When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

  "Uh, it has a flat tire, mister, um, Gator, sir," I said. Anxiety might give me a bit of a stammer, but Aunt Corliss would be proud to know that I remembered my manners.

  Gator used one meaty palm to rub the stubble on his chin. "Yeah. We can fix that. You got cash, right?"

  "I have a debit card," I offered. "If you point me to the nearest ATM, I can withdraw some cash to pay for the repair."

  "Sorry, darlin'. There's no ATM in this town. It's cash or nothin'. But I might have another way for you to work it off, if you get my drift."

  Against my better judgement, I admitted that I didn't get Gator's drift. From his expression, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I dug my heels in and waited for him to reply, but nothing could have prepared me for his response.

  Chapter Three

  Gator threw back his head and laughed until he held his sides for balance. "Oh, toots, I had you goin'. You see, my girl Friday done up and run off to marry Les with the lazy eye. You know, from down at the quarry?"

  I nodded to show that I understood when in fact, I didn't. This was my first time in, well, whatever town this was. I didn't know anyone except Bobby Jack and Gator, and I didn't really know either of them at all.

  "Anyway," he went on, not really waiting for a reply, "I could use someone to answer phones."

  "Sure! I can do that!" I agreed with more enthusiasm than was probably necessary. "Come on, Basil."

  "What's wrong with 'im? Is he 'flicted?" Bobby Jack asked.

  It took me a second to realize the tow truck driver referred to Basil. "Oh, no. He showed up on our doorstep like this when he was a kitten."

  "That's amazin' how he gets around on three legs."

  "Get back to work, Bobby Jack. Leave her truck here, and don't drag anyone else into town. I mean it!"

  Gator set me up in the reception area. He disappeared into the shop and returned with an empty box which he set in the corner. "Here's something for your cat, and sorry for the wait on fixing your truck." He went on to explain the reason—something about a part on the mayor's car, but he lost me at the phrase exhaust gas regulator valve—before leaving through a side door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  I took a seat behind the desk, and the cloud of dust that rose up around me brought on a trio of sneezes, each one louder than the one before it. "Bless me! I'm glad I didn't wear my good jeans," I muttered to the empty room.

  A clock radio sat on the desk. Taking my chances, I pressed the power button and classic rock filled the small room. A layer of grime covered my fingertip and I ducked into the bathroom to wash my hands. In the bathroom, which was surprisingly immaculate for a small town service station, I found some cleaning supplies.

  For the next two hours, I showed my gratitude for the shop's willingness to fix my tire by tidying up the reception area. I washed the windows, dusted the shelves, and swept up the floor. Basil, who had curled up in the empty box seconds after it hit the floor, napped the whole time.

  The job was grosser than I had expected when I agreed to answer the phones—which, I might add, never rang once. What could only be several years' worth of grease stains and cigarette smoke came off the surface of everything I cleaned in an icky yellow goo. I marveled that the washrag I was using didn't come apart given the number of times I rinsed and wrung it out.

  Gator returned to find me tying off the top of a bulging garbage bag. "Wow! You've got this place lookin' better than it's ever been! When Krystelle gets back, she won't know where she is."

  I beamed with pride, until he added, "Your truck was ready a while ago, but you looked like you were enjoying yourself. I didn't want to interrupt you before you finished what you'd started."

  Seriously? I felt my smile start to fall a little but reminded myself that a couple of hours' worth of work was still probably cheaper than it would have cost for the repair had I paid in cash. I swallowed my pride and said, "Thanks. I appreciate this."

  "Haul that bag to the dumpster out behind the building, and by the time you get back, your truck will be waiting out front for you." Gator nodded toward the cardboard box. "And you can have that for you cat, if you want."

  "Thanks again, Gator. I do appreciate all of this."

  Once I confirmed the location of the dumpster, I put the box containing Basil on the passenger-side floor of the truck before taking out the garbage. Luckily, the dumpster was a small unit and I was able to swing the bag up and over the edge.

  A few seconds after the bag landed with a thud, a ferocious snarling came from within the container. I jumped back, but before I could further react, a pair of paws appeared over the edge followed by the face of the cutest puppy I'd ever seen. His wrinkly skin was mostly white with a reddish-brown patch over one eye.

  "Aw, well who are you? And who was heartless enough to throw you in that dumpster? You don't deserve to be there! Come here. Let me help you," I spoke in soothing tones as I approached the dog. Reaching into the dumpster, I braced my arms and put my hands under his armpits to help him climb out. To my surprise, the dog curled up in my arms and started licking my face.

  "Okay, okay. I get it. You're grateful. Let's go ask if anyone recognizes you."

  The dog refused to let me put him on the ground, so I carried him around to the front of the building.

  Gator stood near my truck, which shined like the day Aunt Corliss drove it off the sales lot. "There you are. While we waited for you to finish cleaning, I had my guys wash and wax your pickup." Gator went silent and scowled. "Ugh. Where'd you find that thing? I thought I got rid of them all."

  "Got rid of them all?" I echoed. What kind of monster would get rid of puppies? My expression must have mirrored my emotions, because Gator held his hands up, palms out.

  "No, no, no! Not 'got rid of them' like that. As in, I found homes for them all. All except that'un. He runned off, and I never could catch him."

  The dog snuggled closer in my arms, as if he comprehended everything the man said.

  Gator added, "He seems to like you, though. Why don't you keep him?"

  "Me? What would I do with a puppy?"

  The dog licked my face in earnest before I could speculate on how Basil might react to increasing our family by one.

  "Give him a home, some food, and lots of love." Gator reached out to scratch the dog between the ears. The pup turned to lick the man's forearm as if in agreement.

  Aunt Corliss would forgive me quick enough if I dragged a stray dog home. Basil would take more time to come around, but the remainder of our road trip should help.

  "Well, okay. Do you want to come home with me, cutie pie?" The dog yipped and howled before licking my face again. I laughed as I put him in the truck. Basil hissed from inside his box, but I rolled the window most of the way up and closed the door before either of them could escape.

  Turning back to Gator, I said, "Well, I guess that's that. Thanks again for everything."

  "Think nothin' of it, Zip. Be sure to grab some coffee for the road before you leave town. They even got those frappes and lattes and every other kind of frou-frou coffee. Pull up to the window and tell 'em what you want." He pointed to the diner, waved, and disappeared into his shop again.

  A few minutes later, I pulled up to the drive-up window at the diner. The dog sat like a king on his throne in the passenger seat. Basil remained hunkered down, snarling and hissing, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the dog.

  A friendly waitress met me on the other side of the drive-up window. "Hey. Gator said you don't have any cash and this one's on him."

  "That is so nice of him! Thank you!" I accepted the proffered drink and sighed happily as a heavy scent of mocha escaped the drink spout in the plastic lid. I put the coffee in the cup holder.

  As I drove out of town, the dog looked out the front windshield. Basil quieted a little but not much. The cassette tape continued playing the songs my parents loved. The late morning sun was shining. All in all, things could be far worse.

  And then, as if by some miracle, my phone
, still in its holder, came to life with a full charge. "What the actual flamingos? How'd that happen?"

  The dog gave a couple of quick barks from the passenger seat, and I risked glancing at him. "Was it you? Did you do that? You're such a good dog, but I can't keep calling you dog. We have to find you a name."

  Basil gave a nasty snarl from his place on the floor. "Aw, Basil. Be nice to your new friend."

  I looked back at the road in time to see a massive pothole. Jerking the steering wheel with my left hand, I reached over and put my right hand on the dog. The sudden movement caused the lid to pop off the coffee cup. Before I could stop them, Basil and the dog started lapping away at the frothy beverage that spilled over the edge.

  Chapter Four

  "No, Basil! Stop! And you! Oh my glitter! Stop it! Bad doggy!" I shrieked, sharper than intended. The pathetic-looking pup cowered as if I'd beaten him, but Basil continued lapping away.

  "How can I be a bad doggy when I saved your life?" the dog said.

  Basil replied, "As much as I hate to agree with that mongrel, he is technically correct. That drink was not meant for human consumption. It was far too delicious. Please see that Aunt Corliss puts some in my water dish when we return home."

  I slammed both feet against the brake pedal and the truck went into a spin. By some talent that I never learned in driver's education class, I somehow regained control and got the truck to stop on the shoulder of the road, narrowly missing a ravine-like ditch.

  I put the cat back in his box and used some napkins from the glove box to sop up the mess.

  In a gentler tone, I explained, "You can't have coffee. It has chocolate in it. None of that is good for your furry digestive systems."

  "Something smelled off about that coffee. I was willing to take one for the team, but do I get credit for that? No. It's bad doggy this, and bad doggy that."

  From inside the box, Basil stopped grooming himself to offer a bit of encouragement, "Give it a rest, you mangy mutt. She's a mere human. Wait until you see what humans do in your porcelain watering bowl."

  The weirdness of the situation finally struck me. "Wait a minute. This isn't happening."

  The dog asked, "What isn't happening? And hey, I do not have mange!" He directed a scowl at Basil.

  "Talking animals is what isn't happening. I must have hit my head when I had the flat tire. This isn't real. Reality is that I'm in a coma somewhere, and this is all part of my subconsciousness," I rationalized.

  The dog licked my arm. "You taste real enough."

  "Disgusting," Basil muttered loud enough for me to hear. "Although Zip, being able to talk promises to be more effective than my previous attempts to communicate with you."

  "Is your name really Zip?" the dog asked. When I didn't reply, he whined, "C'mon, tell me! Tell me if that's your real name. Otherwise, how do I know what to call you? I guess if you didn't tell me then I could call you Mommy. Mommy!"

  "Yes, Zip is my real name, and please stop howling."

  "Yes," Basil agreed with a snicker. "Do stop howling before you give our poor mumsie a migraine."

  "Oh. My. Glitter. Basil! Will you stop with the sarcasm already? I'm not mom to either of you."

  Already. It's only been a few minutes, I thought. How was I going to spend the rest of my life caring for two pets that bicker like school children?

  If I was willing to entertain a future with talking pets, did that mean this wasn't a figment of my imagination?

  Out of habit, I reached for the coffee cup and prepared to take a sip.

  "No! Don't drink it!" the dog pleaded.

  Basil jumped onto the seat and swiped at my hand with his paw. "If it made us talk, what do you think it would do to you? The last thing you should do is drink whatever is in that cup."

  "Fine, then I need to go back to that diner and ask the waitress what she put in my latte. Can you two please be quiet so I can concentrate?"

  Over the next few minutes, I compared the navigational app on my phone to the paper map Aunt Corliss had me bring along. When I couldn't find the town using either method. It wasn't like I knew the name of the town to Google it, either. I slapped my palm on my forehead and groaned.

  "Are we lost?" the dog asked.

  The poor thing looked so forlorn that I reached over to scratch behind his ears. "Nah. We should finish making this delivery for Aunt Corliss, though. Who wants to learn campfire songs?"

  As we drove to the delivery spot, I taught the dog and Basil every song I could remember from the Mountain Magic Club I belonged to as a kid. The only two members were Jones and me. If he was here right now, he'd probably chime in with his guitar. A thought popped into my head, If he was here right now, he'd try to talk you into putting his grandma's wedding band on your left ring finger. I shuddered.

  "Are you cold, Zip? I used to get cold when I had to sleep in the big metal trash box. That was the worst."

  "No, I'm not cold, and I'm very sorry that happened to you." I slowed the truck and turned into an alley between two office buildings.

  "Wow! What is this place? Is it heaven? What's that smell? And that one? I have to go find it!" The dog pawed at the passenger-side window.

  "Those smells are likely coming from that pizza place we passed half a block ago. If you are a very good puppy and don't get into any mischief, then maybe I can get you some puppy treats that taste as good as the pizza. Okay?"

  "You promise?"

  "I do."

  The dog gave me a pitiful expression, his eyes wide. "And they really taste like pizza?"

  "I've heard of puppy eyes but this is ridiculous." Basil hunkered down in the box and turned his back to us.

  I made a mental note to get catnip as well before replying to the dog, "That's what the television commercial says. I'll be right back."

  Careful to lock the pickup's doors, I dashed to the back of the building on the right and gave the door a few sharp raps with my knuckles. Nobody answered. I tried several more times to no avail. After several minutes had passed, I gave up and jogged back to the truck. What was I going to do? Aunt Corliss needed the money from this delivery.

  The dog bounced in the passenger seat. "Do I get pizza snacks now? I was such a good boy. I was the goodest boy ever!"

  "Yes, you were!" I enthused and scratched the dog behind his ears until his right hind leg thumped the truck seat.

  From inside the box, my cat asked, “Did you follow through?”

  I bit my tongue to keep from reminding the fractious feline that he was not—and would never be—the boss of me when someone knocked on the window.

  I used the handle on the inside of the door to roll the truck window halfway down. "Hi! Can I help you?"

  "You got the stuff?" asked a man wearing a motorcycle jacket that looked as though he'd bought it ten pounds ago. The afternoon sun reflected off his shiny bald head as he tilted it to peer at me. "Well? Do ya?"

  Chapter Five

  I grabbed the package and waved it in the air. In a tone that matched his, I asked, "I do. You got the money?"

  The man didn't reply right away but stared past me into the truck. "You brought your pets to a drop-off? Oh, lady, that's rich," he said at last before throwing his head back and laughing.

  "It is what it is. Are you buying this or not?" I shook the package to get his attention.

  "Yeah, fine. Let's do this." The man withdrew a paper sack from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Now we've got to trade, nice and easy, at the same time. Don't try to stiff me. I got eyes everywhere."

  With one hand, I extended the package and with the other, I took the paper sack. Once I had it, I looked inside to see stacks of dollar bills. "It's all here?"

  But the reply I expected didn't arrive. The man was gone.

  "Who was that man? Where did he go? Why can't I smell him? I can smell everything. My dad was a top sniffer for the government. That's what mama told us."

  After a silent prayer that the money in the bag was the correct amount, I
slid it into my purse and started the truck. "Okay. Who's ready for pizza snacks?"

  "Me! I'm ready for pizza snacks!" the dog cried.

  "Okay, puppy-dog. We'll stop at the first pet store we see. And I have to find a better name for you than puppy dog."

  "If I may make a suggestion, Slobbery Ball of Chaos."

  "Basil, be nice. He's not that chaotic," I chided.

  The dog whimpered and sniffled. "I'm not chaos. I'm actually pretty low-key."

  "Ah, there you go," Basil said to me. "You could call him Loki, as in the brother of Thor."

  The dog recovered from his hurt feelings as quickly as they had made him whimper. "Low-key? I like it! Then everyone will know how nice and calm I am! Do you like it?"

  "I'm not sure that you—" I started to explain the difference between low-key and Loki.

  "Low-key! That's my new name! How do you spell it, anyway?"

  "L-O-K-I," Basil was quick to answer.

  The dog rolled the name off his tongue a few more times before giving a long, loud howl toward the roof of the truck. "I have a name, and it is Loki!"

  From his box, Basil grinned, one fang-like tooth hanging over his lower lip like a hillbilly godfather. If it wouldn't confuse the dog, I'd give the cat a good dressing down. Basil was lucky that we needed to hit the road now if we were going to make it home in time for supper.

  As promised, I found a nearby pet store and stopped long enough to get some treats for the animals—and say another quick prayer. This time, it was that no one would get carsick on the way home. I also picked up a dog bed, collar, leash, and food for Loki.

  I slid my debit card through the plastic reader, punched in my four-digit code, and then pressed the green button to approve the transaction.

  "Would you like to make a donation to the Harmony Ridge Animal Shelter?" The pimple-faced teen behind the counter made a vague gesture toward a plastic jelly jar repurposed for collection money.