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He swore and tried to gather his wits. There was nothing wrong with going down the ladder and sending Jason or someone in the crowd up. Maybe there was a veterinarian on the premises who’d know what to do. So why could he not make his foot move down to the next rung?
He was frozen. Cassidy wasn’t sure how long he stood there, atop a ladder, his hand in a Christmas tree while thousands of people watched. But the next thing he knew, there was a soft voice below him saying, "Here," and handing him something.
It was River. Their blue eyes were locked on his and Cassidy opened his hand to find catnip and treats mingled on his palm.
Thank you didn’t make it past his lips; he couldn’t spare an iota of energy. As River made kissy noises and Pspsps sounds far superior to Cassidy’s—they were a professional cat wrangler, after all—Cassidy eased his hand back into the tree, palm up, hoping Priest would want what he was offering.
River touched his knee gently, but Cassidy knew if he looked down again it would all be over—he was at his body’s absolute limit. So he took deep breaths through his nose to stay in control..
"I don’t need you to move or answer me or anything if you can’t," River murmured. No one would be able to hear them over the din. "But you look really ill. And like you’re gonna fall off this ladder. And I want you to not fall. So if there’s anything I can do to help you not fall. I’d like to."
"Mmm," was all Cassidy could manage, but he thought River understood. There wasn’t anything they could do. He would try not to fall. There was nothing else for it.
"Okay," River said. "Well, I’m gonna stay here."
Another grunt of affirmation and Cassidy knew he had to take a minute to get his body under control, because now if he fell he’d hit River on the way down.
"God dammit, Priest," River muttered. "I told Rye we shouldn’t bring you."
Cassidy took deep breaths, and tried to name five things he could hear and smell. As he was noticing the smell of the plastic cording on the lights decorating the tree, a small, soft face butted into his hand, and the next thing he knew, a rough tongue swiped across his palm.
"Thank fuck," Cassidy breathed. River squeezed his knee.
"Do you want me to go get the cat carrier and bring it up?" River asked.
"Yeah," said Cassidy softly, not moving even an inch. Priest was now mouthing the treats, creeping closer to the ladder with each lick.
Relief swept through Cassidy, so cool and minty that for a moment Cassidy wondered if someone had opened a window in the ceiling and he was feeling fresh air gust through it.
"C’mere, baby," he encouraged the cat, and a cool nose pressed to his wrist.
Priest’s head popped through the greenery and the crowd below exhaled as one.
"A local man has patiently waited at the top of the ladder," the anchor said in the prosody of all news anchors everywhere, "and it’s just paid off. The Christmas cat has emerged."
Only the knowledge that it would make his head even worse kept Cassidy from rolling his eyes.
When he felt one little paw step on his palm, Cassidy knew he had to take this moment or miss it forever. If Priest stepped back off his hand and retreated into the center of the tree he might never find him again.
Just let go of the ladder and grab the damn cat! You won’t fall—you’re standing on solid wood.
He pried his sweating hand off the ladder and grabbed for the cat.
It didn’t run back into the depths of the tree, for which Cassidy was quite grateful.
It did, however, dart in the other direction, and attach itself to Cassidy’s chest, needle claws hooking in the thin cotton of his T-shirt.
The crowd gasped as one and Cassidy could almost write the lines for the newscaster: Local man, barnacled by Christmas kitten, falls to his death at a holiday craft festival. The irony? He’s a taxidermist, so maybe the cat thought turnabout was fair play.
Then the comparatively insignificant pain from Priest’s claws became more insistent, and Cassidy scanned the crowd for River, but they were nowhere in sight.
He couldn’t wait for them, so he did the only thing he could think of. He reached down and pulled the hem of his shirt up and over the cat, then stripped it off over his head, quickly burritoing Priest.
More gasps, followed by laughter, and Cassidy clutched the writhing bundle to his chest.
"Please don’t kill us," Cassidy asked Priest. "I can’t die this way. Nora would never let me live it down."
Cassidy took the first step down the ladder, and all of Craftmas erupted into applause. His heart was thumping so hard against his ribcage that Cassidy worried it would explode, but he forced himself to take step after step. When the toe of his boot hit linoleum instead of wood, the crowd whooped with collective glee and he turned to find the news camera in his face.
