Four Rubbings

Chapter Fourteen: Josie and the Cat Condo

"WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?" I return from the cemetery to find a carpeted barrier blocking the path to the living room. I shuffle sideways and wiggle into the room. "The world's biggest scratching post?" The three-foot high tower is covered in shaggy brown carpet, tunnels, hammocks, ramps, scratch mats, and dangly toys. The new cat lies tummy up in a third story hammock and purrs.

Dad reaches over and snaps off a price tag from the square base. He stuffs the tag deep in a pocket and adjusts the string on a felted mouse so it dangles free. "Actually Josie, you are looking at a deluxe kitty condo. I had to move the sofa to fit this beauty in front of the window. I thought he'd enjoy the view."

My mouth hangs wide open with shock so I snap it shut. "I never thought I'd see something like this in our living room. Does this mean you like the cat?" I giggle at my own understatement.

"I've always loved cats. I've even owned a cat before."

"You're kidding right? When? We've never had a pet."

"Your mom and I adopted a cat named T.R. about a year before we married." Dad peeks at me as he moves around the kitty condo, checking hammock ties and whatnot. "T.R. stood for trial run. Get it? He was our trial run at parenthood, this funny dumpy orange-striped tabby. He had a stump where his tail was supposed to be. It sort of trembled when he was excited or happy. Half his left ear had been ripped off in a catfight long before we owned him. He was a real tough customer."

"Two things. First of all, I didn't know you and Mom lived together before you got married. Scandalous! And second, I don't recall seeing any baby pictures of me posing with an orange cat."

"Yeah, he ran off during our honeymoon. He didn't approve of the cat sitter we left him with. So you never got to meet your furry big brother."

"Wow, that's the capper right there! Others would have shied away from parenthood after that, but not you guys. Nice." I punch Dad's arm, and we both laugh.

"Yeah, maybe not a good omen. But, look how well you both turned out in spite of us!" Happy tears rim his eyes and he chuckles.

Owen runs into the room and laughs without knowing the joke. He turns to Dad and says, "Hey! You look just like in the pictures, Dad!"

"What do you mean? Am I turning back time?" Dad scratches his head and a tuft of auburn hair stands up straight.

"No, I mean around your eyes, the crinkles. You're smiling like in all those old pictures with Mom." Owen runs out of the room, the cat trailing behind him.

Dad laughs again. "Your mother was convinced that at one time T.R. had a gloriously fluffy tail. Ha! I'd forgotten about this. She'd make up these tales of tragedy to explain how T.R. lost his tail. He rescued babies from burning buildings and his tail burned to the nubbins, nabbed bank robbers and lost his tail to a stray bullet, saved runaway trains and lost his tail to the tracks! You name it, your mother thought it up! Ha! Good times." He hugs me, rubbing the top of my head.

I close my eyes to commit the story to memory; another thing I can file away about my mom. As I reopen my eyes, I see my dad's wide grin and notice how good the memory makes him feel. I haven't seen this side of him in a long, long time. "You're not turning into a weird cat lady, are you?"

"I think I have to own at least five more cats before I can be classified as a cat lady."

My stomach growls. "Did you guys eat dinner?" I ask.

"Oh, sorry, Josie," Dad says. "We ate after Owen's soccer game. Your sandwich is in the fridge."

"Hey, Owen!" he shouts down the hallway. "Bathtime!"