Theresa Weir - The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

Even though Max was on cat time, the reading seemed to move quickly. Before he knew it, Melody was shutting the book and picking up Max, pulling him onto her lap.

“You were such a perfect gentleman,” she told him. She sounded so proud, and Max felt himself expanding a little, his head going a bit higher.

“Does anybody want to pet him before we leave?”

Good Lord. Not an open invitation.

All of the kids-every last one of them-scrambled to their feet, and suddenly Max was being mobbed by sticky hands and jostling bodies. A Beatle in their heyday couldn’t have gotten more unwanted attention. Where were the bouncers? He needed bouncers!

“Easy,” Melody said, pulling Max closer and shielding him with her arm.

“You’re scaring him!” the girl with the milkweed hair told the mob.

Melody stood with Max in her arms. Suddenly Joe was there, trying to control the out-of-control brats.

Max hoped he’d whip out his gun and tell them to get back, but he didn’t. He just told them they were being too rough.

The kids whimpered and calmed down. Some stalked away, and others stood waiting for instructions. Those with patience were allowed to pet Max. And then it was over. He would never have to endure such public humiliation again.

Without touching him, the little milkweed girl looked into his eyes and said, “I hope you come back, Max.”

Regarding him in a way that said she knew he understood every word she said. Somebody once told him that cats didn’t steal a baby’s breath. No, cats breathed souls into humans. Otherwise every kid on the planet would be a raging sociopath.

The kids ran off to get ready for bed.

“That went well,” Melody said.

Max looked around for his carrier. There it was, under the table. He hated being put in it when the carrier was on his own turf, but right now he was dying to get inside. He couldn’t wait to get home and get out of his thneed.

“What would you think about doing this once a week?” Joe asked.

Max couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Melody pulled the pink carrier out from under the table and put Max inside, zipping it closed. Max watched them both through the mesh. He wasn’t even interested in chicken anymore; he just wanted to go home.

“I’d love to,” Melody said.

Max hated to be cynical, but were either of them thinking of the little brats that had poked and grabbed at him? Was this really about them? Or was it about hooking up? All the more reason to get rid of Joe as soon as possible. Maybe even tonight.

*

Outside in the car, Joe in the passenger seat, Max in back, Melody pulled away from the curb.

She liked Joe.

On one hand, she was afraid to let herself hope for something wonderful, and on the other, she wanted to open herself completely to this new person and this new chance at happiness. And just the way it had happened, the way Max had almost seemed to bring him home. Like it was meant to be.

But sometimes she would catch herself thinking about David, comparing Joe to David, worrying about what David would think. Was it too soon? All of these thoughts collided in her head, and the only real way to get rid of them was to kiss Joe again, and laugh with Joe. Immerse herself in Joe.

She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, because when he was gone doubts crept in. And maybe he felt the same, because he stayed over most of the time now. Yesterday she almost suggested he move in, but she’d caught herself just in time.

Too soon.

And it was too perfect. Nothing was this perfect. She knew that.

“Would you like to do something?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“We could go to your place.”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. “That’s not a good idea. Too messy.”

“I don’t mind a mess.”

“I wouldn’t want you to see it that way. I haven’t been there much lately. No time to clean.”

She’d never been to his place. In fact, she didn’t even know where his place was. What did she know about him? Really? He’d brought Max home. He was kind. He worked at a shelter. But when she thought about it, when she tried to think of any conversation that dealt with anything beyond her job, the shelter, and Max, she couldn’t come up with much. He knew all about David and David’s murder. Melody had drunk too much wine on several occasions and blabbed on and on about her sister and her mother and her father. But Joe… She knew nothing about Joe.

He had a secret. She was sure he had a secret. He was a part of her life, but she wasn’t a part of his. Sometimes in her heart of hearts, she felt she should embrace the crazy cat lady thing and forget about men completely. Why shouldn’t a woman be able to find enough happiness in her job, baking cupcakes, and spoiling her cat? Men just complicated things. Men just disrupted the peace.

“I like hanging out at your place,” Joe said, reaching for her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “Just the two of us.”

Melody swore she could feel Max’s disapproval coming from the backseat. Like a kid who resented the new stepdad. “Three of us,” she said.

Melody couldn’t let Joe go, not yet. She told herself she’d hang on a little longer, see if he started opening up to her, see if he finally began to share even a little bit of his own life.

After the reading at Gimme Shelter, she and Joe went to the grocery store and picked up shrimp to grill. And once they were home, they let Max roam around in the backyard where he sniffed dandelions and ate grass until he threw up.

Inside, they ate at the table with flowers in the center, flowers Melody had picked from the yard. Joe sat where David used to sit, and the wine glass he lifted to his lips had once touched David’s.

“You okay?” Joe asked.

Was he married? Was that his secret? “Sometimes I think I should move. Sometimes I think it’s not good for me to be here.”

“Move from the house, or the town?”

“The house. But maybe even the town. Maybe a fresh start would be a good thing. Leave everything behind and start over.”

Joe looked hurt that she would think of leaving. “Isn’t your family here?”

“Yes. But that’s not always a good thing. They worry…” Maybe she was fishing. Looking for some kind of declaration from him. It didn’t come.

She heard scratching and looked down to see Max digging at Joe’s backpack. “Max, stop that.” He ignored her. She repeated his name, this time louder. With a twitch of his tail, he stopped his digging.

Joe and Melody sat at the table eating the shrimp they’d cooked outside. So far, nobody had offered Max any of it, and he loved shrimp. There had been some discussion about his delicate stomach and the grass he’d eaten, but ignoring him so completely was rude, especially after what he’d put up with at the shelter. He really deserved to be the star here.

Joe’s backpack was still in the corner of the dining room, on the floor, and even though Max had been scolded once already, he couldn’t quit thinking about exposing the contents of the bag-and exposing Joe. The zipper was zipped, but not all of the way. The gap was big enough for a paw, and then a nose, and then Max’s entire head.

“Max!”

Melody’s voice was muffled because of the canvas backpack. Max squirmed, making the opening bigger. A chair scraped across the hardwood floor. Max dug frantically. He could smell the oil and metal of the gun. His claw snagged the leather holster, and he grasped a corner in his teeth and pulled, backing up as he went. The case caught on the zipper, and Max popped out with nothing.

Look, he has a gun. Guns are bad. Joe is bad.

But Melody was looking at Max, not the backpack. And suddenly Joe was there, zipping the bag closed, picking it up, taking it to the living room where he deposited it on top of a bookshelf.

Not cool.

When Joe returned, he gave Max an odd look. Almost like he was trying to figure him out. Almost like he wondered if there was more to Max than he’d originally thought.

Normally Max would have been thrilled to have someone finally see him for who he was, see him for more than your average cat. Max had spent his life trying to get people to appreciate his uniqueness, but this wasn’t the time or the place for that level of awareness.

No, let Joe think he was as dumb as that yellow cat next door who talked to people’s feet. Just thinking about it made Max’s eyes cross. But who was he to judge? A lot of cats didn’t think deeply about anything, and they were probably happier for it.

Dinner ended. Dishes were done and food was put in the refrigerator.

The night routine was one that had become familiar, with the door shutting and Max being left in the living room to fend for himself. He waited by the door, and when morning came he shot inside. But today he didn’t hide or run under the bed or into the closet. This time he marched straight to the pile of Joe’s clothes, squatted, and peed. It was a lot of pee, because he’d been saving up all night.

“Max!” Melody stood near the foot of the bed, bare legs poking out from under her nightshirt with the cats on it.

Max kept peeing until he was finished, then, with a flick of his tail and a shake of a paw, he stepped off the pile of clothes. He fully expected somebody to throw something at him. Instead, both humans stared at him in shock and worry.

“Did you ever take him to the vet?” Joe asked. He was lying in bed, head propped in one hand.

“No, he seemed to be better, so I forgot about it.”

“I think we’d better do that today.”

We. Like they were a team. That was only slightly less disturbing than a vet visit.

Max ran from the room, heading straight for the doggy door he’d forgotten was sealed until he smacked his head against it. With that escape route out of the question, he thundered down the basement steps and hid behind the clothes dryer, where Melody found him a few minutes later.