by Patricia Fry
“Yes. I’ll hold you to it,” Iris agreed, stepping out the door. She waved at Michael and Gladys. “Night all.”
“Good night,” Savannah called. “And thank you again for the beautiful, meaningful pendant. I love it!”
Iris smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Craig waved casually as he followed his wife out. “Take her easy, guys.”
“That was a nice surprise,” Savannah said, closing the door. She admired her necklace again and smiled at Iris’s thoughtfulness, then pulled the business card out of her pocket and studied it before dropping it into her purse. She stretched and yawned. “Well, five a.m. comes early. I’d better get to bed.” She added, “I think I’ll go kiss the children good night one more time.”
Michael wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair, “They’ll be just fine. It’s me who’ll be suffering.”
She pulled back and grinned at him. “You’ll be suffering?”
“Yeah, my feet will get cold at night, and who’s going to rub my back after a long day at the clinic, and…”
“Poor baby,” Savannah teased.
Gladys chuckled, and asked, “So you’re driving to San Francisco? I thought you’d take that commuter plane.”
“Not with Rags and all his paraphernalia. It’s only a three-hour drive—not as far as Cousin Janet had to travel to get here a few weeks ago from Southern California.”
“And you’re staying with Rochelle and Peter?”
“Yes. I’m so glad they invited me. Their new home actually isn’t too far from the book-fair site. The event’s in an old building.” Savannah shivered. “I’m glad it’s indoors; it can get cold and damp in that city this time of year, although Rochelle said they’re having some nice weather lately.”
“And you’ll be back on Monday?” Gladys asked.
“Yes. Probably in time for lunch.” Savannah faced her mother. “Now remember, Auntie said she’ll help out with the children. I hope you’ll take her up on the offer. She enjoys having Lily come over and bake with her. And Michael will be here on the weekend, so take some time off.”
Gladys squeezed her daughter’s hand. “We’ll be just fine. You go have a good time.”
“Okay, I will, if you promise me you’ll do something fun when I get back—you know, take a vacation trip or something.”
“That’s tempting,” Gladys agreed.
“I bet you’ll be ready to get out of town by then. Hey, Mom, maybe Auntie will go someplace with you—to visit Janet or take a tropical cruise or…”
Gladys grinned. “I might just do that. Thank you for opening up the channels of thought on the subject.”
◆◆◆
“What does he think he’s doing?” Savannah complained when she and Michael entered their bedroom a little while later.
“Who?” Michael asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Rags. He’s all stretched out in the middle of our bed.” She ruffled the fur on the cat’s tummy. “Where do you expect us to sleep?”
Michael chuckled. “He sure lives up to his Ragdoll breeding, doesn’t he? Look at how sprawly he is.”
“Yeah, so where are we going to sleep?”
Michael picked up Rags and deposited him in his cat bed across the room. He motioned with his arms. “Your bed, madam.”
“Poor Ragsie,” she said. “He looked so comfy.”
“Well, he can get comfy in his own bed, right Rags?” However, before Michael could pull back the covers and climb into bed, Rags jumped up there and plopped down again, blocking him from sliding between the sheets. “Rags!” he grumbled.
Savannah laughed. “You have to be faster than that.”
Michael picked up the cat again and walked toward the bedroom door. “Sorry, buddy, you go sleep with the other cats or the dog. Our bed’s off limits tonight, got it?” With that, he released the cat in the hallway and closed the door behind him.
“Uh-uh,” Savannah scolded, opening the door. “No closed doors between me and my children.”
“What about my sleep?” Michael protested.
“I need to be able to hear if the kids need something in the night,” Savannah insisted.
“Better hurry and get into bed, then,” Michael said, scooting under the covers quickly. “Here he comes,” he warned. “No, Rags!” he hissed. He laughed when Savannah made a dive for the bed just ahead of Rags.
“Sorry, Rags,” she said, giggling when the cat leaped up next to her, “this is our bed. Go find another place to sleep.” When Rags continued to stare at her, she took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll put your blanket on my bed at Peter and Rochelle’s house tomorrow night. You can sleep with me there, okay, sweet boy? But tonight, you go sleep with Buffy or Lexie, if you want company. Go on now,” she urged. She watched as the large grey-and-white cat slid off the bed and sauntered out of the room. “Who do you think he’s going to bother now?” she asked.
Michael pulled her to him and whispered, “I don’t care, as long as it isn’t us.”
◆◆◆
Early the following morning Michael joined Savannah in the kitchen just as she finished eating a slice of toast with peanut butter on it and a bowl of fruit.
“Want toast?” she asked. “I’ll put in another piece.”
“Sure,” he said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Do we have a banana?” When she looked confused he said, “I feel like eating like the king today—the king of rock and roll, that is.”
She tossed him a banana, quipping, “Knock yourself out, Elvis.”
“Thank ya,” Michael said. “Thank ya, very much.”
Savannah laughed. “Yeah, you do sound a little like him.” She sat down at the table, and took a sip of coffee. “Hey, how about singing me a tune—you know, Blue Suede Shoes or…”
“Now, let’s not get carried away. I might eat like him, but I didn’t say I can sing like him.” He sat down and gazed across at her for a moment. “All ready?”
She nodded.
“So where’s your traveling companion? Packing his bags? Filing his claws? Plotting his escapades?”
“Funny,” she said. “I’m using a positive-thought technique with Rags as we speak.”
Michael shook his head. “Hon, you know he doesn’t pay attention to us when we use words, what makes you think he’s going to listen to your thoughts?”
She winced. “It’s the only thing I’ve got.” After rinsing her dishes, she called, “Rags! Let’s get you ready to go, buddy.”
“Want me to put his pens in the car?” Michael asked. “You’re taking the large pen and the smaller one, right?”
Savannah nodded. “I did that yesterday. Just need my suitcase and that small bag there with Rags’s things.”
“What about your books?”
“Rob had them sent to Peter and Rochelle’s house.”
“Good idea.” He looked at her and sighed. “I guess you’re all set.” He kissed her, then whispered. “I love you.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I love you, too. Take care, hon.” Pulling back, she added, “I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Okay. Drive safely. See you in a few days.”
She kissed him again. “You sure will.”
◆◆◆
Savannah had been driving for about two hours when she decided to stop. She glanced at Rags. “So you like your new car seat, do you? Looks cozy and safe, and you can see out the windows. Hey, want to stretch your legs? If I remember right, there’s a little park up here a ways and a place where I can get a cup of designer coffee.” She chuckled. “You don’t seem very excited. What’s the matter, did I interrupt your nap?” She ruffled the cat’s fur with one hand.
“Isn’t this nice, Rags?” Savannah said as the two of them walked around the small park minutes later. She shivered. “It’s a kind of chilly. I wonder if I should have bought you a little jacket to wear. Maybe a leather bomber jacket or a deni
m vest.” She smiled at the vision. Before she could continue, she heard a voice.
“Hello, pussycat.”
Rags stopped so abruptly that Savannah almost tripped over him. She glanced around, but didn’t see anyone. Hmmm, she thought, must be hearing things. Seconds later, she heard it again.
“Hello, pussycat. What’s up?”
Savannah gazed in all directions and still didn’t see who was speaking, but Rags did. Before she could stop him, he leaped up onto a fence post and into a tree. “Rags,” she scolded. That’s when she heard a different voice.
“You’d better grab him. The folks around here wouldn’t like it if Clayton got ate by a cat.”
Gripping Rags’s leash to keep him from climbing up any higher, she turned and saw a man who appeared to be in his eighties wearing a tweed ivy cap. “Clayton?” she questioned, peering into the branches. “Is Clayton a child?”
“No,” the elderly man said, laughing. “He’s a parrot.”
“A parrot?” Savannah repeated. “Oh my goodness.” She moved closer to the tree and reached for Rags. “Come on down, boy,” she coaxed. “I don’t want you hurting a bird.” She tugged a little on his leash to get his attention, and said more sternly, “Come on.”
“Good thing you’re tall,” the man said, watching her grab hold of Rags and ease him to the ground.
“I don’t see him,” she said, continuing to look up into the branches. “I mean the bird.”
The man pointed with his cane. “That’s because he’s in that tree now.” He looked at Rags. “Your cat knows where he is.”
“Hello, pussycat. Hello,” the bird called. “Meow!”
“A parrot, huh?” She jumped a little. “Oh, I see him. Why is he out here like this? Did he escape from his home? Can’t his owner catch him?”
“No one really knows. He tipped his hat. “By the way, I’m Rex. I walk out here every morning, even when the weather isn’t so nice.” He waved his cane to the right. “I live over in that tract with my menagerie.”
Savannah smiled. “Menagerie?”
“Yeah, two cats—both rescues, mind you—a crazy cockatiel, and a Chihuahua that’s older than me in dog years and getting too lazy to go walking anymore. Oh yes, and a tank full of fish and a yard full of moochers.”
“Moochers?” Savannah asked, amused.
“You know, squirrels, crows, jays, and some of their other bird friends. I feed them. What else do I have to do all day?” He studied Savannah for a moment. “You aren’t from around here, are ya?”
She shook her head. “Just passing through on my way to the big city for a book fair.” She held out her hand. “I’m Savannah. This is Rags. I wrote a book about him.”
“You write books about cats?” he questioned. “My wife liked books about cats—fiction, nonfiction, it didn’t matter none to her.” He leaned closer, confiding, “The cats I mentioned were hers, but I must say I’ve grown to admire RoseAnne and Groucho.”
Savannah tilted her head. “Admire them?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty interesting creatures, actually. I admire their sense of curiosity and the clever way they figure things out, like your cat there climbing up into the tree to get acquainted with Clayton.”
Savannah followed Rex’s gaze. “So how did the bird get loose? How long’s he been out here like this? I mean, parrots are tropical birds. Surely he can’t survive in this climate for very long.”
“They’ll beg to differ, young lady. They’ve been on their own out here for a coupla years now.”
“They?” Savannah asked. “There’s more than one Clayton?”
“Yes, there’s Clayton, Clayton Junior, Clayton the third, and Matilda. I think there are others that haven’t been named because they don’t have any identifying marks or personality quirks. Clayton’s the only one who does much talking. That’s why I’m pretty sure he’s the one who spoke to your cat just now.” Rex looked up into the tree and called, “Clayton, are you there? Do you want to come down and play with the cat?”
“He’s not afraid of cats?” Savannah asked.
Rex gave her a blank stare and asked, “Is your cat afraid of birds?”
“Well, no, I don’t think so, but…”
“Birds and cats can be good friends,” Rex insisted, “same as turkeys and goats, lambs and ducks, cows and puppies, burros and pigs. I’ve seen all those friendships in my lifetime, so that’s not a made-up story.” He waved his cane toward Rags. “Does your cat there…what’s his name? Does he have any friends of an opposite species?”
“Opposite?” she questioned. “Oh, his name’s Rags. Yes, he has a lot of animal friends, actually—horse friends, dog friends, and he does like other cats…especially kittens…but I don’t recall him ever buddying up to a bird. Wait…” she started.
Rex grinned. “There, he has had a bird friend, hasn’t he? I knew it.” He called to the parrot, “Clayton, come down and meet Rags. He wants to be a friend. You can’t have too many friends, now.” He smiled at Savannah. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes. I’d say that’s true. But I don’t want Rags to hurt the bird.”
Suddenly Rex began slapping at the air vigorously.
Savannah stepped back, stunned. “What is it?”
“I’m clearing the bad words away. We must use words that will bring the best results. Here’s a lesson, Miss—what’s your name, again?”
“Savannah.”
He stared at her. “As in Georgia and as in the African Savannah?”
She nodded.
“Well, Savannah, I suggest that you say, ‘we want Rags to be kind to the bird—to respect the bird.’ Then we would avoid using negative words, even when we’re trying to make a positive statement. Now, did you hear the difference in what I said as opposed to what you said? Instead of saying what you don’t want, state what it is you do want—peace on earth as opposed to no war, for example. Do you hear the difference?”
She smiled. “I sure do. Thank you for the reminder.”
Ignoring her comment, he continued, “Thoughts are things. Use those things—your thoughts—to make your experience the best it can be.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you know what the results will be?”
“A better world?” she said.
“Exactly.”
When Rags walked to the end of his leash and began to climb the tree, Savannah picked him up.
At the same time, Rex peered into the branches above. “Here he comes. Yes, he wants to meet that pussycat. Hi, Clayton,” Rex greeted, watching the small parrot hop from one branch to another until he was just over Rags’s head, looking at him. “Put the cat down,” Rex suggested. He tapped the grass with his cane. “Put him right there.”
Reluctantly Savannah lowered Rags to the ground and watched as the cat stared up at the bird for a few moments. He jumped up onto a tree stump and stretched up the trunk of the tree next to it. Savannah was surprised to see the parrot hop down to where he was at eye level with Rags.
The bird tilted his head from side to side, chanting, “Hello, pussycat. Hello, pussycat.”
Rags simply sat down on the stump and watched the bird.
Rex and Savannah chuckled when Clayton landed on Rags’s head and began picking through his fur with his beak. Although Rags was obviously startled and seemed confused, he wasn’t frightened nor did he appear defensive, so Savannah quickly snapped a few photos.
Suddenly a look of horror replaced Rex’s smile. “Oh no!” he exclaimed, staring at something behind Savannah. “No!” he shouted, running as fast as he could across the expanse of grass. He raised his cane angrily and shouted, “No! Drop it! Git, you scalawag!”
By the time Savannah realized what was going on, she found herself at the end of Rags’s leash, trying to keep up with him, passing Rex on the way.
“Stop him!” Rex called from behind her. And that’s just what Rags seemed bent on doing.
What does that dog have? Savannah wondered when she saw something small flo
pping around on the ground in front of the young Lab. Rags seemed to know what was going on. In fact, he was running so fast that Savannah let go of the leash. He’s on a mission, and I’m holding him back. Gads, I hope that wasn’t a mistake, she thought, watching him race ahead toward the dog.
When Savannah saw the pup rise up and prepare to pounce on what appeared to be another small parrot, she cringed. “No!” she shouted. What happened next surprised both Savannah and Rex. As they helplessly watched, Rags leaped at the dog, hitting him with such force that he rolled over a couple of times before regaining his composure. When the stunned dog saw Rags standing over him with his back arched, he hesitated, but only for a moment. He turned tail and started to run away, but not before Rags got a good lick in. The dog yelped and ran as fast as he could with his tail between his legs.
