A Whisker of Truth

by Patricia Fry

  “Let’s put them in the service porch for now,” Rochelle suggested. “It’s bright out there and they can see outside, but they’re still close to the kitchen, where we’ll be some of the time. You say you got them some special food?”

  “Yes, I’ll get it. And we’d better fill their water trays. I filled them only half full for the car ride.”

  “Would you gals like a cup of tea or coffee?” Peter asked. “Savannah, are you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I had cookies with my coffee earlier. A cup of tea sounds good.” She looked at her watch. “Hey, I’d better call Michael and let him know we got here.”

  “Okay,” Rochelle said. “Meet you out back on the deck. Hey, maybe the birds would like to go outside with us.”

  “Good idea.” Savannah walked into the dining room and placed the call to Michael. Oh, it’s his voicemail. “Hi, hon, just wanted to let you know we got here okay. It was…”

  “Hi,” Michael interrupted, sounding out of breath.

  “Oh, there you are. Having a busy day at work?”

  “It’s a typical Thursday. How are you? You say you’re at Peter’s and Rochelle’s?”

  “Yes, just got here.”

  “You made good time. You stopped for your fancy coffee didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and to walk around some with Rags.”

  “Tell him about the birds,” Peter said, walking past her with a tray of teacups.

  “Birds?” Michael asked. “Did Peter say something about birds?”

  “Yeah, well, you see…”

  “Uh-oh, Savannah. What did you do? You haven’t gone out and bought some chickens, have you? I know how you go nuts over baby chickens. We don’t need chickens or ducks. They’re a lot of work. You aren’t bringing any chicks home, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s Peter talking about? What birds?”

  “Well, when Rags and I stopped for a break, we met a couple of small parrots…”

  “Parrots?” Michael repeated.

  “Yes, Rags made friends with them and they climbed into the car. How could I say no? I think Peter and Rochelle want to keep them.” She made eye contact with Peter, who grinned and shook his head. “Anyway, hon, we’re taking care of them. They’re safe, and that’s what’s important. Rags saved Matilda from a dog. That’s the little girl parrot.” When there was no response, she said, “Michael?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Hey, my ten-thirty patient just walked in. Gotta go. Do your best to sell Peter and Rochelle on those birds. We really don’t need any more animals.”

  “Will do. I’ll call later so I can talk to the kids.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Your yard’s so nice,” Savannah said when she joined the Whitcombs on their deck, under a shade tree and surrounded by a variety of shrubs. She admired a pair of matching pots. “Gosh, these succulent arrangements are beautiful. Do you spend a lot of time out here?”

  “Not as much as we thought we would,” Rochelle admitted. “We come out here mainly to water or putter, and when we have guests.”

  “And on warm evenings,” Peter added. “It’s a great place to unwind after a busy day.”

  “Well, it’s lovely—feels good.” She shimmied with glee. “Michael’s going to build me a gazebo, where we can relax and entertain.”

  “Where?” Rochelle asked. “Isn’t your yard full of horses?”

  “No.”

  “That picture you sent me showed a bunch of horses in corrals.”

  “Right. We had a temporary boarding stable for a while, but all of the boarders and their corrals are gone. We’re back down to just Peaches and Gypsy, and we’re redesigning our whole backyard.” Savannah glanced around. “I’ll have to take a walk through your gardens and get some ideas for landscaping. Any tips you want to share? What’s working and what isn’t?”

  “Well, the yard was pretty much set when we bought the house,” Rochelle said. “The only thing we’ve done is to remove some of the more invasive plants to let sunlight in and allow space for other things to grow. Some really nice plants are struggling because they haven’t been given the opportunity to thrive.”

  Peter smiled at his wife. “Always rooting for the underdog.”

  “Those beautiful flowers aren’t underdogs,” Rochelle protested. “They’re strong and vital. They were just being crushed by the bully shrubs.”

  Both Savannah and Peter laughed. Savannah said, “I can commiserate, girlfriend. I’ve done some whacking on bully plants myself when they were hogging the sunlight and sucking up too much water.”

  “See,” Rochelle said, “Savannah gets it.”

  “I’d love a tour,” Savannah said.

  “Okay. Get your camera out,” Rochelle suggested. “I don’t know the names of some of the plants, so you’ll need to have someone at your nursery identify them and tell you whether they’re right for your climate.”

  “Good idea,” Savannah agreed. “How about we finish our tea first.” She let out a sigh. “Ahhh. I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you two.”

  Rochelle patted Savannah’s hand. “Well, we’ve been looking forward to having you here.”

  Savannah smiled and rested her head against the chair back for a moment. “You know, I feel so relaxed and calm. Is it just me or does your garden affect you two that way?”

  Rochelle nodded. “Yes it does, when we finally get around to spending time out here.”

  “Well, you’re doing it now, and I’m glad I get to enjoy it with you. It’s going to be a great weekend. I can feel it in my core.” She grinned at Rochelle. “Hey, you’re the psychic; what’s your prediction?”

  “I think you’re absolutely right, Savannah. It’s going to be a great weekend.” Rochelle tilted her head in thought.

  “Wait,” Savannah said, sitting forward in her chair. “What does that look mean? You didn’t sound very convincing just then.”

  Rochelle took a deep breath. “Huh? What?”

  Savannah groaned. “Oh, no. What do you see?”

  “Nothing,” Rochelle insisted. “Nothing. No. I’m sure you’re right. It’s going to be a great weekend. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Savannah studied Rochelle for a moment, then took a sip of tea and settled back in her chair feeling a little less optimistic.

  ◆◆◆

  The following morning when Savannah and Rags entered the kitchen, Rochelle greeted them. “Good morning. How did you two sleep?”

  “Speaking for myself,” Savannah said, “wonderful.” She looked down at Rags, who had begun eating from a bowl of kibbles. “Him, maybe not so much.”

  “Why?” Peter asked.

  “Well, he wanted to sleep on the bed with me, so I put his blanket in the area where he usually sleeps—cozied up to my legs. He didn’t want his blanket. He kept crawling under it. So I tried putting another one of his blankets over him. Nope, that didn’t suit him, either. I guess he wanted to feel the soft, smooth fabric of your beautiful comforter. Finally, I put him in his pen and I slept alone. Oh, yes, I had a luxurious night’s sleep.”

  “I’m glad,” Rochelle said, smiling.

  “So are you girls ready for a big day in the big city?” Peter asked.

  Rochelle placed a bowl of fresh fruit on the table. “Yeah, what do you want to do, Savannah?”

  “I want to shop in your jewelry store. I’d like to see your studio. I hear you’ve made some changes since we were here last. And I’d like to treat you to lunch someplace nice. Both of you, if you can get away, Peter.”

  “What a nice gesture. Thank you,” Rochelle said. “But I planned to take you out to eat.” She winked at Peter. “Just us girls.”

  Savannah gave Peter a sympathetic look.

  “Frankly,” he said, “I like Savannah’s idea better.”

  “Oh, stop,” Rochelle scolded. “You have a lunch appointment today, anyway, right?”

  He nodded.

  When Savannah heard the c
hattering of birds, she asked, “How are Clayton and Matilda?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked toward the cage. “Hi, guys,” she chirped. She observed, “This is a really nice sunny spot in the morning, isn’t it?”

  Peter followed her. “It’s the brightest room in the house. Yeah, they seem to be doing fine—like they’ve been confined to a cage all their life.” He smiled. “I think they like it here.”

  “Hello, pussycat,” Clayton said when saw Rags coming toward him.

  Rags promptly jumped up onto the counter, sat down next to the cage, and stared at the parrots. When Rags put his paw against the cage, Clayton hopped across his perch toward him and squawked a few times before saying, “Hello, pussycat.”

  “Where do you think he learned that phrase?” Rochelle asked from the kitchen.

  “Who knows?” Savannah said, joining her.

  “He must have belonged to someone at some point,” Peter suggested. “Or do you think all of those parrots you saw at that park were hatched in the wild?”

  “As contented as these two seem in the cage, I’m pretty sure they’ve been pets,” Savannah said. “And his people must have had a cat, or I guess someone could have simply taught him that phrase for the heck of it.”

  Peter shook his head. “Every time I’ve heard him say it, Rags is close by. I think he’s actually addressing the cat—you know, trying to engage him.”

  “Oh, Peter,” Rochelle said, “that’s probably a coincidence.”

  “You don’t think birds are smart?” he asked.

  She smirked. “Have you heard the term birdbrain? I don’t think it’s used as a compliment. Hey, are you guys ready for breakfast? I hope you like apple muffins. It’s an old family recipe and it’s very cinnamony.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Savannah remarked. “Sounds yummy.”

  The threesome continued to chat over breakfast when suddenly Peter ducked and almost slipped off his chair. “What in tarnation was that?” he grumbled.

  Savannah quickly stood. “A bird. One of your birds, I think.”

  “One of the parrots?” Rochelle asked, surprised.

  Savannah nodded. “I think so. He flew into the hallway.”

  “How’d he get out?” Peter complained. He looked at Rochelle. “I guess he used his birdbrain to escape.”

  “Unless I didn’t secure the latch when I fed them,” Rochelle suggested.

  But Savannah had another possible culprit in mind. “Raaags!” she called. “Rags, did you monkey with the birdcage?”

  By then, Rags was in the living room searching frantically for his little green friend, who had just done a fly-by maneuver over the cat’s ears.

  “Here he comes,” Rochelle squealed as the parrot soared overhead. “Oh no!” she shouted when he came in for a landing right into the butter dish.

  “What is he, drunk?” Peter asked. “Why would a bird land in soft butter like that?”

  “He probably couldn’t tell it was soft,” Savannah suggested, scrambling to catch the bird. “He thought it was a little log or something.”

  When the parrot took flight again, Rochelle shrieked, “Catch him before he gets butter all over the furniture! Oh no!” she cried. “He flew into the living room. Catch him, Peter!”

  “Do we have a net?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “Wait,” Savannah said. “Let me try something.” She walked slowly toward the living room, put her finger out, and whistled. “Clayton or Matilda—whoever you are—come on,” she invited, holding her hand out toward the bird. “Here he comes,” she said, preparing for him to alight on her hand. Instead, he dove downward and landed on Rags’s head. Rags rolled over and the bird hopped onto his belly.

  “Hello, pussycat,” he chirped.

  “Oh, my gosh,” Savannah said. “Who has their phone? That’s hilarious.” She walked down the hall to retrieve her phone, but returned too late to get the shot she wanted. By then, Rags was holding Clayton down with one paw and licking butter off the bird’s feet.

  “Now there’s a shot for you, Savannah,” Peter said, laughing.

  All three of them snapped pictures until the parrot wriggled from Rags’s grasp and flew back to his cage.

  Savannah followed him and watched as he entered the cage through the small door. She closed it after him, then examined it. “I think we need a better latch.”

  “Something that’s bird-proof?” Peter asked.

  Savannah looked at Rags. “And cat-proof.” She picked him up and carried him to the kitchen sink, where she dampened a paper towel with warm water and cleaned the remaining traces of butter off his fur.

  “Hello, pussycat,” Clayton chirped.

  “Eat your breakfast, bird,” Peter called out. “You, too, Matilda.” He turned to Savannah. “About those names…”

  “Yes?”

  “If we decide to keep them,” he glanced at Rochelle, “which is questionable, I’d like to rename them. Is that a good idea or not?”

  Savannah explained, “Well, some people say it’s bad luck to rename a pet. And there’s also the problem of these birds recognizing their names. Calling them something else might confuse them.”

  “So, you think they know their names? It’s not like they’ve had owners who used their names, is it?”

  “We don’t know that,” Savannah said, “but the folks living in the area where we found them used their names.” She asked, “What would you call them?”

  Peter sat up straighter and announced, “Maybe Thor and Wonder Woman.”

  Savannah stared at him for a moment. “Huh?”

  “Thor and Wonder Woman?” Rochelle repeated.

  “Yeah. What are you thinking, honey?”

  “Oh, Sky and Blue or maybe Sugar and Spice.”

  Peter smirked playfully at his wife. “Well, if we keep them—and you notice I emphasized the if, we may have to discuss that.”

  “I can’t believe you two are really considering keeping these little lovebirds,” Savannah said, releasing Rags to the floor.

  “Why not?” Rochelle asked. “They were a gift, after all.”

  Savannah chuckled. “A tongue-in-cheek gift.”

  Rochelle thumbed through the pictures on her phone. “These are adorable. I’ve never seen a cat and a bird interact like that.”

  “Yeah, hilarious,” Peter said. “I got some of it on video. Surely that will go viral.”

  Rochelle grinned at her husband, then asked Savannah, “So, what will you do with the birds if we don’t keep them?”

  “Take them home to live out their life with us, and hope it doesn’t result in a divorce.”

  “Divorce?” Rochelle yelped. “You’re married to a veterinarian. Doesn’t he like animals?”

  “Yes he does, but he also likes a calm and orderly household, which we have never actually experienced throughout our entire marriage.”

  Peter chuckled. “Because of Rags?”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, he’s part of it, of course.” She grinned. “If you were to ask Michael, he’d say Rags is the whole of it.”

  Rochelle petted Rags as he sauntered past. “Well, I think Rags is a very nice cat. He’s done some incredible things. Doesn’t Michael appreciate all that he’s done to save and help people?”

  “Sure he does. I think he’s just in the habit of cranking about Rags. Michael has his…” she paused and winced, “…probably legitimate complaints, but you ought to hear him brag about Rags when he’s done something unusual and witness how upset he is when Rags gets hurt or threatened.”

  “Well, Rags has always been a gentleman when we’ve been around him,” Rochelle said.

  “Knock on wood when you say that,” Savannah suggested. “We still have two full days and three nights with him.”

  “Now you’ve got me worried,” Peter said, frowning at Rags.

  ◆◆◆

  “So Rags is in the pen with all of his necessities?” Rochelle asked as she and Savannah drove off for the day.
>
  Savannah nodded. “Yes. Do the birds have what they need? Oh, I made sure the latch was closed.”

  “So did I,” Rochelle said.

  Savannah sat back against the passenger seat. “Good. Then we can relax and enjoy our day away.” She faced Rochelle. “Where are you taking me?”