Jack Macdonald couldn’t feel his feet anymore. He had been outside in a snowstorm looking for the stupid cat for nearly two hours. To make it worse, he didn’t even like the cat. It belonged to his wife, Denise.
She had come home with the animal nearly two years ago after Buck, Jack’s Labrador retriever, had died.
“This will cheer you up,” she’d said, holding the ball of fuzz out to him. Two years later, Jack was still amazed that anyone could possibly think a cat—a cat!—could hold a candle to a dog, especially a Lab, as a companion.
“Here, Tigger,” he called, half-heartedly.
He didn’t expect the cat to come bounding through the snowstorm at the sound of its name. For one thing, the stupid cat didn’t know its name, at least as far as Jack could tell. For another thing, the cat didn’t like Jack any more than Jack liked the cat. Jack knew that for certain. It had a way of sneering at Jack when it saw him. He told Denise that was why he couldn’t warm up to the cat. She told him he was being ridiculous.
Jack felt a stinging sensation on his face. Great. The snow that had been falling heavily for over an hour had turned to sleet.
“Welcome to Nova friggin’ Scotia,” Jack grumbled.
He would go to the end of this side road. If he didn’t see any sign of the cat, he was turning around and walking back down the highway to home. He had already walked up and down several other side roads. The cat was probably in somebody’s garage or shed, anyway. The creature was stupid, but not too stupid to come in out of the rain, especially freezing rain.
By the time Jack had trudged to the end of the road, it was getting a bit icy underfoot. It would be dark soon, too. That would make it even harder to see a grey cat.
“All cats are grey in the dark,” Jack said aloud, and grinned briefly at his small joke. Then he shivered, realizing that his hands, even in his heavy work gloves, were getting cold, too.
The sleet changed to a cold rain.
“C’mon, Tigger,” Jack called.
Walking back along the highway, through snow now sodden with rain, Jack contemplated the unhappy reception he’d get from Denise when he got home. She was convinced he had let the cat out when he got home from fixing his mother’s kitchen sink that afternoon. He was equally sure he hadn’t. True, he had let the cat out by accident a couple of times in the past, and he was the first one to admit it. But he had developed a way of going in and out of the house that was practically foolproof…or cat-proof. Besides, the animal hadn’t tried to get outside for months now.
Coming around a bend in the road, Jack saw his house. Lights were blazing on the front porch and at the side door. Jack groaned. Did that mean the stupid cat still hadn’t come home?
He walked up the driveway to the side door so he could take his wet things off in the laundry room. Denise would probably want him to go right back outside, and Jack was more than ready to argue the point. It was too dark and too wet. He’d go out first thing in the morning, but there was no point going back out now.
“I’d probably get hit on the highway, too,” he grumbled.
Something odd registered in the back of his mind. He stopped and took a step toward the detached garage at the back of their property. The motion sensor light came on, and he could see what he had suspected: The double garage door was open. His truck was there, but Denise’s car was gone.
Was she driving around in the dark looking for the cat?
Jack was puzzled. He was also irritated. Denise had insisted he go look for the animal on foot, saying he’d never spot it if he was in the truck. And now she was out driving around looking.
And if Denise was out driving around, it definitely meant the stupid cat hadn’t come home.
Jack opened the door into the house, and the welcome warmth rushed to meet him. He started pulling off his wet coat, gloves, and hat. Then he eased his cold feet out of his boots. He peeled off his socks and, grabbing a pair of thick socks off the top of the dryer, he pulled them on.
Padding into the kitchen, Jack looked for a note. Even if Denise was only running next door for a coffee with the neighbour, she always left a note.
There was no note.
Just then, Jack heard the side door open. He turned and saw his wife.
“Jack! You’re okay!” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, confused. “Listen, honey, I’m sorry. I went up every road between here and the school. I couldn’t find the…Tigger. I’ll go back out as soon as it gets light tomorrow.”
Denise was holding her hand up like a traffic cop.
“No, you don’t understand…” she started to say.
Jack’s feet were still cold. If he was going to have to argue with Denise about the stupid cat, he was going to get his slippers, which would be beside the wood stove in the family room, where he always left them to get nice and warm.
“Listen, Jack—”
“Just a second,” he said, and walked through the kitchen and into the family room.
On the deep windowsill beside the wood stove, the cat was curled up, fast asleep in its basket.
“What the…?” Jack stared. Denise came into the room.
“I was trying to tell you,” she said, her tone a little defensive. “He’s been here all along. I found him at the back of my sewing room closet. I guess I left the door open again. You know how he likes to curl up in there.”
Jack closed his eyes. When he opened them, Denise was looking at him apologetically.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “I was out there for hours!”
“I tried calling you a whole bunch of times. But it always went right to voicemail. I knew you must have had your phone turned off, like always, so I went out to look for you.”
Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket and looked at it. It was turned off.
He walked over to his easy chair and sat down with a sigh, holding his feet toward the heat from the wood stove.
“I’m really, really sorry,” Denise said, walking over and putting her hand on his shoulder. “You must be frozen.”
“Well, yah,” Jack said, wiggling his toes in his socks. “But mostly I’m hungry.”
“I’ve got chilli in the slow cooker, and I’ll throw some garlic bread in the oven—won’t take long,” she said. “Want to eat in here? Watch TV?”
“That’d be nice,” he said, reaching for the TV remote.
The cat raised its head, yawned, and looked at Jack. Then it closed its eyes slowly and opened them again.
“See that?” said Denise excitedly. “I read where that means your cat is telling you he’s content. Tigger is telling you he’s happy, honey!”
Jack looked at the cat, and thought about the last two-plus hours of slogging along winter roads looking for a stupid cat that was here, snoozing by the wood stove, the whole time
“I’m sure he is,” said Jack.
