Lost & Found - Jacqueline Sheehan [101]
As soon as Rocky and Cooper entered the house, Peterson began her new game of pouncing at the dog’s tail and then dashing off. Cooper eyed her with the same level of interest as one might have for a fly, as if a dog of his standing could not possibly be interested in this type of inferior play. Yet just last night, Rocky noticed that Peterson had wedged herself behind Cooper as he lay gnawing on a stick. Cooper had peered over his backside as the once skittish cat curled against him and eyed her with surprise, then with an odd sigh, he returned to his slobbery stick.
Rocky made a ham and cheese sandwich and considered two letters that sat on her counter. One was from her boss at the university, asking her to verify her return date in the fall. The other was from Jan Townsend, who said they were coming out to the island soon to look at the house that was part of Liz’s estate. And did Rocky know anyone on the island who might have an interest in buying the place before they contacted a real estate agent? The letters jostled for her attention. Rocky turned them facedown on the counter and placed her used plate on top of them. Not yet; she didn’t have to decide anything yet. Right now she was still an animal control warden.
Ten days ago, a tomcat was discovered on the east side of the island, called in by a neighbor who said, “He’s not exactly feral, but he’s darn close. Guess you better come get him and bring him to the mainland before he starves to death.”
Rocky had easily trapped the cat and kept him for a day at Isaiah’s public works garage. The cat was black with three white paws and a white diamond on his face. His ears had been bitten and nicked from years of fighting with other toms and he had an abscess on his jaw. The cat hissed at her each time she came near. She waited twenty-four hours in case anyone called about a lost cat, then took him to the animal shelter in Portland. A sick and battered-up tom was the last cat anyone would adopt. She dropped him off at the shelter, knowing if the shelter was crowded, as they frequently were, he would be put down.
Yesterday, Rocky got a call. “This is Mrs. Hancock. My cat has been missing. He usually comes back after three days, but I’m afraid something has happened to him. He’s black with white paws. Three of them, and a sweet white face.”
Rocky rang up the shelter, fearing the worse. “Don’t kill the tom I brought in! He’s got an owner.”
The receptionist said, “We’ve just finished all the procedures for the day. You’re probably too late. I’ll check and call you back.”
Rocky dreaded telling Mrs. Hancock that she had delivered her cat to his doom. The shelter called back.
“You’re not going to believe this. We made a mistake and put him on the schedule for neutering. He’s here. Do you hear that sound? He’s not a happy boy. Come and get him tomorrow; I’ll send someone down to the pier with him.”
Rocky took the ferry over and was met at the pier by one of the shelter volunteers with a cat carrier.
“He’s not happy about his missing testicles,” she said.
Rocky got back on the ferry for the return trip. She delivered the cat to Mrs. Hancock, who opened the carrier and took out a suddenly sweet cat that pushed his tattered head into her hands. Rocky explained his shaved abdomen, with apologies. The women stroked him and the cat purred like an outboard motor.
“I know he’s really as ugly as sin; I’m not blind. And he’s a terror to other cats, but I don’t know what I would do without him. There’s no explanation for love. But love is all that matters, isn’t it?”
Rocky felt her body rearrange itself; her bones slid into their sockets in a slightly different way, and a chunk of asphalt lifted off her heart. In its place, a space opened up that had been reserved for only Bob.
She left the reunited cat owner and drove home to get Cooper. They were going