At this, clearly feeling he’d said what he had to say without inclination to elaborate, he closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into Odelia’s armpit, purring up a storm.
To my not inconsiderate consternation, Odelia actually started stroking his fur!
Diego opened one eye as if to say, ‘See? My extra-special snuggles hit the spot.’
I would have hit a spot on his head had I been less of a gentlecat. Instead, I gave Odelia a soft nudge, then, when she still refused to wake up, resorted to my trademark kneading technique: placing both front paws on her stomach and pretending it was a piece of dough that needed to be persuaded into perfect consistency and shape. And when that still didn’t give me the result I was looking for, I added some claw for that extra oomph you want.
Odelia opened first one seaweed-green eye and then the other, and finally a smile spread across her features. “Max. Diego. So nice to see you guys getting along so well.”
I would have lodged a formal protest had she not invited me into the crook of her right arm, even while Diego occupied the crook of her left, and soon I was purring away.
Diego might have tried to take my place in Odelia’s heart, just like he’d taken my place in her home and my litter box, but it was obvious that my human still cared about me, and soon my frigid bones were warmed up again, and so was my wounded heart.
Chapter 2
Having woken up with not one but two cats in her arms, Odelia Poole started the new day with a smile and the distinct impression she was truly blessed.
She’d been slightly anxious when Diego entered their lives again—it’s always a tough proposition for a cat to accept the introduction of a second cat into his home—but she now felt that Max was adjusting wonderfully. Soon he and Diego would be best buddies, exchanging high-fives and chasing mice together—or whatever it was that buddy cats did.
She displaced both felines, drawing a disappointed mewling sound from Max, and slid from between the covers. She placed both feet into her bunny slippers and shuffled over to the window and threw the curtains wide, allowing the sun to stream into the bedroom.
Gazing out across her modest domain—the small patch of backyard that she called her own—she reveled for a moment in the pleasant sound of birdsong and saw that a tiny sparrow was sitting in the top of a beech tree and was singing at the top of its tiny lungs.
“A private serenade,” she murmured, enchanted. “Much obliged, good sir or lady.”
She rubbed her eyes, then stretched and yawned cavernously. Shuffling out of her room, only half awake, she picked her way along the stairs. Before she’d imbibed a decent amount of caffeine, she usually felt as if she’d much rather still be in bed, even though her mind had decided she should kickstart her day. As the intrepid—and only—reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette she had things to do, people to meet and articles to write.
She started the coffeemaker and rummaged around in the fridge and kitchen cupboards for something edible when she became aware of a marked chill in the air.
Searching around for the source of the cold front that had rolled in, she saw that the kitchen door was ajar. She urgently needed to install a pet door, so Max and Diego wouldn’t keep pushing open the door in the middle of the night. There had been a spate of break-ins lately, and holding an open house day in and day out perhaps wasn’t such a good idea.
Not that she had a lot of valuables to steal—or other stuff sneak thieves would be remotely interested in. One simply cannot amass a wealth of material possessions on a reporter’s salary. But still. No sense in giving them easy access to her home and hearth.
She made a mental note to talk to her dad. Then, discovering she was out of cereal, milk and yogurt, decided not to postpone the urgent missive but deliver it in person.
So she slipped her feet into the galoshes she kept by the kitchen door, cinched her pink terry cloth robe tighter around her slight frame, and stepped out into the backyard.
Since her parents lived next door, and a convenient opening in the hedge that divided the respective backyards provided easy access, she arrived at her final destination in seven seconds flat, without breaking a sweat, cup of coffee in hand, taking occasional sips.
The hits of caffeine drove the sleep from her body, and by the time she was opening her parents’ screen door and stepping into their kitchen, she was more or less human again.
“Hey, sweetie,” said her mother, who was pouring herself a cup of coffee. “You’re early.”
“Ran out of breakfast essentials,” she intimated, and started foraging the fridge. Juice, milk, yogurt… Check, check and check. She took a bowl from the cupboard over the sink, dragged down the oversized box of Corn Flakes, and started her own breakfast prep.
Her mother, who was the spitting image of Odelia, albeit with a touch of gray streaking her own blond hair, called out, “Tex, honey! Breakfast is ready!”
Taking a seat at the kitchen counter, Odelia quickly dug in, alternating between scooping up her cereal, now soaked in milk and drowned in fruit yogurt with half a banana, and sipping from her coffee, to which her mother now added creamer and a spoon of sugar.
“How are things going at the paper?” asked her mom, taking a seat at the counter.
“Great. I still have that article to finish about the new school play and the upcoming senior citizen dance—and I’m still hoping to get lucky and land that exclusive one-on-one with the one and only Charlie Dieber!”
“Ooh. Aren’t you the lucky one?”
“Yeah. So far Dan struck out with Charlie’s management, but I’m hoping they change their minds. Keeping my fingers crossed!”
Mom crossed her fingers and so did Odelia. They were both equally big Dieber fans.
Odelia’s father, who’d entered the kitchen, asked, “Dieber. Isn’t he that actor—”
“Singer, Dad.”
“Right. I knew that.”
Tex Poole was a large man, with a shock of white hair and an engaging smile. He was digging around the cupboards, opening door after door, until Mom said, “Food’s on the table, hon.”
He glanced down at the bowl of oatmeal porridge Mom had placed on the counter and grimaced. “It’s at times like these that I sincerely regret attending medical school. Why couldn’t I have become a plumber, and be blissfully unaware of the importance of diet?”
Mom waved a hand. “Even plumbers have to watch their cholesterol levels. No more saturated fats for you. Those levels need to come down and they need to come down before you go and have a stroke or some other horrible incident I don’t even want to think about.”
“Yeah, Dad,” said Odelia. “Even plumbers need to look after their pipes.”
“Ha ha. I never knew I raised a comedian for a daughter.” He plunked down, staring at the distasteful-looking sludge, spoon raised but not making any indication to start eating it.
“Here, have some of my yogurt,” Odelia said, feeling sorry for her dad, who’d been forced to put himself on a diet after discovering his cholesterol levels were off the charts.
He gratefully added some yogurt to his porridge, took a deep breath and dug in. “I know this stuff is healthy—but why does it have to taste so bad?”
“You’ll get used to it,” Mom said.
“Oh, Dad, if you have time, could you install a pet door over at my place?”
“I’ll do it today,” said her father, visibly quivering when the first spoon of oatmeal hit his esophagus and the gloop proceeded to slide down his gullet and into his stomach.
“Wasn’t it today that Charlie Dieber was on Morning Sunshine?” asked Mom.
“Oh! Right! Better turn on the TV,” she instructed her mother.
Mom obligingly switched on the TV set, but the story featured on the televised radio show was an item about freshly hatched chicks, and Odelia quickly lost interest.