The Cat Among Us Page 3

  “Gerreee. Breakfaaaast.” Gerry took a sudden breath and returned, blinking the tears from her eyes. She sat up in the spacious bedroom Cathy had given her.

  The day before, after Prudence had left The Maples, Gerry had contemplated sleeping there and had returned upstairs to examine the bedrooms more closely.

  The largest, her aunt’s, had been tidied, but her clothes remained in the closet and drawers, and the presence of four unblinking cats grouped on the end of her bed had made her uneasy. A black longhair, a pale beige longhair, a grey and white shorthair and a small grey tiger were lying where Gerry imagined her aunt’s feet would have lain. “The honour guard, eh?” When Marigold jumped up, circled, then lay close to the pillow on one side, Gerry got the picture. Why, these cats are grieving, she thought, and left them to it. She’d decided to sleep at the B&B.

  Getting out of the double bed and crossing to the window, Gerry looked at the lake. Another beautiful day. And she had to get back to Toronto. She hurriedly showered, dressed and packed. Over blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, she quizzed Cathy about the cats. “You used to visit Aunt Maggie, right?” Cathy nodded, her mouth full of French vanilla coffee. “So what did she do with the kittens? I mean, all those cats…” Her voice trailed off as a vision of Maggie handing newborns over to Prudence to be disposed of creeped her out.

  Cathy swallowed. “Oh, that was one of her rules. She only took in cats that were fixed, or she paid for them to be fixed right away. No, Maggie knew there were enough unwanted cats in the world without wanting to add to their number. But as her older cats died, she’d adopt a young cat, sometimes a kitten. Bob, Ronald, the boys — they were babies when she got them.”

  “I haven’t yet met Bob but I know the others.” She forked more pancakes off the serving platter. “Why Ronald?”

  “Did you get a look at his face? He’s got a thin black moustache below his nose. So, Ronald Colman.” Gerry looked blank. “The actor. A Tale of Two Cities. He plays the hero.”

  Gerry mumbled, “I’ll have to look him up.”

  Cathy put on a faint British accent. “‘It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done.’”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a little cat.”

  Cathy laughed. “You have a sense of humour, like your aunt. I remember when she named him. We laughed and laughed. Even Prudence cracked a grin.”

  “You were close to my aunt?”

  “Not close close. We were neighbours. She liked having people over for tea or for a swim in the summer. Speaking of which, have you used the pool yet?”

  “I didn’t even get down to that part of the property. I’ve been trying to come to grips with the house and the cats. I’m still amazed she left it all to me. Why did she, do you think?”

  Cathy poured them some more coffee. “Well, she knew Mary didn’t need it — Geoff’s got that fabulous house at the other end of town. And Mary’s not the person to leave in charge of anything living, much less a house full of cats. Those children of hers brought themselves up, or went to their father.”

  “That explains why Margaret’s the way she is, but how did Andrew turn out so nice?”

  “Oh, I don’t know — girls and their mothers, I suppose. And Andrew has had his difficulties. He takes after Geoff.” She sipped her coffee. “But back to your original question. No doubt Margaret would have liked The Maples. It would have meant a step up from that little house at Hill’s Corner. Or for one of her sons. But I don’t think Maggie would have thought Margaret would cherish the cats, and the boys — ” She laughed. “The boys have a bit of growing yet to do.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Well, she had them one after another — three in four years. Maggie used to call them ‘the litter.’” Cathy sighed. “I’ll miss her.” Then she cheered. “But now you’ll come and live here and I’ll get to know you better.”

  Gerry smiled sweetly. “I’m looking forward to it, Cathy. The boys?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re late teens, early twenties, I should think. Yes, Margaret married young. And then to that awful Douglas Shapland.”

  “I noticed he wasn’t around much, just turned up at the funeral lunch, had a few drinks and left.”

  “I saw that too. He’ll wind up in a ditch one night, you see if I’m right.” She spoke vehemently and Gerry was surprised.

  “Why, Cathy, you sound as if you hate him!”

  Cathy rose and began stacking their dishes. “Not hate. I just feel, what a waste. He was so talented and now, nothing. Just a drunk. You see him on his bicycle, wobbling to the bar, then wobbling home.” She smiled at Gerry. “I used to babysit him and I remember what an adorable little boy he was. Such a shame. Are you ready to check out, dear?”

  Gerry settled her bill and put her suitcase in the car. As she drove past The Maples, she looked for signs of life. There weren’t any except for the baby carriage at the side door — Prudence was feeding the cats.

  3

  Gerry took a towel, sunglasses and a sketchpad and called over her shoulder, “I’m going to Yalta.”

  Prudence yelled back, “Fine,” and returned to her work.

  Gerry, in her swimsuit and a pair of flip-flops, happily walked down the stone steps and breathed the sweet air wafting from the garden. She’d missed the heavenly scent of apple blossoms for this year, but the roses were in first bloom. She paused and lowered her nose to one. She remembered her father had known their names — Madame this and le Duc de that — aristocrats all, mostly old varieties. The vegetable garden her aunt had planted that spring was coming along. She wondered who was weeding it.

  Having Prudence come once a week hadn’t worked. Gerry hadn’t realized what a lot of work such a big house required. And she needed Prudence’s help as she sorted through Aunt Maggie’s stuff. So Prudence came Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

  She’d been living at the house for a few weeks and was loving it. The two weeks in Toronto had passed in a blur of packing and explanations to her employers and friends. Some of the employers had agreed to her continuing to work for them, some had not. She wasn’t worried. She thought she could pick up new freelance art assignments without too much trouble.

  Her friends had been disbelieving, then enthusiastic. “Darling, of course we’ll come and visit you. It sounds wonderful.” “Of course, I’ll have to take massive amounts of decongestants. Well, the cats, you know, and my allergies.” “We’ll definitely visit. You’re so lucky.”

  And Gerry, laying out her towel on the chaise longue by the pool and settling in the morning sun with a sigh, did feel lucky. Except — the cats.

  She was used to the daily feeding now and to the cleanup after. The litter boxes were gross, though most of the cats had made the seasonal transition to using the garden some of the time. Prudence changed the towels on chairs and the bedding once a week, did the laundry, vacuumed, dusted, so the house was clean. Gerry was sleeping in a bedroom at the front of the house, left her aunt’s room to the cats. She closed her door at night with a feeling of relief.

  It was just that — well, they hadn’t taken to her. She said hello, she fed them, she wondered if any of the longhairs were getting tangled fur. (Prudence had shown her the basket of combs and brushes kept on the little bureau on the kitchen porch. “Your aunt used to put them up on that and groom them. Most of them love it.”) The nicer, more passive ones allowed her to pick them up; Mother even purred. But none of them sought her out. Marigold no longer followed her about the house as during her first visit, but slept on her aunt’s bed at night, sat under a hydrangea bush all day, was growing thin.

  At least by the pool Gerry had the boys around her. Winnie, Frank and Joe. It was their spot. They loved the water, stalked the ripples Gerry made when she swam or floated, batting at them with curious paws, came close to falling in. They were friendly enough but, having each other, didn�
�t really need her.

  She closed her eyes and lay on her back, her ears partially submerged. The pool was close to the lake, which was part of the Ottawa River. She could hear the odd motorboat in the distance, the drone of a plane, the breeze in the willow that overhung the pool, the birds, the — splash! She dropped her feet and came to attention, treading water. “Which one of you — ? Oh!”

  The boys were as astonished as she. It was the black cat, a short hair with white boots, throat and whiskers, who was foolishly swimming from side to side, trying to claw his way up the concrete sides of the pool. A spray of willow leaves floated nearby.

  Gerry swam gently over and, putting one hand on the top edge of the pool, used the other to sweep under the black cat’s body. His swimming back legs raked her skin and she changed her plan, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and lifting him to safety. “Ouch, mister, you got me good,” she exclaimed ruefully, examining her damaged forearm. The cat shook like a wet dog, then began grooming. “Bob?” she said tentatively. He was the only black cat among the group with such distinctive white markings. He gave a friendly meow and came over to be petted. “Well, you’re a nice one. Good thing it’s warm. Go find yourself a patch of sun.” As if paying attention, Bob flopped by the side of the pool that was in full sunlight, regarding Gerry with large round yellow eyes.

  The boys jumped around Bob, asking for a game, but he wasn’t to be distracted. Gerry got out of the water, dried off, put on her sunglasses and lay down on her back with her knees bent. She squawked when something wet and furry passed underneath them, kneaded her wet towel, circled, and made itself at home. Now I’m stuck, she thought, as a faint purring came from Bob, but all the same, she felt faintly pleased.

  She must have dozed off because she woke to the backing up beep of a truck. Bob leapt into the ivy that surrounded the pool. “What the — ?” she muttered and went up to the house to see.

  Prudence was giving the driver of a cube van directions as he positioned the truck in the semicircular driveway, stopping him when the van’s rear door was lined up with the house’s front door. Andrew got out of the driver’s seat and smiled at Gerry. She’d wrapped her wet towel around her shoulders and was shivering in a patch of shade. “You look about ten years old,” he said.

  She made a rude face. “Thanks. What are you doing?”

  “I know, living across the road, I could have taken the ceramics bit by bit, but I thought I’d be less of a bother if I took them all at once.”

  “Of course. I’ll help you pack them. Can you help too, Prudence? Just let me get dressed.” She tore off up the staircase, threw on some shorts and a t-shirt and tied back her hair. She met Prudence and Andrew in the dining room. Andrew had brought a lot of empty boxes from the liquor store. Gerry opened one. “Brilliant, Andrew, they have separators for the bottles.”

  “Yes, I thought that would work for the ladies. Of course we’ll have to wrap the smaller pieces individually.” He flushed. “I suppose you think this is a strange hobby for a man.”

  Gerry replied smoothly, as they made their way into the room where the figurines glistened, “Not at all. I expect it was an interest you picked up from Aunt Maggie.”

  Andrew brightened. “That’s it. She loved her pieces. Some of them are very old.” He lifted one off its shelf and reverently placed it in the box. “I made the shelves for her.”

  “Oh, aren’t you handy!” exclaimed Gerry. “Are they built-ins?” She stepped closer to a case to examine it.

  “No. They’re free-standing. But I bracketed them to the walls just in case.” He gestured back into the dining room. “Cats leaping about and so on.”

  “Then you must have them. The cases, I mean, not the cats. I’m not allowed to give them away. Not that I want to,” she added hastily. “I have a plan for this room and it’ll be bigger without all the display cases up against the walls. Take them.”

  Andrew glowed. “Well, if you’re sure. They match the ones I made for my own collection. Thank you.”

  They worked hard the rest of the morning and early afternoon, and by late afternoon Andrew was gone and the room was empty. Prudence offered to clean it, but Gerry said she’d do it herself and sent her home. The room would need more than a cleaning before it was ready for what Gerry had in mind.

  She changed into a little sundress — green polka dots on white — and a pair of comfy sandals, tucked a ten- and five-dollar bill in the little clutch purse that held her key, and set off on the short walk to Cathy’s. Not being much of a cook but liking good food, Gerry had fallen into the once- or twice-weekly habit of dining with the owner of the B&B. And, as Cathy didn’t have many guests during the week, Gerry was almost always able to indulge in a cozy chat with her hostess.

  She walked around back of Fieldcrest and knocked at the kitchen door. A cheerful “Come in!” and the sound of running water let her know dinner preparations had begun.

  Charles lay between sink and stove. His tail whacked the floor but he didn’t get up. Cathy patiently stepped over or around him. “It’s so hot, I thought a beautiful salad followed by strawberry shortcake.” Gerry groaned. “Do you have a pain?” Cathy asked.

  “No, but I’m starting to get a bulge.” Gerry patted her stomach.

  Cathy laughed. “That’s nothing. Wait till you’re my age. Bulges all over.”

  As she’d spent all day with him, the topic, naturally, was Andrew. “How’d he come out so nice from that awful family?” Gerry asked, spearing a green bean, a bit of hard-boiled egg and a cherry tomato on her fork.

  Cathy drank her chilled white wine. “Mm. So good. Andrew is the exception that proves the rule. And your Uncle Geoff isn’t awful, just put upon.”

  “Put upon?”

  “Well, Margaret and the boys live in one of his family’s houses and he pays for everything, including the boys’ educations and athletics. They eat almost every night at the yacht club or the golf club restaurant.”

  “Do they ever eat here?”

  Cathy sniffed. “I’m fussy about who I eat with, so not everyone knows they can get a good supper here without being a sleepover guest.” She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, perhaps seeing the taxman waiting to pounce. “It’s cash, so the fewer who know, the better. Andrew comes sometimes.”

  “That reminds me.” Gerry took the money she’d brought and slid it across the table. “Is that enough?”

  Cathy examined the bills, rose and put them in a drawer. “Thanks. But back to Andrew. You know by now he’s got a house full of ceramics.”

  “Yeah, but he almost didn’t want to admit it. Does he think it’s effeminate?”

  “Well, it is, dear. But whereas Maggie mainly maintained the family collection, Andrew buys every new piece the companies put out and he’s always looking for older pieces. Besides the choir and his work, I think it’s all he’s interested in.” She dropped half a hard-boiled egg on the floor. Charles swam over and ate it lying down.

  “He still works with Uncle Geoff at the furniture company?”

  “Yes. Their showroom is in town. Not my style.”

  Gerry looked around the kitchen. By the look of it, nothing new had entered that room in the last twenty years. There was a pause as they happily continued eating.

  “You never told me, really, why you think Aunt Maggie left me the house. It wasn’t just to spite Mary and Margaret. She could have left it to Andrew.”

  “Andrew’s got a house and it’s paid for. No — ” She poured Gerry another glass of wine. “I think it was because you’re your father’s daughter.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes. Maggie probably thought it was right Gerald’s daughter got something. She got the house almost by default. Gerald had moved away. Mary was well taken care of by Geoff. Maggie was still living at home when her mother passed away.”

  “Gramma Ellie. She was only fift
y-five. A lot of us seem to die in our fifties,” Gerry mused.

  “Yes, but look at your great-aunts Sylvia and Mary. In their eighties, nineties.”

  “They were Catfords.”

  “Well, you’re part Catford.” Cathy put more salad on Gerry’s plate. “And Maggie knew you were an artist. She loved the arts. Used to draw herself, when she was younger.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “So she thought — I’m just guessing — you’d appreciate the house and its location and not mess around with it.”

  “Mess around?”

  “You’ve seen them — former cottages with new top stories and weird frontages added on. Or the owners just let the old house decay until it’s uninhabitable, tear it down and build some modern horror.”

  “Is that what’s happening with the abandoned house to the north of mine?”

  “I think so.”

  “Not all modern houses are horrible, Cathy.” Gerry offered Charles an anchovy. He heroically half-rose and slobbered into her palm. She hastily grabbed her napkin. “Slimy,” she told him. He wagged his tail, licked his chops, and lay down again.

  “No, but you know what I mean. How are you and the cats getting along?”

  “Funny you should mention it. Just today one of them cozied up to me. Of course, I’d just saved his life and he was cold and wet, but still. The black and white one — Bob.”

  “Oh, Maggie loved Bob. He didn’t sleep with her. Marigold was jealous. But he kept her amused. Always ready to play. Maggie said he was safe, had soft paws.”

  “Prudence warned me about two cats. A big grey named Stupid and a strange, mostly black calico with a stump of a tail named Lightning.”

  “Yes, I didn’t see them too much. They were the difficult ones. Even Maggie had to be wary around them. Not counting Marigold, the gentlest ones were the four who slept on her bed. They were quite social. Most of the other ones would run away when people visited.”