An Island Christmas (5 page)

“Don’t you think the cat would look gorgeous with this green velvet collar?” Jilly asked George as they stood in the cat toys aisle.

“We’ve agreed we’re not going to let him go outside,” George reminded her. “Too many cars, too many dogs, too many temptations. The cat won’t need a collar if he’s never going out.”

“Still, the green velvet against his cinnamon hair would look so pretty, and it
is
Christmas.”

“Jilly, the cat doesn’t know about Christmas.” George was jingling the coins in his pocket, a habit he had whenever he was restless in a store and wanted Jilly to hurry up.

Jilly had to satisfy herself with purchasing a high-end cat carrying case plus a quilted cushion that fit inside it for the cat’s comfort.

“Hope he doesn’t throw up—or something worse—inside there,” muttered George. He was beginning to have doubts about the whole enterprise.

“Don’t be silly, George,” Jilly said. “I’ll hold the carrying case on my lap when we bring him home and I’ll talk to him the whole time so he won’t be afraid.”

After lunch the next day, the Gordons drove out to the Offshore Animal Hospital to pick up their new pet.

To their surprise, the doctor came out of an examination room to talk to them. He seemed rather stern, almost as if he were sizing them up as cat owners.

“I performed the neutering operation yesterday,” Dr. Logan told them. “He recovered from it nicely. He’s a strong, healthy, young animal with no lice or fleas.”

“Lice!” Jilly was horrified.

“Gina, our receptionist at the front desk, will show you the various options we have for preventing parasites. I recommend you use something even though your cat won’t be going outside. Sometimes people bring things in inadvertently on their shoes or clothing.”

Jilly went pale.

“As you’ve been told,” Dr. Logan continued, “this cat was found on the moors. He might be nervous about living in a house. I hope you will be flexible and forgiving as he learns to settle in to your environment.”

“I thought cats liked lounging on cushions or on windowsills,” Jilly said.

“House cats do, of course. I’m sure this one will, given time. But he is a young male born to a feral litter, used to running, hunting, and fending for himself. He will have to adapt to you and you will have to adapt to him.”

“Of course. We understand,” Jilly promised.

The receptionist came to lead them into the Safe Harbor annex and into the room where their new pet waited for them in his cage. George was holding the carrying case, and Gina unlatched the cage door.

“Hello, kitty,” cooed Jilly.

The cat rose and came toward her slowly. When she picked him up and held him against her, he once again nestled right into the crook of her arm and began to purr.

“Oh, George, I know it’s going to be all right,” Jilly said. “Look how happy he is.”

“He should be happy,” Gina told them. “You’ve saved him from being put down.”

“Put down?” Even George looked upset.

“We can’t keep them here forever,” Gina explained. “And as you know, people want kittens, not older cats.”

Jilly stroked the cat’s head. “You’re going home with us,” she whispered. “We’ll give you cream, fish, and a soft place to sleep. I even made you your own Christmas stocking.”

George rolled his eyes, but he willingly helped Jilly gently load the cat into the cat carrier. The cat yowled once in protest, then lay down in watchful silence.

“Isn’t he amazing?” asked Jilly. “He seems to know he belongs with us.”

In the car on the way home, with the cat in his carrier on Jilly’s lap, she decided to bring up the very important matter of the cat’s name. Privately, Jilly had several names picked out: Ginger, Honey, Cinnamon. But she sensed that George was not as enamored of this adoption project as she was and she wanted to draw him in closer.

“George, what do you think would be a good name for the cat?”

George straightened slightly and cleared his throat as he
always did before making an important pronouncement. “Well, he’s got that dark orange circle between his ears, like a crown. I think we should call him Rex.”

“Rex.” Jilly let the name roll around in her thoughts. It certainly wasn’t a name she would have chosen. But she could see how it would apply to this strong, confident animal and she was thrilled that George had actually thought about a name. “Rex it is.”

When they returned to the house, George came around to carry the heavy cat carrier. They went in through the back door so they could walk through the laundry room where they’d established the kitty litter box. George put the carrier on the kitchen floor.

“Here’s your new home,” Jilly told the cat. “Can you smell the cat food we got for you? It’s the best brand, made of real fish. This is your water bowl. We’ll show you where the litter box is.” She nodded at George.

George opened the carrier door. Slowly, Rex slunk out. Warily, he took a few steps into the room, the set of his ears making it clear that all his senses were on high alert. He walked over to the cat food bowl and sniffed it. He sniffed the water in the water bowl. He walked beneath the kitchen table and slowly stepped beneath the rungs of the kitchen chairs.

Then, in a flash, he took off running. He flew through
the kitchen door into the dining room, made a path around the periphery, ran into the hall, and swerved into the living room, with George and Jilly bumping into each other as they tried to follow him. He streaked up the stairs so fast he was a blur before their eyes, and a few minutes later they heard a crash.

“Oh, dear,” cried Jilly. “I’m guessing that’s the porcelain soap holder in the guest bathroom.”

The Gordons started to climb the stairs after the animal but when they were halfway up he raced back down, nearly tripping them as he zigzagged around their feet, hurtling into the living room. A sound like dozens of bells rang out. By the time the Gordons got to the living room, they saw that the cat had jumped up on the table and knocked off the silver bowl full of red and green Christmas ornaments, which now lay scattered on the rug while the silver bowl continued to vibrate against the brick hearth.

“Where did the damn animal go?” George yelled.

Noise clattered from the kitchen. The Gordons raced in. The cat had jumped onto the counter, accidentally knocking Jilly’s metal container of cooking utensils onto the floor.

“Quick,” George ordered, “shut the door.”

Jilly slammed the door shut, trapping the cat in the kitchen. George went for the cat, his arms outstretched, and tripped on a metal whisk, two wooden spoons, and a spatula that sent him sprawling onto the floor.

Rex raced the only way he could go, into the laundry room. Jilly managed to make it across the room and slam the door, shutting the cat in.

“Are you okay, George?” She began to pick up the kitchen utensils and drop them into the sink to wash off as her husband pushed himself up to a standing position. She was afraid to look at him. What if he insisted on taking this wild creature back? She didn’t want to have an argument before Christmas. How could she explain to George that the cat was probably only trying to sense out his surroundings? Again, tentatively, Jilly asked, “George, did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine,” George said.

Relieved, Jilly turned to face him. To her surprise, George was smiling.

“I guess I gave him an appropriate name,” George said. “Wrecks the house.”

6
 

The plane landed on the runway with a bump. All the other passengers breathed sighs of relief. Felicia’s own heart quickened. She wanted so much for her parents to like Archie!

Her parents stood inside the terminal, scanning the arriving passengers. When her mother saw her, she burst into tears, hugged Felicia, hugged Archie, and embarrassed them all by crying, “Archie, you look so nice!” Felicia’s father hugged her and shook Archie’s hand.

Archie was wearing a blue sweater that set off his blue eyes and a handsome black wool topcoat with a Galloway tartan muffler. Felicia had taken advantage of the three-hour layover between planes; she’d insisted on dragging her fiancé into Boston to purchase the coat and muffler which, she had to admit, made him look very nearly civilized. The money spent was better for her mother than a dozen roses and a bottle of antidepressants.

The foursome hurried through the cold to the car, all talking at once. Felicia was tired—it had been a long day
of traveling—and dreaded her parents’ announcement of social engagements.

To Felicia’s surprise, as George steered the car home, Jilly peered over the front seat to say, “I thought that after all your traveling, you two would want to stretch your legs, so when we get home why don’t you show Archie the town while I prepare dinner?”

Before Felicia could answer, her mother continued, “Of course if you’re tired, please feel free to take a nap or rest in front of the fire. We don’t have any plans for tonight. I’ve made a beef stew and an apple pie. I thought we could have a quiet evening together.”

“That sounds perfect, Mom,” said Felicia, silently wondering what good witch had cast a spell to make her mother so relaxed.

When they arrived at the house, carried in the luggage, and joined one another for a moment in the living room, Felicia thought she understood. In her mother’s arms was a handsome orange striped cat, his tail draped possessively around Jilly’s wrist, and—Felicia knew she was probably imagining this—a smug, arrogant gleam of ownership in his eyes.

“Meet Rex,” her mother announced proudly. “We’ve had him for only a week, but he’s so intelligent, he settled right into our household. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t let him out of the house. He was born in the wild and we don’t want him to go outside and get lost—or worse. The
vet told us Rex will quickly become accustomed to living in the house and we want him to be a total house cat.”

“He’s gorgeous, Mom,” said Felicia.

“I know,” Jilly said, stroking Rex. “He’s extremely bright, too. Several times he’s attempted to claw the sofas—I’ve Googled this, and it seems to be normal cat behavior—and I’ve learned to stop him from doing it by putting water in a spray bottle and spraying his face when he starts. He runs away at once.” Jilly’s face drooped. “I hate hurting his feelings.”

“We’re buying him a scratching post for Christmas,” George said.

“In fact,” Jilly added, leaning forward and actually whispering, as if the cat could understand her, “it’s an entire cat
tree
!”

Felicia nodded seriously. “A cat tree. For
inside
the house?”

Jilly laughed a tinkling laugh. “Yes, silly. It’s not an actual tree with bark. It’s covered with some sort of shag carpet material that cats can fasten their claws in. It has three different levels, and a tiny little house at the bottom with a hole for him to hide in.”

Felicia’s normally mellow father leaned over the back of the sofa to pet the cat. “If you’d like, you could give him some toys for Christmas. Down at Cold Noses they have a sort of feathery thing on a long flexible stick that you can wave for him to jump at.”

Felicia bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her parents were channeling all their parental energies onto the cat. Hallelujah! “If it’s all right, then, before it’s completely dark,” said Felicia, “we’ll go out and buy Rex a toy right now. I want to show Archie a bit of the town, too.”