Fur-miliar Felines Page 14

  “Right after you left, Tom came to the café. He wanted to see you before he went to work in a couple hours,” Bea replied, daintily reaching into the bag of chips. “Well, we didn’t want to tell him you’d left with Clyde Tumble. How would that look, right?”

  “It would look as bad as it looked.” I shrugged.

  “Apparently, he saw you both walking at the end of the street.” Aunt Astrid folded her arms across her chest. “I told him not to go. I told him that you were handling something, that we were going to be right behind you in just a few minutes and that he should call you tonight. But typical male, he was going to get to the bottom of things on his time. It would have been rather charming had it not been so darn dangerous.”

  “We knew there might be trouble, so we shut down the café and followed Tom, who led us to you, who ultimately brought us to the Diabolus Formarum Catus,” Bea added, reaching for her second chip.

  “Well, let me tell you what I learned.” I relayed the whole elaborate plot that Mr. Tumble had put in motion to not just frame Mr. Wayne, but also to end the Greenstone lineage once and for all.

  “Wow.” Bea helped herself to a handful of chips and dipped them in the French onion dip one at a time. “So Mr. Wayne was framed for killing Bruce and Donna, whom he didn’t kill, but who knows how many children he did kill over the years. I’m having a hard time feeling bad for him.”

  “My question is how did you know what spell to read?” I put my hand over my aunt’s hand across the table.

  “The Diabolus Formarum Catus was thought to be extinct. The Greenstones were the ones who last encountered them, and each Catus met a similar demise as our friend Mr. Tumble. However, as they are masters of hiddenness, invisibility, I’m not surprised that a few may have been missed.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain how you knew what spell to use.”

  “We had been searching the textbooks and found what the creature was.” She smiled at me. “It was only when I thought that a member of my family, someone as close to me as my own daughter, was in grave danger, that I thought there might be an answer in our family records. I was right.”

  “How come it didn’t work the first time you read it?” Bea asked with a mouth full of chips.

  “Oh, um. Well, I was supposed to read it twice, and in my haste, I neglected to do so.” Aunt Astrid pushed her hair aside and let out a deep breath.

  “You read it wrong?” I smirked. “We were about to become human Fancy Feast, and you read the spell wrong?”

  “That’s very amateurish, Mom. I hate to say it.”

  “But it didn’t stop you from saying it.” Aunt Astrid pointed at her daughter, her blue eyes twinkling.

  We sat there quietly for a moment, and suddenly I felt all eyes on me.

  “What?”

  “You seem a little sad, Cath.” Bea put her hand on mine. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I blinked, my eyes getting a little teary. “I finally figured out what to get Tom for Christmas, and now it looks like he’s going the way of the dodo bird. I’m just a little bummed. That’s all.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.” Bea took another chip. “He knows what being involved with a Greenstone entails. He didn’t seem at all intimidated by it.”

  “Yeah, but I said some things to him.”

  “What things?” My aunt looked at me understandingly.

  “Mr. Tumble was there. I knew things were going to go sideways, and Tom just wouldn’t listen. He kept acting all jealous and worried and angry, and so I basically told him to take a hike.” I shook my head while staring at my hands in my lap. “I didn’t mean it. He just wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want him to get hurt, and what happened? He ended up getting hurt anyways and now is probably at the hospital, flirting with an average, run-of-the-mill emergency room nurse who doesn’t believe in ghosts or witches or UFOs or any of that.”

  I waited for Aunt Astrid and Bea to offer some kind of encouragement. Usually they’d say something like “You’re crazy” or “He probably knows you didn’t mean it” or “It’s his loss.” But they didn’t say anything, and that made me think that things with Tom were probably done.

  “What were you going to give him for Christmas?” Bea nudged me.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Well, sure, it does,” my aunt piped up. “There is a reason for the season, and it has nothing to do with Diabolus Formarum Catus. It has to do with miracles and mysteries and those things we may not understand but believe in.”

  I looked at my aunt as she smiled at me.

  “It can be a solitary, thankless job being a witch. But there are those men out there who were picked by the Great Creator to stand by us. If Tom is one of those exceptional men, I don’t know. But head into it like he is, Cath. If he proves he isn’t your knight in shining armor, be assured that one is out there just waiting to slay a dragon for you.”

  I hugged my aunt. Then I took the bag of chips away from Bea before she overdosed on GMOs.

  Comfy and Crinkly

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Treacle nudged my cellphone toward me on the floor as I struggled with an unruly roll of wrapping paper.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, at least tell me who it is that you are avoiding.”

  “It’s Tom.” I sighed. “He’s just calling to tell me that we won’t be going to the Policeman’s Christmas Ball and that we should probably see other people, or this thing just isn’t working out, or whatever. I figured I’d make it easy on him and let him break up with me on voicemail.”

  “What if he’s calling to tell you that he’ll be picking you up at six? You won’t be ready.”

  I was not surprised to hear Treacle pleading Tom’s case. He loved Tom. There was something the two bonded over. Maybe it was the machismo. Maybe it was the fact they both crept around alleys. I don’t know. But I could tell Treacle was a little nervous his buddy might not be coming around as much anymore.

  “Fine. You want me to prove it to you?” I picked up the phone, dialed my voicemail, and hit speaker. “Here you go.”

  “Hi, Cath. It’s Tom. Look, I’m sorry to do this last minute, but I don’t think we can go to the Christmas Ball. I was…”

  Not wanting to hear any more, I hit the delete button and then shut off the phone. Treacle came and sat right in front of me on the very wrapping paper I was trying to manipulate around a long, rectangular box.

  “I’m sorry,” he purred.

  “It’s not your fault. In fact, truthfully, Tom should come and say a special thank-you to you and all your rowdy friends for taking on the Big Nasty like you did.” I scratched behind his ears.

  “Are you going to talk to him again?”

  “Well, I’m going to take Aunt Astrid’s advice. I’m going to wrap up his Christmas present, and if I don’t see him in the next couple of days, I’ll just mail it off to him. Maybe he’ll like it. Maybe he’ll hate it. But at least I can tell him that I wish him all the best. Right? I don’t have to be a Scrooge about it all.” I sat back and frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “I swear if I see him walking with Darla Castellan hanging on his arm, I’m going to lose my mind. That would just be too much. I still can’t get over the fact that Blake went out with her. Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire.”

  I looked down at my cat and pushed my forehead into his.

  “Can I have this now?” I asked, tugging at the wrapping paper.

  “Now? You want it now?”

  “I need to finish up. Come on.”

  “No. I don’t think so. It’s so comfy and crinkly.”

  “Treacle, you’re a big kitty now. You don’t do things like play with rolls of wrapping paper.” I pulled a new roll of paper from the plastic wrapping it was in and tossed it across the floor.

  The temptation was just too great. Within seconds, Treacle was facing the unsuspecting roll, butt wiggling, eyes staring. He dashed into the paper
, his black arms extended in front of him, his haunches staying close to the ground as he pushed the paper until it completely unfurled and the long cardboard tube was left naked.

  “You want some bows to go with that?” I asked, getting back to my own project.

  “I’m good with this!” he shouted as he darted, pounced, scratched, and crumpled the unused wrapping paper until, satisfied he had established his authority over it, he curled up in a contented black ball of fur right in the middle of the crinkling mess. I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

  Pictures

  The night of the Policeman’s Ball came and went. To shake my blues, I had gone to a thrift store and actually found a lovely green dress. It was a little over the top in that it had a faux fur collar and cuffs, but when I looked in the mirror after trying it on, I really thought I looked pretty. It isn’t often I think I look pretty. Not to harbor any false modesty, it’s just that I’m not like Darla Castellan, who wears tons of makeup and has her nails done and all that jazz. I worked. I sometimes fought demons and specters from other dimensions. Primping wasn’t a usual part of my daily routine. But for this dress, I was going to pull out all the stops.

  The Brew-Ha-Ha had a Christmas party every year, and this time I wasn’t going to wear my ugliest Christmas sweater. Trust me, it was so hideous it should have been a Halloween sweater. It was this headache-inducing purple color with little pearl beads attached all over so leaning on the back of a chair hurt. Taking up the entire front was an embroidered Christmas tree with tacky seed beads and sequins filling in all the branches. The collar was an oversized turtleneck that gave a hint of that Flashdance-era off-the-shoulder look, and the hem was black with the same seed beads and sequins sewn around it.

  Nope. Not this year. I’d be dressing up this year, and maybe I wouldn’t even avoid the mistletoe.

  The café was closed during the day before Christmas Eve. The sign on the door read “Closed until 5:00 p.m. Please come back for free coffee and a gingerbread cookie with every food donation to the Wonderfalls Food Pantry. Merry Christmas.”

  The lights of the café shined warmly out onto the sidewalk. There were lots of people who I knew already there, and I listened for just a few seconds to the laughter and the Christmas music playing in the background.

  “Are we going in or will we be admiring the party from out here?” Treacle moaned.

  “Can I just savor the moment?” I looked over my armful of packages at my cat as he stood on the sidewalk next to me.

  “Are you savoring the moment, or are you stalling?”

  “I’m not stalling.” I smirked and clicked my tongue. “Come on, Fuzzy. I’m sure there is a bowl of milk in there with your name on it.”

  I pulled the door open, setting off the jingling bells, and was hit with the soothing smell of gingerbread in addition to a wonderful potpourri of orange, allspice, and vanilla that I knew Bea had put together that was simmering over a small candle on Aunt Astrid’s tarot-reading table. The Christmas music was cheery and familiar, bringing back beautiful memories of getting off school for the Christmas break, snow days, and the long wait for Santa to finally come.

  “Cath!” Bea squealed as she spun around from the huge stacks of boxes and paper bags filled with food donations. “Look at all the donations so far!”

  “My gosh.” I set my packages down. “That’s wonderful.” I pulled off my coat, and I swear the entire place felt as if it were holding its breath.

  “Oh my gosh.” Bea spun me around. “You look stunning.”

  That was quite a compliment from my redheaded cousin, who had her hair piled on her head and wore a red tea-length pencil skirt plus a downy white sweater and a big poinsettia pin on her collar.

  “Right back at you, sister.” I hugged her tightly. “You and Jake, stay away from that mistletoe. This is a family establishment.”

  “I gave him an early present. He’s wearing his candy-cane boxers.” Bea giggled hysterically.

  “Yay. Too much information. Just what I wanted for Christmas!”

  Jake sported a green sweater and a Santa hat. He handed me a glass of eggnog, giving me a peck on the cheek then patting me on the back as if I were one of the guys.

  “You look great, Cath.” He smiled.

  “You, too, Jake. I saw your underwear.”

  “What?”

  “Bea showed them to me after she bought them. Yup. I’ve seen your festive, yuletide, Christmas undies. Ho ho ho.” I laughed as Jake’s face turned red.

  “You’re a riot, cuz.” He pinched my arm before slipping over to Bea and shaking his head as she laughed, wrapping her arms around his stomach.

  I was able to get a quick hug from Kevin Baker, who was cranking out the gingerbread men in the kitchen with a glass of eggnog at his side, as well as an elaborate goblet that I was pretty sure held my aunt Astrid’s recipe for a hot toddy.

  Aunt Astrid was pointing to a bunch of old ornaments on the five-foot-tall tree with her arm linked through Blake Samberg’s.

  “That one Cath made when she was in fifth—no, wait, sixth grade. That one she made in seventh grade. I had one from eighth grade, too, but Peanut Butter got very drunk at one of these Christmas parties and batted it off the branches.”

  “Merry Christmas.” I tapped my aunt on the shoulder.

  “Cath, my heavens. What a beautiful dress.”

  “It’s nice, right?” I looked up at Blake, who stood there without saying a word. Typical. I rolled my eyes. “I found it at a thrift store.”

  “You look so lovely. Wait, I need to find my camera. I know it’s around here somewhere.” My aunt patted the folds of her maroon-colored gypsy-style dress, pulled the top open, and looked down the top of her dress.

  “Is it in there?” I asked, smiling. I was sure my aunt had had a couple sips of her own hot toddy concoction.

  “Nope.” She smiled and nudged me under the chin. “I think I left it on the counter. You two wait here. I want a picture!” She yelped with excitement.

  Blake was wearing the same suit he always wore, but I was surprised to see the red, white, and green striped necktie, and it made me grin.

  “Wow, Blake. Getting a little daring with the wardrobe.” I flipped his tie with my finger then smoothed it back in place.

  “Funny,” he muttered. “That’s what Jake said.”

  “Really? Well, I mean it. A little splash of color looks nice on you.” I smiled up at him. In return, I got the usual stoic gaze with the left side of his mouth curving up slightly. This was the equivalent of doubled over laughing for Blake Samberg.

  “Your aunt was just showing me some of the ornaments you made for her as a kid.”

  “Oh yeah. I was an aspiring Picasso. Nothing ever looked like it was supposed to, so I would insist that the odd shapes and sizes were my artistic interpretations.” I folded my arms and rocked on my heels. “No one bought it. They knew I just wasn’t that artistic.”

  “Kids’ artwork is one hundred percent love. That’s what makes it beautiful,” he said, gently touching a lopsided ceramic Christmas tree I had made. “Homemade gifts really are the best, when you think of it.”

  “You think so?” I was fascinated.

  “Well, think about it. You take the time to think up the gift. You take the time to get your supplies. You take the time to put it all together. And if you’re someone like me, usually there is a lot of starting over because you’ve made mistakes.”

  I chuckled.

  “That’s quite a bit of effort that you just don’t give to someone who doesn’t mean a lot to you.” He looked at the ornaments again. “Not to mention you don’t have to worry about getting duplicates. I can’t tell you how many times I received a red tie for Christmas only to receive a slightly brighter red tie the very next year.”

  “Maybe you should tell people that you don’t need any ties for Christmas,” I joked. “Although whoever picked that one out for you went a little wild. Red and green.”

  “It
was your aunt.”

  “No way!” I shrieked with laughter. “Oh my gosh. I feel so bad for you. Okay, no I don’t. I think it is exactly what you deserve.”

  It was like a Christmas miracle. Blake Samberg actually laughed out loud. It was contagious. I pointed at him and laughed even harder, which seemed to make him do the same.

  “My goodness, Blake. People are going to think we’re drunk.” I sipped my eggnog.

  “There are worse things.” He looked down at me with those serious eyes, still smiling broadly and taking a sip of his own mug of eggnog.

  “Well, I better help my cousin. She’s getting a little swamped at the register. Can I hand you some of these grocery bags? It looks like people are really feeling the Christmas spirit this year.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  As the evening went by, with each group of last-minute shoppers who brought in food or gave a couple of bucks, the café rolled along, a happy and safe place for everyone. I don’t like to sound like a hippie, but I really could feel the love.

  Jake turned up “Jingle Bell Rock” and he and Bea did some swing dancing. I thought I was going to split a gut as Blake, with his serious and stonelike face, stood next to Aunt Astrid, doing the twist while she rocked back and forth, oblivious to his shenanigans.

  More customers with familiar faces came in to chitchat and enjoy the festivities, and I got more compliments on my dress than ever before in my life.

  Min Park made a long-distance call from Hawaii to talk to me and tell me to watch the mail. A coconut postcard would be arriving within the next few days. That sounded like code for some weird, secret government package, but as it turned out, I really did receive a huge brown, bulky coconut postcard from Hawaii. It was awesome.

  But I will admit that every time the door jingled, I looked up and hoped it was Tom. Even through all the laughter and singing and visits with friends from the neighborhood, I was a little lonely. When I got this way, I looked for Treacle. He, Peanut Butter, and Marshmallow had each perched themselves on a bookshelf, looking down at all the revelers like feline gods and goddesses. I walked over and gave each one a scratch under the chin, wishing them Merry Christmas, to which they purred their reply.