The Cat That God Sent Page 11

  Too confusing by half.

  And since he was told that he had to go to Doug’s, it made him even less happy. The Doug inside, Doug Olmer, who always seemed to be there, would talk his ear off. And Jimbo had heard most of the stories before.

  But Betty said they needed milk—the BigValu brand, 2% type, a gallon—which she wrote down on the back of a used envelope from the bank, and cookies. She said that Jimbo could pick out the kind he wanted since she didn’t eat cookies and he needed them for his lunch. Now that he was working, he went through a lot of cookies.

  Doug Olmer was there in the front, leaning on a broom, when Jimbo wheeled his grocery cart inside. He thought about just carrying the groceries in his arms, but he had tried that once. It hadn’t gone well at all. He’d dropped a dozen eggs on the floor, and while they didn’t make him pay for them, he felt embarrassed for a long time afterward. So he had to use the cart.

  Doug waved to him as he entered.

  “Hey, Jimbo, the Missus send you shopping tonight?”

  Jimbo tried to smile in return. “Just a couple of things. Now that I’m working again, I need to be packing lunches.”

  “Well, we have a sale on ham salad this week. Make it right here in the store. You should try a sample. On the house, of course.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Jimbo couldn’t remember if he liked their ham salad or not. He would have to try a sample to make sure.

  “I hear your new pastor is doing well. You know he shops here, too.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “He does. He came in the second day he was in town. Nice fellow, it seems. Personable. Very pleasant young man. He preach good?”

  Jimbo wasn’t a good one to evaluate preachers. He would never admit it to anyone, but he did not pay much attention to the sermons. If they told a joke or said something about themselves, that he would listen to. But once they started with the “thees” and “thous” and “shalts,” well, Jimbo started to count the number of windowpanes in the sanctuary.

  “He does preach good, Doug. I think so. He can be funny. I like that. He tells a good story. Keeps your attention, you know.”

  Doug had a faraway look in his eyes. “I wish our guy would tell a joke now and then. Liven things up.”

  Jimbo stopped walking. “Maybe you should come and hear him sometime.”

  Doug looked around, as if their conversation might be overheard. “His cat came to church, right? The one he drives around in his truck.”

  “I guess. Seems to like to listen to him preach.”

  Doug walked the few steps closer to Jimbo.

  “Maybe I will. Visit your church. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? Maybe I’ll slip in and check it out. Like going to another grocery store to check out their specials.”

  “You do that? Really?”

  “Sure. Every grocer does it. How else do you stay up-to-date?”

  Jimbo didn’t know an answer to that, and wheeled his cart away, heading straight for the deli counter and a sample of the ham salad. All of a sudden, he was hungry for a ham salad and American cheese sandwich on white bread with extra mayonnaise.

  6

  The second Wednesday of every month marked the official elders’ meeting at the Church of the Open Door. The church had functioned under three different names since its founding in 1932, starting off as a member of a small group of Anabaptist churches, then as a member of a small group of German Reformed churches, and for the last two-plus decades, as an independent church with no affiliation to any specific denomination.

  The church printed and professed a Statement of Faith, but the document was generic enough and broad enough that virtually anyone who called themselves Christian might be comfortable with it.

  And Jake knew, from his time in the church in Butler, it was not the big theological statements that usually divided churches—it was the infighting about who was in control of selecting the carpet color and allowing, or not allowing, “rock-and-roll” music in church. Those were the real divisive dilemmas facing an independent church these days.

  After the first seven minutes of his first-ever elders’ meeting at this church, his new church, Jake realized there was a three-way power sharing, of sorts, in the church. There were three long-time church families, dating back to when the cornerstone was laid, and those families represented the majority of the church members who had at least some tangential longstanding familial relationship to one of the elders.

  Jake also determined that, at least for now, there did not seem to be any simmering, mine-laden issues that would blow up and lead to fistfights at the elders’ meetings. Whenever Jake read through magazines aimed at pastors, he was amazed to read of the battles in some churches—much like one is startled to see a car accident on the side of the road. Or a hot air balloon flying overhead. Or both. At the same time.

  Jake also learned, at the very outset, this specific elders’ meeting would not go late.

  As Wilbur Brookings, head of the elder board, gaveled the meeting to order, using a metal travel-size coffee cup, he announced, “We’re going to keep this short, right? Bass and trout season starts tomorrow, and I plan on getting to my spot by sunrise. Okay? Any questions about that? And no, I am not telling any of you where my secret fishing spot is. So don’t ask.”

  Jake watched a lot of nodding and murmuring, but no one dissented, or pressed for directions.

  “We have any old business?”

  The rest of the elders looked back and forth at each other, as if they were expecting someone to speak up. No one did.

  “Okay. Any new business? Jimbo, what about a treasurer’s report?”

  Jimbo squirmed a little.

  “There’s no report, Wil,” Jimbo replied. “I left the bank stuff at home. But the last time I looked—’bout a week ago—we had nearly three thousand dollars in the bank. And the fund to fix the roof and steeple had a couple of thousand in it. Bills been paid for the month. I got the new pastor on that automatic deposit thing from First National. Don’t have to make out a check or anything. Everything is okay, I guess.”

  “Good. Any questions?”

  There were no questions.

  “Hey, Pastor Jake, did you meet with the Sunday school people? They’ve been talking about doing some sort of summer thing out here for the kids. Been talking about it for a couple of years.”

  Pastor Jake cleared his throat. “We’re supposed to meet tomorrow evening. I think a VBS would be something we should try. It appears that there are enough kids that age in the church.”

  “You take notes and let us know. We’re bound to hear about it. But take notes anyhow. Okay?”

  Jake nodded and scribbled a line in his notebook.

  “You get the list of sick people?”

  “I did,” Jake said. “Nobody in the hospital, but I’ll call those on the list—ask if they want a visit.”

  “Good. I hate visiting sick people,” Wilbur announced. “They give me the willies. Coughing and shivering and all that. Old people with skin like paper. Tissues all over the floor. Yuck. You don’t mind going, do you, Pastor?”

  “No. I enjoy visiting. Honestly. It will give me a chance to connect with people.”

  “Good.”

  It was obvious to Jake that everyone around the table agreed with Wilbur on this one—that none of them liked being around sick people.

  “You gonna let that cat come to church next Sunday?”

  Jake had been ready for the question. “No. I’ll make sure the door is locked. I don’t know why I didn’t do it last week.”

  “Pastor, the cat being here was okay. I heard a lot of people in town yakking about that cat during the week. I would bet, if I were a betting man, and I’m not, ’cept if the lottery gets more than $100 million, but I would bet that we get some visitors next week. I heard one lady say . . . well, it was my cousin, Irene . . . but still, Irene said that if our church was open to having a cat on the platform, it just may be worth her maki
ng a visit. And this from a woman who hasn’t been inside a church since her dad passed, and that was nearly forty years ago. Some pastor said something about how her dad drank too much and she never let it go. So . . . if the cat shows up, let it show up. It would tickle her pink if she saw that. She just might come to see if it happens.”

  Jake took a quick glance around the table. The pro-cat sentiment looked like it was shared by three-quarters of the group. The other one-quarter looked pained, as if they were getting just about fed up with these one-man pronouncements by the head elder, and when they got elected, things would change, by George.

  But in the meantime, no one said anything to the negative.

  “Well, I won’t chain the cat up, but I will lock the door this week.”

  “Okay by me, Pastor. And by the way, we all liked your sermon. Nice to know about you. You say your mom is a single mom. She still around here?”

  “She lives in Meadville now, with her sister.”

  “Well, if she ever visits, you let us know. We’ll plan a meal or something. A barbeque, maybe. She’ll visit, won’t she? She can travel and all that, can’t she?”

  “She can. And I’ll let you know. She said she would wait a month or so ’til I get settled in.”

  “Good. I’ll have a freezer full of trout by then. She like grilled trout?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I do, though.”

  Jake wasn’t sure if he’d ever eaten grilled trout before, but he was certain he had trout in a restaurant once, and he must have liked it, so grilled would be acceptable. “Well, we’ll see what the weather is like when she comes. I really like grilled trout.”

  Wilbur sat there, his face showing that he was imagining a plate full of fresh trout, and maybe roasted corn on the cob dipped in butter.

  He shook his head.

  “Anything else? Anybody got anything else to talk about?”

  No one spoke.

  “Okay, then. Pastor, you pray and we’re done. You’re not one of those twenty-minute pray-ers, are you? Two pastors ago—that Green fellow—remember him? He prayed once for forty-five minutes straight.”

  There were smiles and murmurs of agreement.

  “No. I’ll be brief.”

  “Good man, Pastor Jake. Good man.”

  Later that night, Petey lay down on the center of the bed, in his spot, with a sigh, as if he, too, were glad the evening was over. Jake reached and patted his head a few times.

  “Petey, it is nice to have you here. Really nice. I never knew what having a pet was like.”

  Petey bristled, just a little, at the mention of the word pet, but settled back down again.

  “So thanks for showing up,” Jake said. “I appreciate it.”

  Petey closed his eyes.

  As if you don’t know who sent me.

  Petey tugged hard at the kitchen door with one paw. He’d noticed recently that most of the doors in the house didn’t close all that tightly. Unless the door was slammed hard, the latch didn’t really set solidly—so a hard head-butt would force open most of the inside doors. A good tug with one paw would pop open the outside ones. Jake was already up, puttering around in the kitchen, so he must not have noticed when Petey tugged the door and slipped out.

  I love mornings like this. A chorus of birds, the breeze rustling leaves against each other, the scrabbling of mice in the field. A glorious creation, indeed. And since I have had my breakfast, I am most content. Jake seems to be doing fine so far. Maybe he doesn’t need me as much as I thought he did. I suppose I could have been wrong. But that doesn’t seem right, does it? Me being wrong, that is. That doesn’t seem right.

  Petey sniffed about the steps carefully.

  No foxes last night.

  He sniffed again.

  Raccoons. Those animals I don’t like. They’re always fighting with each other, and their squalling gets my fur standing on end. I don’t see what they have to fight about, and if they can’t get along with each other, then they shouldn’t travel together.

  Petey made his way to the house on wheels and meowed outside the door.

  He waited for a long time, then meowed again.

  That’s odd. She usually lets me in right away.

  Petey eyed a narrow ledge under the window.

  I think I can make that. Maybe.

  He bent down into a crouch, wiggled his back hips a few times, mentally gauging the effort and the jump that it would take. He laid his ears flat against his head. After a moment of preparation, he pushed off mightily and landed, with inches to spare, on the narrow sill.

  He meowed louder, his best let-me-in meow. He heard rustling from inside, then saw Tassy, holding her robe together with one hand and a tissue in the other.

  “Okay, Petey,” she said, “I heard you. Come on in.”

  She slid the window open and Petey hopped in, appearing a bit annoyed he had been forced to take such drastic action to visit.

  Tassy sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, then sort of folded herself onto the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, offering Petey no place to sit. He jumped up beside her and sniffed at her hand.

  She’s crying. Women humans do that more often than men humans, I think. Cats don’t cry. I know I can feel sad, but I can’t cry like that. Crying. That is a very odd manifestation of emotions. I think I heard that on that radio station.

  He reached up and put his paw on her forearm.

  Why is she crying? Humans are so complicated. She has food and water and a place to stay. I should ask her.

  He tried to form his meow as a question. He wasn’t really good at asking questions, since there wasn’t all that much he didn’t know. But in situations like this, a question was in order. He tilted his head at the end of the meow. He had seen people do that when they were asking about things.

  “I don’t know, Petey. All of a sudden, everything seems to be wrong. What am I doing here? I should just go back to Philadelphia and make the best of it. No one seems to care that I’m gone, apparently. My mother sure doesn’t. Randolph doesn’t. No one here really knows me. So what am I doing here?”

  She sniffed very loudly and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of the pink chenille robe.

  Petey moved closer and placed his front paws on her arm and extended his face closer to hers.

  What would an angel do in this situation? Petey wondered. I would imagine he would say something comforting. Or do something comforting.

  Petey tried to climb into her lap, and Tassy uncoiled herself and let the cat sit on top of her.

  This always makes people feel better. A purring cat.

  Tassy began to pet Petey, stroking his back and head just the way he liked it.

  And they feel better when they pet a cat. That’s a proven medical fact. They said it on the television. It makes blood pressure go down. I’m not sure what blood pressure is and why it should go down, but if the people in the television said so, it must be true. And they said it’s a good thing.

  “Petey, what am I going to do? Pastor Jake has been so nice. Eleanor has been so nice. Even Vern seems nicer.”

  Petey purred louder, his front paws making little kneading motions on Tassy’s stomach. He was very careful not to extend his claws very far. He did not want to inadvertently hurt the young woman.

  “I don’t have any family here. I don’t know what to do. I shouldn’t stay here . . . should I?”

  Petey was still mulling what it was that an angel could do that he couldn’t. When he heard the pain in her voice, he simply acted and did not think about it. He stood up on his rear paws and placed his front paws on Tassy’s shoulder. He then nuzzled against her neck, his cold, wet nose against her skin.

  She has to hug me back. That will make her less sad.

  And after a moment, Tassy did indeed hug the cat in return, and leaned her head onto his.

  “Well, maybe I can stay a little while longer. But’s that’s all. Okay, Petey? That’s all.”

  Petey did not move even though
hugging a human was an odd position for a cat.

  A little while is all I need to convince her to stay here longer.

  He heard her sniff once more and then lean back. Petey also leaned back and returned to that soft spot on her lap.

  There are times I really wish I could smile.

  Irene gestured with a wide sweep of her left hand, the phone firmly clenched in her right.

  “He said it was a CAT, Mom. Not a rat. THE PASTOR’S CAT!”

  Talking with her mother, Norma Mahon, grew more and more exhausting. Norma had been a resident of the Sweden Valley Manor in Coudersport for more than a decade, but her hearing had been failing for even longer than that. She refused to even consider a hearing aid. “They make you look like an old person,” she would shout back when it was suggested. Irene, at least for the first few years of Norma’s fading audio abilities, would shout back, “But you are old!”

  Irene had been attempting to tell her mother about the cat and Pastor Jake and how funny she thought it was. She was actually going to go to church there Sunday just to see if they let the cat in again.

  “I would love to see that!” Irene shouted. “Maybe this pastor is a regular person. A REGULAR PERSON.”

  After ten minutes of shouting, Irene had gone hoarse, and told her mother that someone was at the door, just to get off the phone.

  Maybe this new guy could visit her and talk some sense into her about a hearing aid. If he lets cats into church, he must be different.

  Jake broke from his work on the sermon a few minutes past 11:30 a.m. He thought he had the passage well in hand, but the more he worked on it, the less comfortable he felt.