed. Okay, it did stink a little. “I guess I’d better change it.”
“I guess you’d better do something about the cat. Coming in here to that nasty odor is a definite buzz kill.” She dug a small bottle of perfume out of her purse and spritzed it around the front hallway, shuddering the whole time. “I’ll wait for you in the car,” she said, leaving him alone with his stinky hous
e and his stinky cat.
He started a new topic of conversation as they drove to Captain Crab for lunch, but later, when they sat in a corner booth, hemmed in by red tinsel garlands and looking over the menus, she brought up the subject again. “So, how are you coming with finding a home for the cat?”
“I’m working on it,” Zach hedged. He set down his menu. “You know, Blair, I’m kind of surprised you don’t like him. I thought you’d be more of an animal lover. I mean, your dad owns Pet Palace, for Pete’s sake.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, making him feel both stupid and irritated. “That’s like expecting someone who owns a Japanese restaurant to like sushi.”
“Yeah? Why would you want to own a Japanese restaurant if you didn’t like Japanese food?” he argued.
“To make money,” she replied. “Look, I have nothing against cats, and I have nothing against the one you found except that he makes me sneeze. And now he’s making your house smell. Really, Zach, I get one whiff and I have no desire to hang around there.”
He knew what that meant. It meant, well, no desire. Blair’s house was pretty much off-limits due to the presence of her teenage son. And the neighbors, who she was sure would tell the teenage son that she wasn’t just cleaning house when he was gone. Dumb, if you asked Zach. The kid had to know she had a life. Still, that was the way she wanted it, so he had no objections. Except if hanging out at Zach’s place stopped being an option … This didn’t bode well for their love life.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” he promised.
“I hope you do,” she said. And to prove she meant business she went straight home after lunch.
“No problem,” said Ray, when a very frustrated Zach called him. “I can come over this afternoon and we can put in a cat door. Then he can come and go when he wants. No more cat box, no more smell.”
It was a perfect solution, and when the guys were done Zach had a dent in his charge card and a dent in his thumb from where he’d hit himself with the hammer. But Tom had a cat door. Zach smiled as Tacky demonstrated how easy it was to use. Perfect.
But that evening, when Zach tried to introduce Tom to the wonders of having his very own door, the little guy balked. He not only balked, he ran away.
“Hey, come on, now,” Zach called after him. “I’m trying to work things out so you can stay.” He fetched the cat and tried again, and Tom dug in with all fours. When Zach flipped the door and tried to nudge him through he hissed and took a swipe at Zach and bolted a second time.
“Okay, guy. You had your chance,” growled Zach, his feeling of goodwill toward cats evaporating.
The following morning Zach was back at Pet Palace, this time for a cat carrier. Somebody was going to get hauled here tomorrow to have his picture taken with Santa because somebody was getting a new home for Christmas.
He stood looking at the vast array of carriers and suddenly felt mildly guilty about stuffing Tom into one. The little guy had made up the night before and sat in Zach’s lap while Zach read the December issue of Do It Yourself.
But if a man had to choose between having a cat or a woman on his lap … Blair was absolutely right. Tom needed a real home, and posting a picture of him all dressed up for Christmas was a good way to ensure he got one. Zach grabbed a cat carrier and then went in search of cat treats, figuring bribery would make both him and the cat feel better about the whole thing.
Wouldn’t you know? There on the kitty treat aisle stood the elfette, stocking shelves. Her cheeks turned rose pink at the sight of Zach and she managed a tentative smile.
He held up the carrier. “Had to get a cat carrier.” Well, duh. “I’m bringing my cat in for a Santa picture tomorrow.”
Her eyes lit up and her smile got big.
“With my girlfriend,” he added. The pink in her cheeks turned to red and the smile faltered, a sure sign that he had, in just a couple of encounters, managed to lead her on. He felt like a heel.
She nodded gamely. “I guess I’ll see you then. I’m taking the pictures.”
“Oh,” said Zach. Too bad you’ll have Blair with you. Whoa, where had that come from? He wanted Blair with him, didn’t he? Of course, he did. Blair came with no strings attached. “Well then, see you Saturday,” he said, and got out of there.
He was back on the road when he remembered he never did snag any cat treats for Tom. He’d get the little guy some after they were done with the pictures as a reward for good behavior. And maybe, if he was lucky, Blair would give him a reward for good behavior.
Ho, ho, ho. He grinned as he pictured …
Oh, no. Not a redhead with green eyes. Where was the blue-eyed blonde? Blair. You’re with Blair. You’re happy with Blair. He booted out the image of Merilee posing for him in a skimpy outfit of red velvet and brought Blair back on stage wearing nothing but a Santa hat.
But she was looking stage right and scowling.
A second later there was Merilee again, tap-dancing her way to center stage, and suddenly Blair was nowhere to be seen.
Zach gave his head a vigorous shake in an effort to dislodge the image. What is the matter with you?
It was a question he found he couldn’t answer, at least not comfortably.
* * *
A woman looking slick in designer jeans and an expensive jacket reached past Merilee to snag a couple of cans of cat food, the diamond ring on her left hand taunting Merilee. Everything about the woman, from her stylish coat and jeans to her makeup, said, “I’m perfect and I know it.”
Merilee gave her a feral smile and pulled fresh cans out of the carton she was emptying, slamming them on the shelf. Jealousy is not attractive, she scolded herself. If only she was better looking she wouldn’t have to fight the green-eyed monster.
But even if she transformed herself on the outside, she’d still probably find it impossible to untie her tongue and manage the art of flirting. Why, whenever she was around hunky men, did her confidence fade like the Cheshire cat?
Ha! Years of practice, that was why. The cool guys had never seen her, either in high school or college. They still didn’t.
These days just being nice wasn’t enough for a girl. You had to have pizzazz. You had to connect.
Sadly, Merilee connected better with animals than she did with men. Animals loved you whether or not you wore makeup. Animals didn’t need you to be sexy or witty and clever and entertaining. All they wanted was love and acceptance, and Merilee was good at that. She cared about helpless beings. She cared about anyone in need of help or a shoulder to cry on, which was why she had never lacked for girlfriends. In high school all her friends came to her with their boy problems. Looking back it was easy to see why. They knew they’d get plenty of empathy and no competition.
She slammed down another can of cat food. Men didn’t want nice, they wanted hot, and she was never going to be hot. She wasn’t sure she could even achieve lukewarm. Why were people (especially male people) so shallow? It was what was inside that counted.
The last time she’d said something like that around her sisters Liz had informed her that most people would rather look inside a nicely wrapped gift box with a pretty bow than take a chance on a dirty paper sack.
She frowned at the memory. “I am not a dirty paper sack.”
“Thanks for the update,” said Dennis the floor manager as he walked by, proving that a girl could, indeed, get noticed no matter how she dressed.
* * *
Cat carriers were nothing more than portable cages, humiliating modes of transport for an animal. And in all Ambrose’s lives not one of those contraptions had ever carried him someplace he wanted to go.
He watched through slitted eyes as Zach stowed the ugly gray thing in the downstairs closet. So Zach and the cat-killing cougar thought they were going to stuff him in that thing to go see the Santa monster, did they? Well, they could try.
Zach disappeared upstairs but Ambrose remained in the living room under the couch, ever vigilant. Today must not ha
ve been the day for the visit to the Santa monster because a few minutes later Zach appeared in his tattered clothes. That meant … sure enough, soon he was in the eating room, pounding and banging.
Ambrose bolted up the stairs and hid under the bed. All that noise! It was enough to shatter a guy’s nerves. Why oh why did he have to end up here? Why couldn’t his mission have involved bringing comfort to another nice old lady like Adelaide? Of course, he knew the answer and it was the only reason he was still hanging around. He owed Zach. And Zach definitely needed help.
Later that evening, when they were settled in on the couch with the TV on, Ambrose decided this mission wasn’t so bad after all. Zach was a nice enough human. Easily led, though, which obviously was why he needed to be with someone other than the cougar, someone who would be a good influence on him and teach him how to consider the feelings of others, like his cat.
They had a cozy sleep that night—Zach under the bedcovers, Ambrose curled up on top of them. Beds were wonderful things, soft and warm, and lying on one next to a human (even if he wasn’t the brightest one on the block) gave a guy a sense of security—a sense of community, too. Contrary to popular belief, cats weren’t snobs. They liked to belong. And Ambrose could see himself with Zach for a long time. Once he got the boy whipped into shape.
He was still on the bed in the morning, dreaming he was feasting on a nice, fat mouse, when Zach picked him up. “Hey, guy, it’s showtime.”
Showtime? That had to mean they were going to watch something on Zach’s TV. Zach would make a home for Ambrose on his lap and pet him. What a good idea! Ambrose allowed himself to be carried downstairs.
But as they reached the foot of the stairs Ambrose spied the pet carrier and … the cougar. Oh, no! They were not putting him in that thing.
Zach had anticipated Ambrose’s reaction, though, and even as he tried to propel himself to freedom, Zach held him tighter. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, and the next thing Ambrose knew he was caged.
The Nine Lives of Christmas Page 4
