CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Stop grilling O’Shea, Mom.”

Billboard stalked into his mother’s house, cradling a hot cup of coffee compliments of O’Shea, and caught the question his mother had just posed. He hoped his tenacious matriarch hadn’t bothered O’Shea for… How long had they been up? The empty plates of eggs indicated it had been a while.

His mother beamed. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, my sweet boy. We were just having a friendly conversation.”

“Why don’t—?”

He was cut off when a very large, bright orange cat leaped up to imbed its claws into the front of his shirt, hanging on like he was a tree. Billboard managed not to spill his coffee as he sucked in his endangered abs and blindly placed his mug on the counter beside him.

Once his hands were free, Billboard mock-growled, lifting the feline up with a hand under her butt to scruff her fur with the other before twirling her around above his head. Bringing her back down, he kissed her fluffy ear and scritched her under her chin.

The cat purred like his Bronco engine.

“You really do like cats,” O’Shea marveled, regarding him with wide eyes.

“I do,” he answered, “and…”

Squash wound around his legs begging for time equal to Pumpkin’s. He picked her up, too, and cradling both large, revving chunkers against his chest, he chuckled. “…and these two have been plaguing me like this for ten years. Seriously, though? I couldn’t ask for a more adoring pair of grumps. I take their over-the-top attention as a compliment. They’re not exactly nice to everybody.”

Celia snorted. “Now, George, you know they’re just particular about who they like. But I think O’Shea has a good shot at being considered a friend. They’ve already attempted to trip her.”

“Oh, I think you’re in, then,” Billboard teased O’Shea. “Trying to drop you on your ass is their way of showing affection.”

“Good to know.” O’Shea rolled her eyes. “I wonder what Zoe will come up with to make me feel so wanted?”

“You’ll have to wait and see. In my experience, cats are patient, but inevitably fiendish.”

His stomach chose that moment to growl, and he glanced over at the empty pan on the stove, hoping there were more eggs. He sighed, seeing it was empty.

“Would you like me to fix you some breakfast, George?” his mother asked, clearly picking up on his cues.

“Maybe Mom, but you haven’t answered my question yet.” He put the cats on the floor and crossed his tatted arms over his chest. “Tell me if you’ve been asking O’Shea nosy questions?”

“Down boy. Down.” O’Shea sent the admonishment to him, but it was full of good-natured snark. “Your mother has been nothing but charming. She fed me, we’ve talked about my hometown, our cats, and my aspirations of moving to Boston. Nothing uncomfortable happened, at all.”

Yup. That was his mother. Crafty. She’d start with the soft pitch stuff before letting go with a fastball up and inside. He gave his diabolical parent the stink-eye, but judiciously took a seat. “It’s a good thing I got here in time, then, before things got ugly. And yes, I’d love some breakfast, Mom,” he added sweetly.

She took no offense, and he’d meant none. They’d always loved a little morning, verbal swordplay to start the day.

“I’ll make it as quick as I can,” she responded. “I know you have to be in the office soon, unlike me. This is one of my late mornings in.”

His mother worked for a law firm, and three mornings a week they let her do her job as their law clerk, remotely. It was an arrangement she loved.

“No hurry,” Billboard assured her. “In light of the circumstances—meaning my two houseguests—I called Del and asked for the day off. Since I just finished up an assignment and haven’t taken any ‘me-time’ in six months, he agreed, and gave my early morning call to Perk.” Who would pout, but… oh well .

And rather cheekily at that. But Billboard didn’t apprise the ladies of that fact.

Del had made it abundantly clear that he was delighted Billboard would spend time with O’Shea. His boss and his team obviously hadn’t missed his interest where she was concerned, and Del had almost crowed, finding out O’Shea had picked up a cat and the pair were now staying with him.

“I also made a call to Tucker Devons,” he told them, tuning out the remainder of the razzing he’d received from Del that still rattled in his brain. “He’s Daire and Brent’s older brother.”

O’Shea nodded, her head tipped, encouraging him to continue.

“His dog, Jeb, sees a vet who Tuck raves about, so I asked if he could get us an emergency appointment. He was able to procure one for eleven o’clock today.”

“That’s great,” O’Shea gushed. “You’re really good at this whole cat thing. But…” She glanced at Celia, who was humming at the stove. “Doesn’t your mother have a vet for her babies?”

Celia indicated with her spatula that Billboard should answer.

“Those evil furballs?” Billboard scoffed. “Are you kidding? After almost taking off one local vet’s hand when the pair were no bigger than peanuts, Mom was at a loss after the man told her they’d have to be sedated in the future if she wanted to continue with them. She fussed over it for weeks, then finally contacted a friend of hers from college who she knew had become a vet. The woman lives in Vermont, but she said she’d have a look at them.

“For some reason, the dastardly duo liked her and accepted her attention. Now Mom bundles the pair up and drives them north for a weekend once a year, where her friend is able to give them a look-over as well as their mandatory shots. So, the answer to your question is no. There’s nobody local that mom uses.”

“In a nutshell,” Celia agreed, plating up his eggs before turning to butter his toast.

“I’m thrilled then, that you found a solution. I’d give you a big fat kiss if your mother wasn’t watching,” O’Shea teased.

“Don’t let me stop you,” his mom declared cheekily. “My cranky boy needs all the kisses he can get.”

“Mom…” Billboard warned. He hoped she wasn’t going to let fly the reasons she was aware of behind his perpetual irritability. He wasn’t ready to let O’Shea know about any of his sordid past, yet.

Unless his mother had already told O’Shea things…

“Mom, you didn’t—?"

“Phht,” Celia interrupted, swinging the butter knife around and pointing at him in the way that she’d been doing since he was small. “I haven’t, and will not , spill anybody’s beans. I’m not a foolish old woman. Not yet at least. As far as I’m concerned, the two of you will either be honest with each other and build something that lasts, or you’ll keep mum, and much to both of your detriment’s, burn out fast.” She waved her tool around again. “And that’s all I’m saying on the subject.”

Billboard looked at O’Shea, who seemed half amused, half appalled.

Yup. That was Celia Seingold. A real pistol.

****

After enjoying the meal, with his mother and O’Shea watching him eat, Billboard had helped clean up. Then he and his house guest had enjoyed quick but solo showers—his fault, he knew—before reconvening in his living room to head toward the local super-pet store for supplies.

And now…

Watching O’Shea was like seeing a kid in a candy store.

“How about one of these?” she asked giddily, picking up a backpack with a transparent plastic window that was designed to let a cat ride in style while surveying their surroundings.

Billboard was amused.

“Umm, I wouldn’t dare try that on either Pumpkin or Squash, but it’s your call. Maybe Zoe will be more amenable to it than they would.”

O’Shea screwed up her mouth. “Mmm. Maybe we won’t risk it. I think a regular cat carrier might be better. But one with lots of visibility.” She turned to briskly walk toward another aisle.

Billboard pushed the cart after her with a snort. The thing was already filled with a giant cat tower they’d have to build, two scratching posts, a case of the cat food his mother had recommended, and every fluffy, furry, or feathered toy that had struck O’Shea’s eye since they’d walked in.

He knew if they didn’t have an appointment in less than an hour, he’d be hard pressed to pull her out of the store, but he’d reminded her of it a few minutes earlier, and she’d promised that the carrier was the last item on her list.

Right.

Billboard was no fool. They’d be back here for a second haul before the week was out.

By the time Billboard reached O’Shea again, she’d found a blue, soft-sided container with a lot of open-lattice windows, zippers, and pockets that she deemed worthy, and plunked it on the top of the pile.

“All set?” Billboard asked.

“Yup,” she said gleefully. “Zoe is going to be so excited.”

“ After her vet appointment,” Billboard reminded O’Shea. “She’s not going to be happy with you until that bit of business is over.”

“You could be right,” O’Shea answered optimistically, “but I think she’s going to be a trooper.”

Twenty minutes later, after arguing over the store’s bill—they’d eventually split it—they’d driven home, and Billboard was marveling that O’Shea had picked the right carrier.

Zoe had welcomed them home with headbutts and a strong odor of just having used her box. Billboard hoped the latter was a problem that could be solved, but that caveat aside, Zoe, indeed, went easily into her new transportation without any fussing. She settled into it with loud purrs, nestling on the soft blanket O’Shea had added.

“I think she likes it,” O’Shea pointed out unnecessarily as she zipped the enclosure up.

Billboard held out, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Uh, let’s see how she does at the vet.” He started to pick up the container, but… “Wait.” He just remembered something. “Tuck said the vet wants a stool sample.”

Holding their noses after Billboard procured a plastic bag, they managed to pack up some poop without gagging too much.

When they arrived at the address Tuck had given him, Billboard was happy to see that the place wasn’t one of the big-box vets that had become so prevalent these days. Doctor Shellie, as Tuck called her, worked out of a small barn-like building that sat behind her neat, cape-cod style house.

The doctor herself met them at the door.

“Hi, I’m Shellie. It’s nice to meet you. Tucker said you picked up a stray last night?”

O’Shea introduced herself, then Billboard before answering. “I found her in an alley, and…she’s a little rough.”

“Let me have a look.” She took the carrier from Billboard and set it on a stainless-steel table, opening one end to let the cat out. “Come on sweetie. I’m going to check you over.”

Zoe poked her head out curiously, then rubbed on the vet’s gloved hand.

“Oh. This one is a lover,” Doc Shellie grinned. She immediately and gently pulled her out all the way, and placed her stethoscope on the cat’s ribs. She moved it and listened, moved it and listened…

“Everything sounds good, so far.” She checked Zoe’s teeth. “I’d say by the look of her chompers that she’s pretty young. Maybe two or three years old.”

The doc then looked into Zoe’s face with her pen-light and frowned. “Her eyes and nose are a little runny. You brought a stool sample?”

“Yup.” O’Shea dug in an outside pocket of the carrier and came up with it. “Her poop smells,” O’Shea told her, holding out the bag they’d filled. “As soon as she uses her box, I run to clean it out. I didn’t know a little hiney could produce something that stinks so badly.”

“Hmm. That sounds suspicious,” the doctor returned. “It’s not unusual for a stray to pick up a parasitic infection. I’ll check the sample for several different pathogens.” She took the bag, depositing it on a shelf, then deftly stuck a thermometer up an uncomplaining Zoe’s ass. She smiled again when she pulled it out. “Temp is perfect.”

She patted the cat enthusiastically, stood back and took a long, assessing look. “She definitely needs some grooming, and you’re lucky. Since she’s got a sweet disposition, she won’t have to be sedated, which is good.”

Billboard knew all about that shit-show, from Pumpkin and Squash.

“But have you considered that her curly hair is natural, and not an anomaly from being outside and ungroomed?”

“What do you mean?” O’Shea asked.

“Well, it’s just my opinion, but I think she’s a Selkirk Rex. It’s a breed that originated in Montana, and your baby, if I’m not mistaken is a medium-haired version. Which leads me to add that Selkirks are expensive and pretty rare. Which means someone could be missing her. I think we should see if she’s chipped.”

Billboard saw O’Shea’s face fall.

“You think she…escaped from somebody’s house and they’ll want her back?” O’Shea moaned.

O’Shea had clearly already fallen in love with Zoe, and the thought of having the affectionate cat taken away was making her bottom lip tremble. Billboard stepped in, and spoke softly.

“It’s the right thing to do, O’Shea. She’s clearly a very friendly, lovable cat, and her owners are probably missing her terribly.”

“I know. It’s just…” O’Shea gave a wry laugh. “I thought it was kind of a sign, you know? I find a cat in Boston, and it’s meant to be that she and I find a home here, together.”

“I’ll get you a cat if Zoe belongs to someone,” Billboard said gruffly, “but don’t lose hope, yet. She might not be chipped.”

The vet was already coming over with a small device, which she expertly pointed at the cat’s neck. Billboard held his breath, and when nothing happened—no beeps, no numbers appearing on the screen—his hands unclenched just a bit.

“Does that mean she’s—?”

“Not yet,” the doctor warned. “I haven’t finished. I’m going to pinch the skin together a little…” Shellie gave them an apologetic look as her device beeped. “And there it is.”

Billboard watched O’Shea swallow.

The cat, at least, was having a lot of fun, thinking she was getting rubbed, and she squirmed happily.

“I’m sorry,” the vet added, giving Zoe one last pat as she clearly reading the room. “I’ll just go check the national database for this.”

Shellie went into the other room, and Billboard studied O’Shea.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

O’Shea looked a little weepy, but no tears were falling, and she straightened her shoulders while patting Zoe. “Yes. Because you’re right. Someone, somewhere, loves her, and they have a lot more claim than me since she’s two or three years old. I know if she was mine, I’d want her back.”

Billboard went to O’Shea and put his arms around her. She instantly leaned into him and sighed. “I’ll be okay. You said it. I can always find a new cat in need.”

Billboard knew at that moment he would move heaven and earth to find O’Shea another Selkirk Rex.

When the vet came back, she was holding a piece of paper. On it were two phone numbers. “You want me to call, or will you?” she asked.

O’Shea looked resigned. “You call, please,” she answered.

Doctor Shellie picked up her phone and dialed.

A puzzled look came over her face. “Huh. The first number has been discontinued. Let me try the other.” She dialed again, and within seconds, her call was picked up.

“Hello. This is Doctor Shellie Bandear, a veterinarian in Boston. We’ve just had a cat brought in. A gray, Selkirk Rex who is chipped with your number.” She listened for about a minute before responding. “I see,” she nodded. “Wait. Can I put you on speaker? The people who rescued your cat are here and I think they’ll want to hear this.”

She obviously got approval because she hit the button and a lady began talking. “Hi. I’m so glad you found Zoya. Thank you for taking her in.”

Billboard was floored that O’Shea had given the cat a name so close to her original one.

“No problem. She’s a sweetheart,” O’Shea managed, her hand never leaving Zoe, uh, Zoya’s belly. The cat was currently snoozing on the table.

“She is. She belonged to my grandmother, who passed away two months ago.” She named a town that was easily fifteen miles north of the city. “When we went to the house and found Gram, Zoya was right with her. She didn’t want to leave, but in the confusion of the police and the coroner coming, Zoya ran and hid. We eventually found her under a bed, and carried her to our car. Then… I’m not quite sure how it happened because Zoya has always been a calm cat, but she struggled in my arms and got away. We looked for her for hours, but she had completely disappeared.”

“Well, there’s good news. She’s in surprisingly decent shape, despite her being gone for months,” O’Shea told the woman chokingly. “I guess once she’s given a complete exam and clean bill of health, we can meet you and turn her over.”

“Umm…” There was hesitation on the other end.

“Is there a problem?” Billboard asked.

“Yeah. We…” The woman sucked in a breath. “I know this sounds mean, but we were going to find her a new home. My husband and I just had a baby, and we live in an apartment that doesn’t allow pets. So…”

“Yes,” O’Shea instantly cried out, cutting off the question that hadn’t yet been asked. “Of course I’ll take her.”