“Are you all right?” Fiona stood up.
“I couldn’t stop in time.” The woman looked a breath away from becoming hysterical. “I’m so sorry. Is it yours? Oh, my God. It’s not moving. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“I heard car brakes. Is everyone okay?” Someone crouched next to the dead cat.
It was the barista from the coffee shop. Before Fiona could answer, the driver of the car started to sob.
“I tried to stop,” she cried to nobody in particular. “Oh, poor kitty.”
Fiona placed her hand on the woman’s arm.
“It wasn’t your fault.” She tried to lead the woman back to her car, away from the cat. “It was an accident. The cat was startled and darted out of the alley. There was no way you could have avoided it. It was bad timing.”
A car came to a stop a few feet away and a man called from the window.
“Is everything okay? Leona? Are you all right?” He put the idling car into park and got out of the car as he spoke. The woman rushed toward him and threw her arms around him.
“Honey! It was awful. I tried to stop…” The woman began to blabber as the man stroked her hair and looked around in confusion. Understanding seemed to dawn when he saw the cat.
Fiona realized she was staring. She turned to the barista, who remained crouched next to the lifeless form.
“This cat was nursing,” the barista whispered. Her blue eyes registered sadness.
Fiona nodded, looking toward the alley. Quietly, so the woman couldn’t hear, Fiona described what had happened. “Her kittens are in the alley. Someone slammed the dumpster lid and the cat bolted.”
“I’m not sure we should tell her.” The barista shifted from her crouch next to the cat and sat on the curb. She nodded toward the woman, crying into her husband’s shoulder. Fiona was grateful the barista was there so she didn’t have to deal with it by herself.
“You’re right. She’s already upset.” They watched the man help his wife into the passenger seat of his car, which he had left idling in the middle of the street.
People continued to walk and drive by, squeezing past the two cars parked in the narrow street. Most paid no attention. A few stopped to ask what happened and Fiona explained as she waited to see what the couple would do.
After parking her car, the man checked on his wife and walked toward them.
“We’re so sorry about this. We let my daughter use my wife’s car and we were picking it up. I was a few minutes behind her. She hates driving in the city and this certainly won’t help.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
Fiona glanced back at the cars. “Is your wife okay?”
“She’s taking it hard. She loves animals. Did your cat get out or something? Is there anything we can do to make it up to you?” He looked between Fiona and the barista.
“Oh, the cat’s not ours,” Fiona explained.
“Sorry, I just assumed. Do you know the owner?”
“I think she’s a stray.” The barista stood up next to Fiona. “I’ve seen her around here before.”
“Well, the least I can do is take it somewhere and bury it.” The man shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he studied the lifeless cat. “I’ll go see what I have in my car.” He walked back to his car, rooted around in the trunk, and returned with some mechanic’s rags and a paper bag. They watched as he gingerly put the cat into the bag and placed it in his trunk. Before he left, he handed the barista a card with his information in case someone asked about the cat.
The street became peaceful again as the man’s car turned at the end of the block. Fiona felt an uneasy sense of expectation and wondered what she should do about the kittens.
“Can you show me where the kittens are?” The barista rested her hand on Fiona’s shoulder
Fiona hadn’t forgotten the barista was there, but the touch startled her. She hadn’t been touched by a beautiful woman in longer than she cared to remember. It was nice, even though it was only her shoulder and she barely knew her.
“They’re over by the dumpsters.” Fiona hoped her reaction hadn’t been too obvious. As they walked toward the alley she glanced at the woman beside her. “You know my name. What’s yours? Or should I just call you Dr. Coffee?”
“Meg.” Meg paused to extend her hand to Fiona. They shook hands but it was weird—too formal—after all of the emotion of the scene they had witnessed.
“What’s with Dr. Coffee?” They walked into the alley and she battled her normal shyness.
“It’s my co-worker’s idea of a joke. I’m a veterinarian.”
“Veterinarian slash barista?” Fiona hoped the question wasn’t rude.
“I recently passed my exams. I’m in transition. In the meantime, I’m helping a friend out by filling in at the coffee shop while they hire some new baristas.”
“Congratulations on passing your exams. It seems fortuitous considering the current situation.”
“Thanks. Although it didn’t do anything for the mama cat.”
“Poor thing.” They were quiet for a moment and Fiona snuck another glance at Meg as they approached the dumpsters. She was struck again by a sense of having met her before. “You seem very familiar to me.”
“I think you’ve been to my uncle’s coffee shop in Ithaca a few times,” Meg said. “The Artful Bean?”
Fiona knew exactly who she was when she made the connection. “Oh, yeah! I know the place. It’s down the street from my Aunt Corny’s house. I remember you. You worked the espresso machine there. Your hair was shorter.” Fiona almost said she’d had a bit of a crush on her and had gone out of her way to get coffee several times just to see if she’d been working. She’d always been too shy to approach her, though.
Meg touched her hair. “I kept it short when I played soccer. I was going to say something when you came into Helga’s a couple of weeks ago, but it was busy and you were with your boy… friend? Harpo?”
“Hah! Josh. Yeah, he’s not my boyfriend.”
Fiona pointed to the space at the base of the brick wall where the kittens were huddled and meowing louder than before. The gravity of the situation pressed in once again.
“There are six of them, I think,” she said through a tight throat.
Fiona looked around for the black one, which had been on top of the pile of boxes when the mother had run away. She didn’t see it at first, but to her relief, she soon found it unharmed under the edge of the boxes near the dumpster. She cupped it in her hands and said some quiet words to the weakly squirming kitten, amazed at how tiny it was in her hand. She moved closer to Meg to show her.
“These little guys are only a few days old,” Meg said. She pet it with the tip of her finger. She was standing so close, Fiona could smell the herbal scent of her shampoo mixed with coffee. “I’d say four or five days at the most.”
“Really?” Fiona lifted the kitten cradled in her hand to look more closely at the tiny little head with almost no ears and only puffy sealed slits for eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kitten this young before.”
“They’re going to need a lot of care.” Meg went to look at the other kittens. “I’ll call around to see if I can find a place to take them.”
“The Humane Society?”
“The Humane Society would probably take them, but there are places specializing in kittens this young. We’ll definitely look for a no-kill program though.”
“No-kill?” Fiona didn’t like the sound of the alternative.
“I wouldn’t worry about kittens not finding a home,” Meg said, sensing Fiona’s concern. “But adult animals aren’t always so lucky. We should find a place where the kittens won’t be competition for the older animals.”
“I can care for them.” The tiny kitten in her hand already owned her heart.
“I can’t imagine it could be too difficult.” She had no idea why she was trying to convince Meg she could take care of the kittens, but it was suddenly important to her. “Keep them warm and clean. Feed them with a bottle a couple of times a day. Love and snuggles. How hard can it be?”
Meg pushed her hair behind her ear. “Difficult? No. Time consuming? Yes. They have to be fed every three to four hours. Day and night.”
She hesitated at the news. It was possible over the weekend, but would be hard during the work week. “Yeah, it does seem like a lot of work.” She wasn’t ready to give up, though.
“In Seattle, we have a foster program for abandoned kittens.” Meg pushed the boxes away from the wall and crouched near the kittens. “I’ll check around here to see what programs exist. Once we know our options, we can talk about whether you want to keep them for now or not. I need to get back to work. Do you suppose you can watch them until I get off at six?” She checked her watch.
“Sure. I’ll take them home in one of these.” Fiona reassembled a medium-sized box, crossing the flaps to hold the bottom shut. “I live around the corner from here.”
“Me too. We’re neighbors.” Meg smiled as she stood and walked over to the steps leading to the battered door of the café. “I’m going to tell Betty what’s going on. I’ll be right back.”
Fiona gathered the kittens and put them into the box while Meg was inside. She checked each one of them and they looked perfect and healthy to her untrained eye.
Meg returned carrying a towel. “Here’s something to put in the box with them. It’s warm out, but they also like the comfort of being huddled up. It’ll make them less stressed.”
“Thanks,” Fiona murmured as she arranged the towel in the bottom of the box, folding it over the kittens.
Meg handed her a folded piece of paper. “I wrote up a few things I thought might help.” It was a neatly written list of instructions on how to care for the kittens. It was a relief—in the few minutes she’d been alone in the alley, she had begun to worry about what she’d gotten into.
“My number’s at the bottom. You can call me for anything.” Meg smiled and Fiona wondered what “anything” really meant, but she wasn’t good at flirting. Not that it was the right time, anyway.
“It’s convenient you’re an expert at this sort of thing.” She added the number to her contacts, folded the paper and put it in her phone case.
“Should I come by after my shift ends?” Meg asked as she backed toward the café door.
“That would be great. I’ll text you my address.” She watched Meg climb the short stairway.
“See you in a bit. Call if you need anything.” Meg disappeared into the coffee shop and Fiona picked up the box. The kittens were meowing loudly.
Fiona grinned. It had been a long time since she had been excited about a new friend, and now she knew she was going to see her later. When she exited the alley, she spotted her coffee and journal sitting where she had left them. She’d forgotten all about them in all the excitement. Momentary relief washed over her. She threw away the cold coffee. A sigh escaped her. If anyone had taken the journal they would have been bored to death.
20
“So, what was all the ruckus out there? One of the customers said there was a hurt animal?” Betty was making an espresso when Meg came back into the coffee shop. Leo, one of the part timers, was working the register. There was only one person in line.
“I came in to tell you earlier, but you were helping customers. A woman ran over a cat.” Meg tightened the strings of her apron.
Betty’s face fell. “Oh man. Is the cat dead?”
“Yeah.”
Betty took the new order from Leo, but turned to look at Meg. “What did it look like? Please tell me it wasn’t the black and white cat that hangs out in our alley. I leave food out next to the door for her. She’s skittish but sometimes lets me scratch behind her ears.”
Meg grimaced. “I think it may have been her.”
Betty put the empty cup down on the counter. “Oh no. She was so sweet. I think she may have been pregnant, too. She’s such a skinny little shit, but her belly has gotten pretty big. I haven’t seen her in a few days. She’s been eating the food I leave out, though. Did she look pregnant to you? Maybe it’s a different cat.”
Meg could tell Betty was barely holding back tears. She didn’t want to see her cry, but she didn’t want to lie to her, either. She signaled for Leo to make the drink and she led Betty to the back room.
“I’m pretty sure it was her. She was nursing.”
Tears slid down Betty’s face in the florescent lighting in the back room and she wiped them angrily away.
“I hope the driver feels bad for what she did. Why wasn’t she watching what she was doing? Talking on her fucking phone? Did anyone actually see her murder the cat?”
“It wasn’t her fault. There was a loud noise in the alley and the cat ran into the street. She didn’t have a chance to stop. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident.”
Betty’s face grew even paler than its usual shade. “A loud noise in the alley?”
“Yeah. Probably the shop next door throwing stuff into the dumpster,” Meg suggested.
Betty’s shoulders dropped. “It was me, Meg. I made the noise.”
“What? No. You were on break. Remember? You were in the breakroom reading a comic book. I had to come get you to cover the front while I went and checked on the ruckus.”
“It’s a graphic novel,” Betty corrected with a glare, but her face resumed its grief-stricken expression almost immediately. “But I had just sat back down. I took the old broken chair out to the dumpster. It’s been in the breakroom for over two years, taking up space because no one could use it. But I had to choose today to throw the fucking thing out. Today. It was me. I made all the noise and scared the poor cat out of the alley to her death. It was me. It was my fault.”
Meg put her arms around Betty and Betty surprised her by relaxing into the embrace. She sobbed into Meg’s shoulder.
Meg smoothed her hair. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. It could have been any of us. How many times do you go out to the dumpster a day? Numerous times. There’s no way you could have known.”
Betty’s head raised and she pushed away from Meg abruptly.
“We have to find the kittens!” Betty moved toward the back door.
Meg grabbed her wrist. “We found them. A woman took them back to her apartment to take care of them until we can find a foster home for them.”
“The woman who ran over the cat?” Betty sounded disgusted.
“No. One of our customers. The woman who was out on the front patio.”
“The one you were flirting with?”
Meg sighed. “I was not flirting.”
Betty smiled through her tears and wiped her nose on a paper towel she pulled from the dispenser over the sink she was standing next to. “Is she nice? Will she do a good job? Should we check in on her?”
“I gave her some instructions and she has my phone number. I’ll drop by after work,” Meg explained.
“You work fast, Megster.” Betty wiped carefully under her eyes to make sure her mascara didn’t smear. Meg was glad to hear her normal hard-ass attitude return. The crying Betty was kind of scary.
“Shut up,” she said with a smile and went back out front to help Leo.
21
Fiona unlocked her front door, deftly managing the box of kittens and her belongings as she wrestled with the sticky lock. By the time she got to her apartment, she was a swirl of emotions. So much had happened in such a brief period of time. She’d met Meg, told Mike she was pregnant, found the kittens, and the mama cat had died. She didn’t know what to focus on an
d she wasn’t sure she could pick only one.
To make things worse, snippets of her talk with Mike were beginning to creep into her thoughts. They needed to talk but she wasn’t going to chase him down. He’d contact her when he was ready. It wasn’t his problem anyway. Even if he wanted to be part of it, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to.
Then there was Meg. God! A crush should be the last thing on her mind. She had a pregnancy to contend with. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach. Or was that morning sickness? What a mess!
She kicked the door shut and made her way to the overstuffed sofa that took up half of the living room. Indirect sunlight from the high front window was the only thing illuminating the cozy room in her garden-level apartment. She gently placed the box at her feet as she sank down into the sofa’s worn softness. The small room was just big enough to avoid feeling crowded. Other than the chair and sofa, a small pine coffee table sat in front of the sofa and two mismatched wooden bookshelves, crammed to overflowing, took up one wall. A lamp stood in the corner and a few framed photographs decorated the walls.
Trying not to think about Mike, Fiona placed her chin on her hand and peered into the box. The kittens were sleeping, a jumble of furry bodies huddled together in the corner. It was hard to tell where one ended and another began. Each of them was no longer than her index finger. Pink skin showed through their thin fur, especially on their little tummies. She watched the rise and fall of their round bellies. The occasional sleepy stretch, big yawn, and wiggly repositioning of limbs kept Fiona riveted. As she watched, a couple of the kittens woke up and became a little more active. Their little bodies trembled with the mechanics of movement as they bobbed their little heads and pushed with their tiny legs. One of them produced a weak meow, nuzzled its orphan siblings until comfort was found, and then went back to sleep. She wondered if the pushing was a quest for warmth or hunger. Part of her wished she could shrink herself and climb into the middle of their cuddled heap and nap among them. Her arms unconsciously wrapped around her middle as she sat and watched the little creatures.
Without a Net Page 9
