The Cat Who Got Married Read online

  Copyright 2011 Neil S. Plakcy

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  “The Cat Who Went North” originally appeared in The Cat Who Loved Christmas, 1994, Globe Communications Group.

  “The Cat Who Got Married” originally appeared in The Cat Came Home for Christmas, 1995, Globe Communications Group.

  Dedication

  These stories are dedicated to Pam Reinhardt and Vicki Van Lieu, whose cats inspired them.

  The Cat Who Went North

  I started to worry about the cold after we crossed the border between from North Carolina and Virginia. “I don’t know about you, Pilar,” I said to my cat, who sat comfortably in her carrier on the front seat next to me, “but I’m starting to feel a chill.”

  We were both Conchs, natives of Key West, Florida, where the coldest it ever got was in the low forties for a few days in January or February. It was only mid-November, and the weather guy on the radio said it was sixty-two degrees in Richmond, and heading down.

  “I’m not sure about this,” I said to Pilar. Since she had adopted me three years before, I had developed the habit of thinking out loud, and addressing my thoughts to Pilar, a red, gold and black Abyssinian with a soft purr, a loud growl, and a strong personality.

  Pilar was a descendant of the cats that had lived with Ernest Hemingway at his house in Key West. The woman who sold Pilar to me had explained that to be a Hemingway a cat had to have at least one extra toe on one paw, and the cats were priced accordingly – an extra charge for each extra toe.

  By the time we got back to my apartment, I’d decided to name her Pilar, after Hemingway’s boat, and after the heroine of For Whom The Bell Tolls. She had liked the name, and accepted it.

  “What do you think, Pilar? Should we turn around and head back to Key West? After all, this is only a job. Do I really want to work and live in Philadelphia?”

  Pilar mewed.

  “Well, it is a good job.” After years of struggle, working at every hotel position from bellhop to dining room waiter to front desk clerk, I had settled in as the marketing director for a property on the island that was part of a national chain. I’d done a good job, and eventually been offered a promotion, as director of marketing for a much larger hotel in the chain in Philadelphia. I was going to be making real money, for the first time in my life, and I thought it would be exciting to leave Key West, where I was born and raised, to live in a big, fascinating city like Philadelphia.

  But as I drove farther north, and the weather got colder, I was starting to have my doubts. “There’s an exit up ahead,” I said to Pilar. “I could turn around and start heading south again. We could make it to Georgia by dark.”

  Pilar was silent. “You’re not being much help. Tell you what. If you don’t say anything, I’ll turn around. If you think I should keep going, then say something.”

  I turned to look at Pilar, curled up in a corner of her carrier. She yawned, and rolled onto her side. “What was that?” I asked. “Was that a yes or a no?”

  Pilar went to sleep. “I guess I keep going.”

  ***

  My furniture was waiting for us when we arrived in Philadelphia, in an apartment not far from the hotel. As soon as I let Pilar out of her carrier, she prowled every corner, sniffing and investigating everything. Cats are naturally very curious, and Abyssinians, who are among the most intelligent of cats, are also one of the nosiest breeds. Pilar was a prime example.

  She loved to poke around in my things. She had a habit of getting into half-open drawers, nudging open cupboard doors with her nose, even digging the dirt out of my potted plants. Before I leave for more than just a day at work, I make sure the apartment is cat-proof. That means keeping as much as possible away from Pilar’s prying paws.

  On the morning of my first day at work, I bundled up in a t-shirt, a blue oxford-cloth button down shirt over that, a sweater and a cream-colored linen sports jacket, and set out for work.

  The first thing I learned about living in a cold climate was that I had all the wrong clothes. In Key West, I wore a tie to work, and long pants, but most of the time I lived in shorts, t-shirts, and deck shoes without socks. Everything in my closet was cotton or linen, and I didn’t even own an overcoat.

  But things were different in Philadelphia. Even with all my layers, I was still cold that first day when a beautiful green-eyed blonde stuck her head in my office door.

  “I’m Lisa Audubon, director of food and beverage,” she said. “Welcome.”

  She had a southern accent that knocked my socks off. Down in Key West, we may be south of the Mason-Dixon line, but we’re south of everything else, too. Most of the Floridians I grew up with talked more like they were from New York than from New Orleans.

  I stood up to shake her hand. “Ryan Yates.”

  “Bet you’re cold,” Lisa said.

  “How’d you know?” I rubbed my hands together.

  “I moved here last year from Atlanta,” she said. “Took me weeks to feel warm again.”

  “Don’t tell me that! This is just my first day.”

  “I can help. After work, I’m going to take you to a great store. As long as you’ve got a credit card that you haven’t charged to the limit, they can put you into some warm clothes.”

  “That would be terrific.” I also thought it would be terrific to get a chance to check out that golden hair, those green eyes, and that sweet as sugar accent.

  “I’m finished at six,” she said. “How about you?”

  “Six is good.” I thought of Pilar. “But I have to check in on my cat. I need to make sure she’s adjusting.”

  “I don’t like cats,” Lisa said. “I tell you what. The store’s not too far from here. If I give you the address, can you meet me there at say, six-thirty?”

  We agreed. At six o’clock I bundled myself up as well as I could and drove home to check on Pilar. She was curled up on the bed, most of her body hidden away under a pillow. I turned up the thermostat a few degrees.

  “I’m going out again,” I called to her from the kitchen, where I put some dinner in her bowl and changed her water. “I’m coming back with lots of warm clothes.”

  Pilar said nothing.

  Lisa was great. She helped me pick out wool pants, a lined overcoat, and gloves, then held up a green loden-cloth blazer with brown leather buttons. “This jacket is a good color for you. The leather matches your hair, and the green makes your eyes look darker.”

  I looked in the mirror. My eyes were hazel, a watery greenish brown that I’d never found very flattering. But sure enough, when I wore that jacket they looked darker.

  We walked around the store, pillaging department after department. I got a scarf, a couple of sweaters, another wool blazer and some long-sleeved shirts, and by the time I was done my credit card was warm to the touch. “Can I buy you dinner?” I asked. “To say thanks for the help?”

  “Sure,” Lisa said, and I loved the way her smooth voice caressed that single word. I had to come to Philadelphia to find a southern girl, I thought.

  By the time we’d had dinner and I got home, it was already late. Pilar rocketed around the living room a few times, and when she finally stopped and came up to me, she mewed, accusing me of abandonment. She walked around me once, sniffed, and then shot down the hall.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. I followed her into the bedroom, and I couldn’t coax her into my lap until I had removed the cloth
es that smelled like Lisa and put on my old familiar sweats.

  “You’re going to have to get used to me coming home with all different smells on me, Pilar. It’s no big deal.”

  She reached out one claw and scratched my leg through the cotton sweatpants. “Ow! That hurt, Pilar!”

  She purred and rolled onto her side.

  ***

  I settled into my job, but whenever a cold front swept into Philadelphia, I caught the sniffles. Pilar had adjusted to the new apartment, finding sunny places to sleep during the day, cuddling up with me at night. Lisa was busy with a whole series of conferences and winter weddings, so I didn’t get a chance to see her much during the day. When we did meet up, she was usually so busy all she had time to do was give me a quick pointer on life a cold climate.

  “The secret to a healthy winter is a good cashmere scarf,” she said one day, when she stopped by my office between appointments. “You keep your neck warm, you keep away the germs.”

  “I’ll remember that. I saw a guy selling them on the street the other day.”

  “Look for one in dark green, like your jacket,” she said. “Remember how nice it makes your eyes look.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Shoot, I have another meeting.” She jumped up and turned to the door.

  “Lisa. Wait.”

  She turned back around to me. “Are you free for dinner? Saturday night, maybe?”

  “Wedding Saturday night. How about Friday, after work?”

  “It’s a date.”

  “You bet, sugar. See you then.”

  I slumped back against my chair. Sugar. Did that mean something, or was it just a Southern thing?

  That night I told Pilar about my date as we sat on the sofa together, her head pushed up against my thigh. “You’d like Lisa. She’s so pretty, and so delicate. A real Southern girl.”

  I stroked her stomach, but she didn’t purr. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Do you not like Philadelphia?”

  She squirmed away from me. “It’s like a necessary evil,” I said. “We’ll stay up north for a couple of years, make a lot of money, then go back to a better job down south.”

  Pilar sat up on her haunches and licked her right front paw. “Honest, Pilar. I promise.”

  She jumped down off the sofa and stretched, leaning her graceful head way back. Then she stalked off to the bedroom.

  ***

  “I’m always cold,” I told Lisa as we sat at the restaurant. “I guess my blood is thin, from living in Florida.” I sat back against the banquette. “Pilar doesn’t like the cold weather here either. She’s not happy here. I can tell.”

  “She’s inside all day where it’s warm. How can she know the difference?”

  “She knows.” I adjusted the position of the fork next to my plate. “When I come home, she’s racing around the apartment, like she’s trying to get warm. Her fur’s thicker, and she’s been very frisky lately, always wanting to play. She hasn’t been this playful since she was a kitten.”

  “It sounds to me like she likes it here,” Lisa said. “Frisky, playful. Those aren’t adjectives you use to describe an unhappy cat.”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. My life was different, but Pilar was still in familiar surroundings, warm and comfortable every day. I had discovered when I got my first electric bill that I paid for heat, and it was very expensive, so I kept the thermometer at 68 while I was at work; not what Pilar was accustomed to, but not cold either.

  “You have to know her like I do,” I finally said. “For example, she’s not a very affectionate cat. She’s not the type to come and curl up on your lap all the time. But here, as soon as I sit down, she comes to snuggle up against me.”

  “Things must be different for you, too,” she said. “Philadelphia’s a lot faster-paced than Key West.”

  “You bet. But I like it. There’s always something going on.”

  I felt her leg against mine under the table, and she smiled. I returned the smile, and the pressure against her leg.

  We flirted through dinner, and by the time the waiter brought the check I was very interested to see where the evening would go.

  We paid, and stood up to put our coats on. That was something I had a hard time getting accustomed to, all that time spent dressing and undressing before going out. In Key West, all you had to do was throw a sweater on if it was cool.

  I asked Lisa, “Why don’t you come up to my place for a nightcap? It’s just around the corner.”

  “Won’t Pilar mind?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll see.” When we got to my apartment, though, Pilar had put on her company behavior. She hid under the bed and wouldn’t come out.

  “That’s fine,” Lisa said. “I told you I’m not really a cat person.”

  My apartment had a fireplace, something I’d had no experience with in Key West. The previous tenant had left some logs in the grate, and Lisa helped me make a fire. When we were finished, we sat on the sofa together. “This is nice,” I said. “I see why people like fireplaces.”

  “It’s one of the ways people keep warm up here,” Lisa said.

  “That and warm clothes.” I picked at my pants leg. “The wonder of wool.”

  “There are other ways people keep warm up here,” she said. “I can show you, if y’all are interested.” She snuggled up close to me and laid her lovely blonde head on my shoulder.

  “I’m interested.” I put my arm around her, and she lifted her face up to mine. It shone golden in the firelight. We kissed, and it was delightful—Lisa’s lips were just as soft as the rest of her, and I loved the way her body felt next to mine.

  Then suddenly a huge, furry weight landed on my neck, claws digging into my exposed skin.

  I drew back from Lisa, and dragged Pilar on to my lap. “This is Lisa, Pilar,” I said. “Lisa, meet Pilar.”

  Lisa was pulling cat hairs from her mouth. “I guessed.”

  “Let me put her away.” I stood up and carried Pilar down the hall, where I tossed her gently onto the bed. She landed gracefully on all fours and looked up at me, her head cocked.

  “Be good.” I locked the bedroom door and went back to Lisa on the couch. Within minutes Pilar had started to howl, a scratchy, high-pitched noise that raised hairs on the back of my neck. “She’s never acted like this before,” I said. “Let’s try and ignore her.”

  We kissed again, but it was hard to concentrate, with Pilar caterwauling in the background. “I think she’s jealous,” Lisa said.

  “Probably.” I stood up. “I’m sorry, I just can’t listen to that.” I walked up to the bedroom and opened the door. Pilar had pulled a pair of my new wool pants to the floor and curled them around into a nest. I could see a place where her claw had caught in the fabric. “Pilar! Bad cat!” I tried to grab her but she darted between my legs and out to the living room.

  When I followed her out, Lisa was standing by the door, holding her coat. “I’d better go. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

  “See what you did?” I said to Pilar when Lisa had gone. “You ruined my evening and you ruined my new pants. Bad cat!” But Pilar wouldn’t even hang around to listen to my complaints. She settled herself by the dying fire and dozed off contentedly, her evening’s work done.

  I wasn’t about to give up on Lisa so easily, though. Even with my new clothes, I was still cold all the time, and she was the only warm thing in my life, besides Pilar. I spent most of every day in my office, on the phone and at the computer, making and renewing contacts with the press and writing releases.

  Lisa and I talked occasionally, but we were both so busy that it was hard to get enough time to even ask her out again. And after Pilar’s performance I wasn’t sure Lisa would want to go out with me.

  One of the hotel’s big events in mid-December was an ice-sculpture contest, held in one of the ballrooms that opened to the outdoors. I had to work long hours in the days before the event, and planned to stay overnight at the hotel all weekend while the exhibit was o
pen. By the time the first day arrived, I was so rushed that I hurried out of the apartment, just barely making sure that Pilar had enough food and water to last her until Sunday.

  The sculptures were placed on tables all around the room, with several large pieces on pedestals in the center. Coming from Key West, I hadn’t had much experience of ice sculpture, and I was surprised at the variety. There were penguins and polar bears, and an igloo with an Eskimo next to it, dressed in a fur parka that was so realistic you could almost feel the softness of the fur.

  There were also clipper ships with elaborate lacy rigging, a jumbo jet and a train, and a replica of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the “Parthenon on the Parkway.” The sculptor had even carved a miniature Rocky jogging up the steps.

  We had the doors wide open, and the larger sculptures were placed in the circular drive outside. I was in that room nearly all weekend, suffering through the frigid air as I walked reporters around and introduced them to the chefs who had done the carvings. Then I had to stand there, my hands in my pockets and my face turning blue, while the reporters asked questions and the chefs responded politely.

  By Sunday afternoon I had a real cold going. I kept shivering, and my nose wouldn’t stop running. At six o’clock the exhibit closed down, and as soon as the last guest walked out the door I headed for home, a lot of aspirin and hot tea, and a snuggle under my new down quilt.

  As soon as I walked in the door I knew something was wrong, and I realized that I’d been in such a hurry to leave on Friday morning that I’d forgotten to cat-proof the apartment. Pilar, understandably annoyed at being left on her own all weekend, had trashed everything she could reach.

  My clothes lay scattered around the living room. Pilar had scooped dirt out of my potted hibiscus (which was slowly dying anyway) and then stepped in it. She had then marched all over my clean shirts and pants, even my underwear.

  In the kitchen, she’d opened the cupboard and spilled oatmeal and pasta all over the counters. She’d shredded a roll of paper towels and knocked over the caddy with my spatulas and other kitchen tools in it. I had grown up in Key West around photos of the disastrous hurricane of 1926, and my apartment looked just like those pictures.