Part 3 (1/2)
”I said nothing of the sort.” He kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
”You might not-a said the words.” She sat back down. ”But I can tell that's what you mean.” She reached over and put her hand over his. ”You can trust me, Garrison.”
He looked up and grinned. ”Well, you probably know that Gram was always a generous woman.”
She nodded as she picked up her fork. ”Especially when it came to the cats.” She chuckled as she dug into her second helping. ”Generous to a fault.”
After stuffing himself on the delicious pot pie, Garrison went back home and barricaded himself against the cats. Stowed away up in his boyhood room, sitting at the desk that was a couple inches too short for him, he opened up his laptop and proceeded to write out an ad for the local cla.s.sifieds. He also planned to place it on Craigslist and some other local sites. No stone unturned. The sooner he found homes for these cats, the better for all.
Five very special cats have lost their owner and are looking for new homes. Take your pick: a Siamese named Muzzy, a short-haired black-and-white named Oreo, an orange tiger named Rusty, a calico named Spooky, or a Maine c.o.o.n cat named Harry. All are well mannered and between five and twelve years old. All cats are fixed and in good health. Vet records available. ”Adoptive” parents must meet certain qualifications and live in northeast Vancouver. Call for more information.
He reread the ad, then typed in the phone numbers and his email address. Satisfied with it, he went ahead and posted it on the internet and emailed it to the newspaper. He also planned to make some signs to post in the neighborhood. Hopefully he would start getting inquiries by tomorrow.
Morning came and neither his cell phone nor Gram's landline was ringing. And so, after feeding the hungry horde of cats, Garrison set about creating what he felt would be an attractive and compelling poster. Protected by his allergy medicine and a fresh particle mask, he spent about an hour taking various photos of the cats. Then, safely back in his room, he selected a photo of Oreo and Rusty and, with the help of his laptop, put together a poster. He was just putting on the finis.h.i.+ng touches when his phone rang. Hoping it was someone calling to adopt a cat, he eagerly answered. But it was Gram's pastor, calling to express his sympathy and finalize some details regarding the memorial service.
”We could have held it Sat.u.r.day,” Pastor Barton told him. ”But the women are having their harvest fair tomorrow. They always have it the weekend before Thanksgiving.”
”Monday is fine,” Garrison a.s.sured him.
”Your grandmother was very specific about the kind of service she wished to have,” he said. ”And, as you know, she chose cremation. Her plan was to keep everything sweet and simple. She even wrote her own very humble eulogy. She didn't want anyone to make her sound overly grand. So, anyway, it's all rather cut-and-dried. Well, I don't mean to sound like that. She actually planned a very nice service. And she hoped that you would want to speak, Garrison. In fact, I'm sure the congregation would enjoy that too.”
”Of course,” he promised. ”I'm glad to.”
They discussed it a bit more before Garrison told the pastor he'd see him on Monday and hung up. He wasn't surprised that Gram had handled everything so efficiently. She had always been a practical, no-nonsense sort of woman-in life . . . and in death. Well, except for the cats. It seemed like she'd thrown practicality out the window when she'd started taking them in.
Her whole house, he'd discovered, seemed dedicated to her fine, furry friends. There were cat basket beds in every room. Not that the cats seemed to use them. Most of the furnis.h.i.+ngs were covered in hair. There were cat toys scattered about, sometimes making the house seem like a minefield-especially when he wasn't paying close attention. And some rather inventive scratching posts were stuck here and there. One reached clear to the ceiling with several platforms as well as a crow's nest on top. However, the upholstered furniture must've been preferable to the cats because everything was scratched and threadbare. Apparently the cats didn't understand the rationale of ”scratching posts.” Except for Harry. Garrison caught Harry working over the giant post with great vigor as he headed out to get his cat posters printed.
”Good kitty,” he said as he pa.s.sed through the living room. Harry turned and peered at Garrison with intelligent green eyes, almost as if he understood. ”Take care of things while I'm gone,” he told the cat.
After getting a bite to eat and some posters printed, Garrison returned to Gram's neighborhood and began putting them up here and there.
”What's this?” a young woman on a bicycle asked him.
He smiled at her. ”Free cats,” he said cheerfully. ”You interested?”
She got off the bicycle and studied the poster. ”As a matter of fact, I've wanted a cat for years. And I've been promising myself to get one ever since I got settled in a real house.”
”Are you settled in a real' house now?” he asked in a teasing tone.
She nodded. ”I am.”
”Well, I have a nice selection of cats to choose from.” He explained about his grandmother and how the felines had been her beloved family.
”Was your grandma the Cat Lady?” Her brows rose.
”I suppose some people called her that.” He gave the nail head one last whack then turned back to the girl. With her dark brown ponytail and expressive brown eyes, she was strikingly pretty. ”Did you know my grandmother-the, uh, Cat Lady?”
”No, but I heard she had a lot of cats. Like twenty?”
”As far as I know, she only had seven-at the most. Although I'll admit that's more than enough.”
”Oh, well . . . you know how rumors go,” she said apologetically. ”This is a pretty tight-knit neighborhood. People talk.”
”Yeah. Anyway, my grandmother pa.s.sed on last week. It's up to me to find good homes for her cats.”
”I'm sorry for your loss.” She looked genuinely sympathetic.
”Thanks. I realize my grandmother was old and she was probably ready to go . . . but I still miss her.”
”Well, if these cats are as nice as you say, I might be interested in giving one a home,” she proclaimed. ”But I'd like to meet the cats first.”
”No problem.” He frowned and pointed to a bullet on the sign. ”But you have to live in this neighborhood.” He made an uncomfortable smile. ”My grandma has a whole list of requirements for potential adoptive homes.”
”Well, that's no problem. I live just a few blocks from here.”
”Perfect.”
She stuck out her hand. ”I'm Cara Wilson,” she told him.
”Garrison Brown,” he said as he clasped her warm hand. ”Pleased to meet you.”
”So is this a good time to see your cats?” she asked hopefully.
”Absolutely,” he said eagerly.
”Great. I'm taking my break. Not that I'm really locked into a schedule. You see, I mostly work from home. Except for once a week when I have to go in for planning meetings.”
”Well, there's no time like the present.” He grimaced to remember the condition of the house. ”Although I should warn you my grandmother's place is, well, a little catty . . . if you know what I mean.”
She chuckled as she tucked a long strand of s.h.i.+ny chestnut hair behind one ear. ”That's okay. I had a great-aunt who used to keep cats. I totally understand.”
After Garrison told her the address, she said she'd drop her bike at home and drive her car over. ”Just in case I get to bring the cat back home with me.”
As he hurried back to Gram's, he felt greatly encouraged on two levels. First of all, he might've just found a home for another cat. That took the cat population down to four! But secondly, and probably even more significant, this girl had really caught his eye. Not only was Cara very pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door sort of way, there was something else too. He couldn't quite put his finger on it-maybe it was a mixture of kindness and s.p.u.n.k-but he was certain he wanted to get better acquainted with her.
As soon as he reached Gram's house, he automatically pulled on the particle mask. He'd given up the surgical gloves, except for kitty litter cleaning, which he'd already done this morning. But despite his allergy meds, he knew the mask was a true necessity. Without it he was a mess. However, due to wanting to impress his visitor, he was tempted to shove it back into his pocket. Except the image of him sneezing and wheezing and coughing all over the poor girl was truly alarming. Really, which was less attractive-impersonating a surgeon or having an allergic fit?
As he kicked some cat toys under the sofa, he wished he'd taken the time to straighten up some. Gram's house really could use a thorough cleaning and he fully intended to do that . . . but getting rid of these cats was his first priority. After that, he planned to empty most of the contents of the house-at least the items that were coated in fur or had been shredded by claws. Even the wall-to-wall carpeting needed to be removed.
The doorbell rang and he hurried to open it. ”Welcome to the cat house,” he told her, grinning from behind his white mask as he waved her inside.
”What's that?” She pointed to his face.
”I have severe cat allergies,” he explained.
She frowned. ”That must be rough . . . I mean, with all these cats.”
”It's definitely a challenge.” As she went over to where Rusty and Oreo were playing together on the sofa, he quickly explained about how he'd been out of the country for nine years. ”My grandmother helped raise me, but after I left home, she was lonely. So she started to collect cats.”
She was stroking Oreo's sleek coat and scratching Rusty's head. ”You two are so sweet,” she said. ”You look just like the picture on the poster.”