Excerpt: A Cat For Troy

Douglas stepped down from the truck, hauling several plastic grocery bags behind him. Coming up to the porch, he juggled the bags to open the door, all the while fending off Cherie’s ecstatic advances.
“Down, girl! Let me in the door.”
Pushing the door open with his elbow and stepping across the threshold, he nearly tripped as Cherie dashed in ahead of him. His gaze sweeping the living room for his other tenant, he encountered an inimical stare from Cat, curled in her spot on the sofa. She looked a bit ruffled and he stopped mid-step, doing a double take. Was that cat glaring at him? Yep. That was definitely a glare, he thought. He watched in bemusement as Cat turned her head away, resting her chin on her paws and closing her eyes. He had definitely just been chastised!
“I must have disturbed your nap,” he said to the back of her head. “Sorry, princess!”
You have no idea, Cat thought sulkily. Hearing his tires crunch on the gravel drive hours before he was expected, Cat had come off the bed in a lunge, rushing into the bathroom to pick up the damp towel from the floor where she’d dropped it, then flying to the closet to pull his shirt hastily over her head, pulling down the rolled up sleeves and giving it a good shake before restoring it to its hangar. His footsteps were on the front walk as she shifted to her cat form. She hated being rushed!
“See what I have here,” Troy rattled the plastic bags he carried enticingly. “Spaghetti!”
Not by a twitch of her ear did she signal that she understood, but inside the cat body, she came to alert. Spaghetti? Hmmmm... well maybe. She rose from the sofa with a slow, sinuous stretch, and leaped gracefully onto the floor, then trotted into the kitchen. He watched her progress as she came across the floor.
“You’re feeling better today, aren’t you, pretty kitty?” He leaned down to stroke and pat, the big hands gently exploring the wounded shoulder and legs. She purred, leaning into his touch. He straightened, and after washing his hands (Cat approved... he’d given Cherie a couple of pats), Troy began unloading the grocery bags. Leaping onto the table, Cat sat with her front paws neatly placed together, curling her tail about them to swish gently to and fro as she watched alertly. Boxes of pasta appeared, onions and fresh spices, and a mound of ripe Roma tomatoes. Her whiskers twitched as he unearthed a clove of fresh garlic. Maybe the man did know how to cook after all! This just got better and better.
She approved even more as she watched him saute onions and the garlic in olive oil. The scent of browning garlic wafted through the house, making her salivate. This was going to be good! She looked down at the collie, sitting on the floor at her master’s side, with a smirk. Cherie would be having dog food, but tonight Cat would be having spaghetti... and she didn’t care what she had to do to get it!
After frying ground beef and cutting up what seemed like endless quantities of tomatoes, the sauce appeared to be done to his satisfaction. Adding a handful of various spices, he gave a final stir, placed a lid on the pot, and turned the heat down to low. He turned, surveying his four-footed housemates.
“Okay, gang, time for a shower.”
Cherie’s plumy tail leading the way, he headed up the narrow staircase. Stepping into the bathroom, he halted, puzzled. There was a faint feel of warmth and humidity to the air, as if someone had recently showered. His gaze fell on the towel rack. He took one step forward, lifting the towel from the rack with two fingers as if it were a foreign object. Folded? He cast his mind back to that morning, when he’d taken his usual rushed shower before heading off to the clinic. He stared at the towel in his hands, trying to remember the action of actually folding the towel, but try as he might, he remembered nothing but stuffing the towel onto the towel bar as was his usual custom. Folded?
Shrugging, he set the towel back in its place, casting a last puzzled glance at it. Going down the hall to his bedroom, it seemed to him that the bed was a bit mussed. While he might not fold his towel during his mad morning rush, he did always make his bed neatly every morning. The sudden, whimsical thought crossed his mind that he’d strayed into a fairytale: “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed.” He chuckled. Padding along behind Cherie, Cat passed by Troy, stropping sinuously against his leg as she went, and jumped gracefully onto the bed. She cast herself full-length on the coverlet and began purring and kneading, her eyes at half mast in feline bliss. Troy laughed. Mystery solved. He went forward to stroke her head, and the purr increased in volume.