“Do we want to save this?” Mike’s words jangled through her distracted thoughts. She turned to find him frowning at their plates, still generously piled with the salad. Obviously his traditionally thrifty Maine upbringing was at war with the world of unknown food.
“We’ll put it in one of the bowls with the lids that seal tightly,” Sunny said. “Hopefully, it will keep till tomorrow. I guess we should also make a list and do some shopping.” She grinned at her dad. “In case it doesn’t keep.”
They did the dishes, and Mike got a pencil and paper, heading to peruse the refrigerator and make a shopping list. Sunny trudged upstairs, the air feeling warmer with every step. I really ought to get my suit brushed and hung up, she thought, stepping into her room. Then she froze at the foot of the bed.
Shadow lay sprawled facedown across her suit jacket and pants, all four legs spread wide, his eyes shut, his whole body inflating with deep inhalations.
“What are you doing?” Sunny demanded, trying to yank the clothes from under him. “I’ll end up with three times as much cat fur—”
She broke off with a cry of pain as Shadow leaped up, hissing and lashing out with his claws.
Sunny stared at the three furrows torn through the skin on the back of her hand, at the dark red blood welling up, a drop falling down on the dusky blue suit below.
Belatedly, she brought the wounded hand up to her mouth and then ran for the bathroom.
*
Shadow lay in a stupor of pleasure, breathing in the two most wondrous scents in the world. Every time he filled his lungs, he tasted the fragrance of Sunny . . . and also the aroma of the mysterious She that permeated the soft cloth. He exhaled and drew the scents in again until he thought his lungs might explode.
It was bliss. He didn’t know how long he’d lain here, luxuriating, indulging his nose. He’d been fast asleep, lying in the shadowy coolness under Sunny’s bed when she first returned home earlier, and he’d slowly awakened when she came into the room and moved around for a bit. By the time he emerged, she was gone, but on the bed he’d discovered this wonderful source of aromas that made his senses swim. He was vaguely aware that he was hungry, but what was hunger compared with the chance to wallow in these sensations?
Oh, he’d encountered the herb that drove other cats crazy, the sharp-smelling stuff put inside toys that caused cats to meow, or run around chasing invisible prey, or roll and sniff.
But this was different.
Maybe the closest sensation to what he presently enjoyed would be the times a cat would lie, belly exposed, gazing foolishly up at the ceiling.
But he wanted to warm this soft cloth, make the scents within the fibers rise to fill his nose and mouth, to cling to it and keep it forever . . .
And then, the jarring shout, the sensation of this wonderful cloth being jerked out from under him, it had shattered his nerves like an unprovoked attack. And when he was attacked, he responded in kind. He hissed, lashed out with his claws. Yes! They struck and tore. That would teach the interloper!
But now he came out of his daze, his overpowered olfactory senses bringing information to his brain.
The One who had interrupted his bliss, the One he’d attacked . . . it was Sunny! And worse, he could smell blood, her blood! How could he have done this?
Shadow stood rooted on the bed, his spirit falling into desolation as Sunny recoiled from him, blood on her paw. She brought it to her mouth to lick, then turned and ran away. The cloth that had entranced him lay wadded and disregarded at his feet. The stink of blood overcame the alluring scents that clouded his senses.
Leaping to the floor, he raced to the doorway and stood staring out into the hallway. The door to the room of tiles was closed, and Shadow could hear the sounds of rushing water.
He couldn’t get to Sunny, and even if he were able to, what could he do? Lick away her hurt? By now he’d known her long enough—well enough—to remember that she hadn’t liked it when he tried to help with other hurts. And those weren’t his fault! This time . . .
Shadow crouched till his head was barely above the floor, a low moan coming up from inside him as painful as when he retched up bad food. He’d seen cats lose homes for scratches like that.
How could this have happened? Didn’t Sunny realize the torment she put him through, bringing those strange, disturbing . . . intoxicating scents home with her?
Couldn’t she smell?
*
When Sunny returned to her bedroom, Shadow had disappeared again. She spread the suit jacket on the bed and got the handy-dandy lint remover that Mike had or-dered from the ad on TV. After a couple of runs over the bloody area, the plastic roller was covered in cat fur. Sunny ran it under water, dried it, and went to work again. When the fur was gone from the area, she took the jacket into the bathroom.
“At least it’s permanent press,” she muttered as she started the cold water. Rummaging in the medicine cabinet, she found the old shaker of salt that had sat in there lord knew how many years, to use for gargling with salt water to treat a sore throat.
Sunny wet the area around the stain, then sprinkled salt on the spots and began rubbing them together. She kept at it until she couldn’t see the stain anymore.
It would have been a lot easier if she could have used both hands. But she had to be careful with her right, the one where Shadow had drawn blood. Sunny had carefully washed the gashes, spread on antiseptic ointment, and then covered them with gauze and some tape. They felt okay, but she had to be careful not to soak the pad in the water and start all over.
At last she held up the jacket, peering at the damp fabric for the stain. “Gone, I hope.” Sunny went back to get the pants and then brought them both to the basement for a gentle cycle through the washing machine.
“Decided to give these a wash,” Sunny told her dad, popping her head into the living room. “With this sticky weather, they need it.” Which was true, even if it wasn’t the full story.
She saw him looking at her bandage. “Little accident upstairs.” No sense giving Mike something else to complain about when it came to Shadow. She stayed downstairs while the suit was in the washer, and when she took the jacket out, the stain seemed completely gone. After running the suit through the dryer, Sunny breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t spot the spot at all. Putting jacket and pants on a plastic hanger, she started climbing the stairs from the basement. About halfway up, she realized a pair of eyes were watching her from the doorway to the kitchen.
“Shadow?” She almost whispered his name. He gave a brief, very quiet mew.
When she got up to the kitchen, he backed away from her, keeping his eyes on her face, almost as if he were afraid. “Oh, Shadow,” she said, “what happened?”
She hung the suit on one of the knobs for the kitchen cabinet. Shadow didn’t even glance at it. He only had eyes for her. The only thing dimming the moment was that his stomach suddenly rumbled.
“That’s right, you haven’t eaten.” Sunny replenished his water bowl and got a can of cat food. He watched her make the preparations but still wouldn’t come close.
“I hope I won’t regret this,” Sunny muttered, kneeling down beside the bowl and scooping up a bit of wet food on her left forefinger. Then she leaned toward him, extending the finger. Step by slow step he approached and delicately licked her finger clean.
“Now go eat the rest,” she told him gently, retreating to one of the kitchen chairs.
It was a slow process—Shadow spent more time glancing at her than he did concentrating on his food. But when he was finished, he got up and followed her out to the living room.
Mike was watching a mystery show, and Sunny settled on the floor, leaning back against a chair. They chatted for a little while, and Sunny asked if he would enlist Mrs. Martinson’s aid in getting the skinny on Alfred Scatterwell.