Everyone Loves a Cat

"Thank you, thank you so much," my best friend Sara said, giving me a relieved grin.

"No problem," I answered. We worked together in the same insurance office. She and her husband Ned were taking off for a week's Caribbean cruise, and I had agreed to stop by her house daily to water her plants and tend her cat, Alice—a beautiful, lovable calico, she said.
                                                              

But there was a problem: as cute and cuddly as cats can be, I was afraid of them. Not that I'd had any bad experiences with cats—I'd never been close to one. It was my mom who had transferred her anxieties about cats to me. A neighbor's cat had bitten her when she was seven, and she'd had to go through a series of painful rabies shots.

But I couldn't tell Sara I had some stupid phobia about cats simply because my mom had been bitten by one. I couldn't let Sara and her husband down; they'd been planning this trip forever. "Glad to help," I said. Besides, if Alice and I could cozy-up, maybe I could shake this unreasonable fear.

Monday after work, biting my bottom lip hard, I stopped at Sara's house. When I unlocked the door and stepped inside, Alice sat on the carpet six feet away from me. I froze. A beautiful, cuddly calico cat, indeed. White. Orange. Black. Her head tilted, Alice probably wondered, Who's this stranger? The cat swished her tail. I backed up. She stood and arched her back—and then bolted through the open door into the late afternoon sunshine.

By the time I kicked off my heels and cleared the front porch, a dog's barking sounded from the backyard. Oh no! As I rounded the back of the house, the next sight nearly grounded me: A black Labrador retriever stood quivering at the base of a willow tree. It's square head raised, the dog barked frantically at Alice, who crouched in the tree crotch eight feet up.

I stood with my hands jammed into my hips, wanting to die. What have you done now, Jesse?

"My fault," a male voice said behind me.

I whipped around and stared at a totally handsome man who appeared to be about my age—late twenties—with very sheepish blue eyes. My heart quivered. "Your dog?" I asked.

Nodding, he snapped a leash onto the barking dog's collar. "I'll be right back," he said. "Without Blackie."

The man and the dog disappeared into the house next to Sara's. Then the man reappeared lugging a ladder. While he positioned the ladder under the tree to climb up and rescue Alice, I explained who I was and what had happened. He said he was Jimmy Stevens, Sara's new neighbor. He'd just moved in. He hadn't seen much of Ned or Sara; they appeared to be a very busy couple. Jimmy was a lineman for the city; he'd climbed lots of trees and telephone poles to rescue cats. When he got to the top of the ladder, he sweet-talked Alice in tones so soft and low that I imagined they'd melt any female's heart, feline or otherwise. As he started coming down the ladder, Alice cradled in one arm, he called to me, "Here, take her."

That's when I broke into a sweat and started trembling. Really, in my entire life I'd ever touched a cat. I remembered my mom cringing and turning white if a cat even strayed close to her.

I swallowed and backed away from the ladder.

It's time to shake this unreasonable fear, Jessie.

By this time, Jimmy had reached the ground. "Take her," he said again. "I'll grab the ladder." When he saw me hesitating, he smiled. "She won't bite. She's happy to be rescued. Listen, she's purring."

I gulped. I was shaking. My arms inched out. Jimmy eased Alice into them, and immediately the cat snuggled close to me. I was amazed and almost tearful. I was holding—and now petting—a cat, who was, indeed, purring. Wait till I tell my mom!  But I was still shaking.

"You all right?" Jimmy asked.

"Fine. Just happy. And amazed."

"You seem a little shaky."

"I'll be okay."

Jimmy folded the ladder. "Look," he said, "after you finish next door, why don't you stop by my place? I'll show you around. Bring Alice. She can properly meet my dog Blackie—they'll be neighbors. They'll get along, I'm sure."

Something warm stirred inside me. I glanced at Jimmy's ringless left had at the same time he glanced at mine. "All right," I said. "I'd like that."

That night Sara called to see how I was getting along. Breathlessly, I told her the entire story—phobia, cat, dog, tree. And Jimmy. Sara apologized over and over saying Alice must've recognized me as a stranger, and that's why she bolted outdoors as soon as the door in the house opened.

"I'm glad she ran," I said happily. "Really glad. Jimmy and I have an awesome date planned for tomorrow night. And this weekend we're stopping—would you believe it?—at the Animal Shelter. So I can adopt a kitten."

The End
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No Longer Strangers

I caught myself smiling at him again—a handsome, dark-haired, thirty-something stranger.

For three days we'd been crossing paths at Cedarwild Resort, exchanging shy smiles.

I sensed we were long ago friends who couldn't quite make a connection. 

Now I discovered he was sitting five tables away from me in the resort cafeteria, by himself. Who is he?

Pushing my chair back from the table, I plucked my floppy straw hat from my head, stood up, and strode toward him.

"Hi," he said, and smiled when I stopped at his table.

"Hi." I peeled off my sunglasses and stuck them into my hair.

He looked startled, his eyebrows bunching together.

I said, "I hope you don't think I've been following you..."

"We seem to keep running into each other, don't we?" he said, and stood quickly.

"I get this funny feeling—"

"That we know each other?" he asked, and pointed toward the chair. "Won't you sit down?"

"You were in the Cedarwild lobby," I said, "when I checked in Friday afternoon."

He cleared his throat. "Please sit down."

He pulled out the chair, and I sat. As he eased into a chair across from me, a slow, warm smile crept over his face. "I figured it out just now—this very second—it's the first time I've seen you without your straw hat and sunglasses. You broke my heart summer after summer, and you didn't even know it."

My head tilted. "I haven't a clue—"

"I'm David Prescott—you're Cathy. Cathy Connors."

My memory kicked in. David Prescott from Iowa!

I laughed and shook my head, hardly able to believe it was him. When we were kids, four or five families from different states vacationed every fall at Cedarwild in northern Wisconsin, enjoying two weeks loaded with fun before school started.

"I had a major crush on you every summer," he said. "I should've recognized you right away. All that copper-colored hair."

I felt heat rising in my cheeks.

"I'm telling the truth," he said. "I was in love with you. You stole my heart. But you were in love with Michael Lancaster. An older man."

I laughed. "Two years older. What a hero I thought he was. That was sooo long ago. What are you doing here now?"

"Spending time with Mom and Dad. They don't drive anymore, but they wanted to come back, reminisce a bit, and fish. They met a couple of cronies. They're playing cards tonight. And you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm with three girlfriends. We thought it would be nice to spend a week at Cedarwild. Something different. But my friends have marched off to the Indian casino to gamble. They promised to be back at five for dinner—if they didn't hit the jackpot." I glanced at my watch. "Nearly five now."

"You didn't go?"

"Not at all interested in gambling my money away."

He asked if I'd like to have dinner with him. This little gamble I decided to take—I agreed. We swapped stories while we ate. He was a forest ranger in Iowa. I ran a day-care center in Illinois. Neither one of us was married. We lived across the Mississippi River from each other, only thirty minutes apart. I found him easy-going and attractive. When we finished eating, he said, "Looks like your buddies are no-shows. Can I interest you in joining me down by the water to watch the sunset?"

I hesitated. "My friends—"

"Are probably spending their winnings."

I smiled and decided to gamble again. "You're right. Besides, it's been years since I've watched a sunset."

At the edge of a small quiet cove, I sat next to David on a dock, our feet dangling over the water. The sun slipped behind the pine trees and disappeared. In just minutes the sky turned orange, then crimson.

"Beautiful," David said. "That's one thing I learned coming here all those years as a kid—an appreciation for the beauty in nature."

We talked again. Then sat in silence for a while, except for a chorus of crickets and frogs, and a loon's haunting call. Gradually music from the Cedarwild Lounge drifted on the pine-scented air.

"The moon!" David announced. And there it was—a pale silver balloon, perfectly round, climbing higher in the sky. "Funny us meeting like this," he said, "strangers who knew each other in a different life. I never dreamed I'd see you again."

 The warm glow that swept through me didn't surprise me. "Life often hits us with little surprises," I said. "Some of them very nice."

"Hear the music? Would you like to go up to the lounge and dance?"

"I'd love to."

Rising, he took my elbow to help me up. I raised my head and gazed at his handsome face. His smile was warm and genuine. And then our hands, as if David and I were no longer strangers, grasped each other, and we ambled away in the moonlight.

The End
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Starting Over

 I stood on the front porch of my house with Brian at midnight, my heart pounding. The scent of roses from the nearby trellis drifted in the air.

"I had a wonderful time, Jenny," he said.

"Me, too." I breathed deeply, and wondered if he could tell in the moonlight and starlight how flushed my face felt. "The music was great.Thank you for a lovely evening."

"I'll call," he said, squeezing my hand.

"Please do."

We said good night, and when I let myself into the house, the phone was ringing. I knew it was Marge, my best friend, who lived across the street, now married with two adorable kids. "I saw you come home," she said. "How'd it go?"

"You were waiting up? Watching?"

"Had to. Why didn't you kiss him?"

"I had a wonderful time. The Blues Fest—terrific music, but..." I sighed. "Look, I know he's your cousin, and he's everything you said he was—thoughtful, warm, funny..."

"Don't you just love his brown hair? Those dreamy brown eyes? His killer smile?"

"Look, Marge..."

"I'm trying to help you out here, Jenny. Your husband's gone, it's been three years...and what did Jared tell you before he died?"

"He'd be disappointed if I didn't move on...start over."

"Are you going to disappoint him?"

"I don't know..."

"Listen, Jenny, once other women know Brian is single and has decided to settle in this one-horse town to open his veterinary clinic, he'll be spoken for instantly. "Get smart, girl. Give him a chance."

We hung up. I changed into pajamas and collapsed into bed, my mind in turmoil.

Like other newly weds, Jared and I'd dreamed of having children, grandchildren, and a long, happy life together. Jared and Jenny. Forever. So intense was our love, so vivid our dreams, I still couldn't stop myself from feeling guilty at times about trying to find happiness with someone else.

Brian called the next day, Saturday, and asked me to a River Bandits baseball game. "Only a minor league team, he said, but peanuts, pop corn, cold drinks, a warm night and baseball—tough to beat. "

I smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious. "All right."

That afternoon, Marge also called: "You and Brian want to go sailing with Dan and me at the lake Sunday? About noon? Call Brian. I know he'd love to see you again."

"He's already asked me to a Bandits game tonight—things are moving so fast."

"Good. Tell him about sailing."

"Maybe...I just don't know."

"Don't be foolish, Jenny. Start something. Give him a kiss."

At the Bandits' game, Brian and I ate hot dogs, peanuts, and popcorn. Drank eighteen-ounce cups of soda. The Bandits rapped out twelve hits. Brian and I and the rest of the Bandit fans cheered and stomped our feet as the home team thrashed the Clinton Lumber Kings 11-1. Marvelous fun.

After the game, as we strolled under the glow of parking lot lights toward Brian's SUV, Brain appeared solemn. "You loved your husband very much, didn't you?"

"Very much. We were..." My voice faltered. How could I describe Jared and me?

"Perfect together?" Brian said.

"Yes. Perfect."

"I understand how difficult it must be for you to be with me, someone different."

My head dipped. I didn't answer, but this man's understanding nearly overwhelmed me.

Brian unlocked and opened my door. When he sighed, I knew he must be thinking Jared would be a difficult man to follow. Perhaps too difficult. Why bother?

As we drove out of the parking lot, Brian asked if I'd like to see where the new clinic was being built. I said, "Of course."

When we arrived at the north edge of town, I climbed out of the car with Brian and stood in the moon and starlight, peering at the half-constructed brick building. "I've been in a big clinic with three other doctors in Lancaster," he said. "I'm tired of the rat race. I thought I'd settle down here. Start over."

I don't think he aimed "settle down" or "starting over" at me. He was simply stating a fact. But when I didn't respond, he said, "I feel guilty intruding on your feelings for your husband."

I blinked. Guilty. What a sad-sounding word. A terrible word.

Why should he feel guilty?

"Guilt's the worst feeling, " I said. "Try to avoid it. At all costs." The moon and stars bathed his handsome features in a soft glow. I drew in a deep breath. Once I'd made up my mind, the words slipped easily from my mouth: "Marge and Dan have asked if we'd like to go sailing tomorrow. About noon."

Now it was Brian who seemed hesitant. "I don't want to monopolize your time."

"You're not...but it's all right if you do."

His eyes roamed my face. I tried to breath again.

"I'd love to go," he said, smiling a perfectly dazzling smile. "It's been a long time since I've done something like that."

 I smiled back, and while his fingertips traced my jawline, I raised my lips to kiss him and said, "Me, too."

The End
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Back To School

           

         In elementary school, teachers dubbed me Terrible Tom, so as I sidled up to my eight-year-old-niece's third-grade classroom door, I thought it natural to feel a little uneasy.

Amy said, "You'll really like Miss Hardy, Uncle Tommy."

"I'm sure."

I knocked lightly on the closed door.

It swung open, and in front of me stood a blond young woman so attractive  that the sight of her took my breath away. 

"Good morning, Amy!" she said. "And welcome to our third-grade classroom, Mr. Spencer. Come in, please. We have a seat for you."

My hand darted out. Miss Hardy and I shook. "Thank you," I said.

From my seat in the back of the room at a table, I counted thirty-two desks—quite a roomful of kids for one person to handle. And I'd forgotten what a third-grade classroom was like: the tiny desks, the low chalkboard, the bulletin board filled with colorful drawings, the room smelling of glue.

Yesterday, I'd spoken to the school's principal at length, explaining I'd missed open house last week because of business—I'm an insurance agent—but Amy liked her teacher so much she insisted I visit their classroom and meet Miss Hardy. He assured me the teacher wouldn't mind.

As Miss Hardy taught spelling and handwriting, she smiled and laughed a lot. She was having fun, so were the kids. I was totally impressed.

At recess time, after the kids scampered out of the classroom to the playground, Miss Hardy sat down across from me at the table. "Well, Mr. Spencer, I don't have playground duty today. We have a chance to talk."

"How's Amy doing?"

"Just great. She's a lovely, intelligent child."

I nodded gratefully. "I think you're quite a teacher."

"Thank you," she said, blushing. "I love seeing kids happy."

I explained Amy had lost both her parents in an automobile accident two years ago in San Diego, where her family had lived. Her dad was my brother. I adopted Amy. Her coming to live with her grandpa and me—an invalided widower and a bachelor—back in her dad's little hometown of Walcott was a big change for her and a great challenge for all of us.

"It's great to see her doing well," I said. "And she insisted that I meet you—I hope I haven't caused you any inconvenience."

"Not at all, Mr. Spencer. Please visit anytime."

I looked past Miss Hardy through the window to where kids romped in the playground in the sunshine. "I used to go to school here," I said. "Played on that very playground. Got into lots of trouble."

Miss Hardy smiled. "Fortunately Amy's no trouble at all—she's a delight."

"I'm glad," I said. I pushed myself up from my chair and prepared to say good-bye to Miss Hardy, though I didn't want to. Her blond hair, cheerful smile, and buoyant personality—all had captured me.

She wore no rings.

I wondered if she had any weekend plans.

She pursed her pink lips and looked as if she wanted to say something, but I spoke first. "Um...I hope you don't think I'm out of line here..."

She shook her head. "I was about to say exactly the same thing."

"Oh...?"

"Well, ordinarily I wouldn't put this burden on a single dad, but we have a field trip tomorrow to Niabi Zoo, and I wondered...well, I wondered if you could chaperon one of the buses with me. Or with another teacher, if you prefer."

"A school bus?" I said warily. "One of those yellow monsters?"

"Monsters, indeed—the very reason we're always short of chaperons."

I smiled. "The last elementary school bus I rode I got kicked off for throwing a snowball—inside the bus. Once I brought a garden snake aboard—and really freaked everyone."

"Shame on you," she said. Then, "Will you be able to help?"

"I think I can rearrange my tomorrow's schedule."

"Wonderful. The weather's supposed to be seventy-eight and sunny.""

"Ah—just one thing, though."

"Yes?"

I simply couldn't resist a bit of mischief.  "I always get sick if I have to ride in the back of the bus."

Miss Hardy flashed a smile. "Perhaps you can sit in front," she said. "Near me."

"That would be fine."

"But you have to behave. No snakes. No snowballs."

I nodded happily. "I'll behave, I promise."

"See you and Amy at seven-thirty," she said. "Front of the building."

We shook hands again in parting, our warm palms lingering together a moment longer than necessary. By the time I hit the sunlight in the street, I was thinking my first day back to school had been the best school day of my life.

I couldn't wait to ride a school bus. Again. With Miss Hardy.

The End
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Crossroads

"You shouldn't swim alone," the woman standing on the dock said as my head broke the water's surface and I swiped a hand across my face. "Especially at night," she added. "You haven't changed, have you?"

I blinked and rubbed the lake water out of my eyes with my fingertips. Standing in water up to my neck, I gazed at a woman dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt.

The full moon over her shoulders made her look like a tall, shapely silhouette standing above me. I blinked again. "Kathy...?"

"Who else?" she said. "And you, Jimmy O'Connor—don't you remember our parents telling us not to swim at night? Never swim alone."

Oh wow! Kathy Logan!

Years ago, she was the bratty kid from the neighboring cabin—our families bought cabins on Mystic Lake. Kathy and I harassed each other all summer, every summer. Night and day.

"How'd you know I was here?" I asked.

She laughed. "I heard splashing. I looked over through the trees and saw a light in your cabin. Figured it had to be you. When did you get in? I spotted a FOR SALE sign in your yard."

"An hour ago," I said, and swam closer to the dock.  I saw the same sign in your yard. My folks have passed away—"

"Mine, too," she said.

We paused a moment, remembering—it was hard not to. Then I said, "Before I sold the place, I figured I'd spend a month or so here, enjoying a little quiet time."

"My thoughts exactly."

I climbed out of the water and onto the dock. We hugged briefly; she didn't seem to mind getting wet. I caught the scent of her perfume—lilac—and I felt my heart beat faster. We eased down onto the dock, our feet dangling. The last time I saw her—like fifteen years ago—she was probably fourteen; I was sixteen.

"Cold?" she asked. "Looks like you're shivering."

I gazed at her in the moonlight. Short, dark hair. Full lips. I remembered her eyes being sky-blue. "Night's warm," I said. "I'll be okay in a second. Tell me about yourself."

She said she was a high school art teacher; she'd just finished her MA; she hoped to complete a few wilderness paintings this summer while living in the cabin. She concluded with, "Divorced over a year ago."

"Sorry about that," I said.

She shrugged. "My ex is long gone, and I've survived, but I'm still trying to put that terrible time behind me. What's new with you, Froggy?"

I laughed. "Haven't forgotten, have you?"

"The frog you stuffed down the back of my dress when I was leaving on a Sunday morning with Mom and Dad for church—how could I?"

"But you got even. Worms in my sack lunch when our families visited the Indian burial grounds."

We both laughed and agreed that those summer days when we were kids were some of the best days of our lives. "Last I'd heard," she said, "you'd graduated from college, head of your class, and had a fabulous corporate job."

"I work for a big chemical company—it's like being on a treadmill night and day. Not married. No time." I explained that the company had asked me to be an assistant in research and development. I'd travel overseas a lot. But lately I'd been asking myself if I really wanted to continue my climb up the corporate ladder.

"What did you decide?"

"I took a leave on absence," I said. "I'm trying to figure out what I really want to do."

She nodded slowly. "My divorce, your job—sounds as if we're both at a crossroads."

"I'm thinking seriously of quitting," I said. "I'd like to teach—like you. Science, though. I want to write a novel about corporate intrigue. I've got a laptop, printer, and reams of paper up at the cabin."

We fell silent, but crickets chirped on shore. Under the glow of the moon and stars, the lake looked as if diamonds danced on its surface. Kathy said wistfully, "Funny we should meet again after all these years."

"Destiny." I smiled. "I think we should make the most of it—get your swimsuit. Change and jump in with me."

She shook her head. "Better idea. I haven't eaten, you probably haven't, either. I'll light the grill. Burgers, chips, and a glass of wine."

"Great!"

I jumped up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her feet. Her hand in mine sent a warm tingle rippling though my body. I know she felt the same tingle—and that she was thinking the same thing I was: Together this summer we might figure out our lives. I knew this because she squeezed my hand, cut me a dazzling smile, and said, "We can save swimming for another night."

The End
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