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13
LENORE
Unlike last night, the first thing I do when I get home is take my charging cord and phone out of my purse and go upstairs. I keep it plugged in near the bed where I can hear it easily in the mornings since it’s the only alarm I have.
I move around the house, opening windows to let in whatever breeze is available. Since I’m not home much during the day, I usually don’t keep the air conditioner running; no sense in wasting the energy.
Once the breeze starts to push the fetid air from the house, I try to decide what to eat for dinner. My brain refuses to cooperate enough to make something big, and I don’t want to turn on the stove and add more heat to the house. A cold sandwich and some chips sound doable.
Wanting to do something relaxing, I put all my food on a plate, grab a glass of ice water, and go outside to eat at the picnic table under the big oak tree in the back. Eating slowly, I try to focus on the taste of the food and the smell of the fresh air and the woods. Focusing on my senses, really experiencing the world around me, helps clear the lingering effects of my panic attacks. I sigh in relief.
Not wanting to go back inside for the night yet, I set off on one of the walking paths through the woods, choosing a shorter route that won’t take long to circle back to the house. There’s a little storage box near the trailhead where the owners usually keep sunscreen and bug spray stocked for guests, so I grab both and quickly apply them. The mosquitos and flies are vicious this time of year.
In the trees, the air is chillier without the sun to warm it. I walk quickly to keep myself from shivering, but when I get back to the house, the darkness of early night has settled in.
As I break through the tree line, movement near the picnic table makes me freeze. I know I told Matt the biggest wildlife I’ve seen was a rabbit, but I still didn’t want to take any chances with the occasional bear or wolf that gets spotted in the area. Something might have smelled the food I left outside and came to investigate.
I glance around, looking for a stick or bigger rock I might be able to use in defense or as a distraction so I can get back to the house. Finding only a spindly twig, I pick it up and slowly walk forward. All the hairs on my arms stand up, and I feel like a million eyes are on me.
“Hello?” I’m not sure why talking seems appropriate, but I'm done if the creature talks back. I spot something small and dark on the ground, huddled under the picnic table and making a ridiculous amount of noise for such a small creature.
When I get closer, I see my plate isn’t on the table, but the water glass is still there. I stop a few feet away and lean down to see if I can spot the creature. When I do, I’m greeted by a rumbling, raspy growl. Taking a step back, I whisper, “It’s alright. I’m just going to go back inside.”
I watch to see if it will come out after me, but nothing happens. With my retreat, the growl turns into a broken-sounding purr. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, so I lean down again and peer under the table again.
It looks like a very small cat. It knocked my plate off and is eating the scraps of food left, purring while it chews and growling when I get too close.
I get an idea and move closer to the screen door, trying not to startle it. Slowly, I make progress, and the little cat doesn’t run away. I open the door and quickly grab the package of lunch meat I used to make my sandwich.
I approach carefully again, retracing my steps from earlier to keep it in sight, and open the lunch meat container. It must smell the food because it takes a tentative step out from under the table. I rip off a chunk of meat and toss it, hoping the movement doesn't frighten it away.
It lunges forward, farther away from the table, and gobbles up the food. Whatever it is, it’s clearly hungry.
“Well, hi there, honey.” I step back and toss more chicken into the open area between us, hoping it’ll follow the food.
The cat watches me warily but doesn’t run off. “You still hungry?”
No response.
“You can eat the rest.” I toss more down. It inches forward but keeps a wary eye on me.
“Are you a nice kitty?” I keep backing up and tossing meat, getting it closer and closer to the house. I don’t know what possesses me, but I want to see if it will come inside.
“Little buddy. You can come in if you want to.” I try to sound reassuring. “I’ve got more food.”
I toe the screen door open as wide as possible and step inside. Tossing smaller chunks closer together, I make a trail into the open area next to the kitchen counter. I walk back as far as the upstairs stairway and sink onto the bottom step.
The cat tentatively follows the line of food into the house. It eyes me warily as it steps inside but never stops eating or purring. It’s definitely scared and hungry, and I should probably try to get it out to the garage where it’ll make less of a mess, but my heart turns over at the thought.
“You’re just starving, aren’t you?” I whisper, tossing it the rest of the container.
It has clear, blue-green eyes, but its coat could be any color. There’s so much dirt on it that I wouldn't be able to tell if it was brown or gray or black.
I wince, looking at the previously clean floors now speckled with little paw prints. This will definitely get me kicked out, unless I can give it a bath, but I think we’ll need to work up to that. Until then, I’ll just have to clean fastidiously and try to keep it off the pure white couch. If I ruin all the furniture, the Standfords will have to replace everything next year before they start renting it out again.
You were worried about a poor defenseless cat. Nothing to be ashamed of.
A voice whispers through my mind, and I jolt, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head. That’s new. For once, my brain isn’t whispering doomsday situations into my ear.
