“Hey,” I called. “Where are we going?”
Kevin turned back, a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t scare her.” He slowed his pace, picking his way between the bushes. Mimsy stalked alongside him like a white shadow, not turning aside to hunt or explore. The dog paced on his other side. I would’ve put on the brakes, except none of them were even looking my way.
I heard someone or something large in the bushes before I saw him. A wide-shouldered man appeared, coming down the path toward us carrying an awkward metal box by a handle on the top.
Kevin asked in a hushed whisper, “Did you get her?”
“I did.” The man spoke in ordinary tones, although his voice was softer than his size suggested.
“Ooh!” Kevin bounced. “Do you think she’s pregnant?”
“Yeah, pretty sure. She’s got quite a belly on her.”
“Can I see?”
The man lifted the box into his arms. “Carefully, and keep Zelda back. She’s pretty feral and we don’t want to scare her even worse.”
Kevin turned and handed the dog’s leash to me as if that was a natural thing to do. “Here, you hold her a minute.” Then he walked over and peered into the front of the box. I heard a cat’s unhappy hiss and the conversation made sense. Live trap. Pregnant feral cat. Poor baby, although the area looked like it might have good hunting.
Kevin backed off. “Yeah. She’s scared.” He took back Zelda’s leash from my unresisting fingers with a smile. “Thanks.” He turned back to the man. “Arthur, this is my friend, Shane.”
For a moment, I both blessed and cursed whoever had raised a kid to twelve or thirteen with that kind of belief in the goodness of strangers. Because it made me hopeful to know there were parents like that, but still, fuck! Give the kid some self-protective instincts, right?
Mimsy trotted over and stood on her hind legs, looking up at the cage in Arthur’s arms. Another hiss answered her questioning meow.
“Mimsy, come,” I told her. This time, she hustled back to me. I patted my neck. “Up.” When she’d made the leap and settled on my shoulders, I dug a treat out of my pocket for her.
“That’s so cool,” Kevin said. “I’ve seen videos where they train cats with a reward system, but I’ve never met a trained cat. Can she do other tricks?”
“Sure. Lots.”
Arthur said, “Is something wrong, Kev? I thought you were going to walk to the bookstore and call for Joe to get you there.”
“No.” The kid looked at me. “Well, yes. Shane said he can’t afford food for Mimsy and he wouldn’t take my money, so I thought, you have cat food donated for the rescue kitties and maybe you could give him some and he’d take it because it’s just cat food, not money.”
I flinched and told the big guy, “I’m sorry. I can feed my own cat. Been doing it for six years since I found her. I don’t know where Kevin came up with that idea.”
Arthur smiled, and the expression transformed his face. Despite his bushy red beard and extravagant mustache, he looked almost sweet. “Kevin’s full of ideas, but that’s not a terrible one. I do have extra cat food on hand.”
“I’m not taking anything away from rescue kitties. They need all the help they can get. I can always pick up money. Mimsy and I will do a show.” I gestured to her, and she climbed up on top of my head. In my show voice, I said, “Come down right now, little missy,” and wiggled my finger in the headshake motion, like she was refusing. “Yes, really.” Another headshake command, and from Kevin’s giggles, I knew she was doing a good job.
Arthur grinned wider. “That’s impressive. So you do a show, where? Like, in a theater?”
I snorted and gestured for Mimsy to launch herself to the ground. She landed, then rose up to pat my knee, and I fed her a treat. “Nah, we’ll set up on a corner somewhere. Last time we did it outside a grocery store. Lots of kids with their moms. Pretty good takings.”
Arthur nodded. “Panhandling. Or no, this would be more like busking, since you offer them entertainment for their money.”
“Yeah. Like that.” I jerked my chin up because I wasn’t ashamed of busking, or even panhandling, when the occasion called for it. It was honest money.
Arthur looked me over head to toe, watched Mimsy trot off to sniff a bush, then said, “Would you be interested in a little work for pay? Nothing glamorous. I’m behind on my day job, what with catching our wild mama. I have a bunch of dogs and cats at home that need tending, several litter boxes and a yard full of poop to clean up.” I almost felt insulted that he thought scooping poop would be some kind of reward for me, but he added, “Watching you with Mimsy makes me think you’d be safe to have around my fur kids.”
“You can’t go by that,” I said. This guy was as soft as the kid. “Sure, I love her, but Adolph Hitler liked dogs, right?” I’d read that somewhere. “I could be any kind of thief or addict.” Or both, because they often went together. “You can’t just watch me run my cat through some tricks and think, ‘He’s okay. I’ll invite him to my place.’ How do you know I didn’t beat those tricks into her?”
Kevin said, “You wouldn’t. And Zelda likes you. She’s a good judge of people.”
“She hasn’t come within touching range.” It hadn’t escaped my notice the dog was keeping her distance.
“Well, she’s shy of new people. But her ears are up and her eyes are soft, which is happy-dog body language.” Kevin petted Zelda. “Go say hi to Shane. He’s a good guy.”
