The Nine Lives of Jay Catsby (#OnceUponNow)

A November Confrontation

It's mid-November, six months since Jessica Miller was saved. Tiffany is excited because it is the last day of school before Thanksgiving vacation and she needs the rest. She's constantly tired, and I can only guess as to what she's feeling.

Catsby and I have fallen into a routine. After saving the cop (# 5), and Jessica Miller (#6), things have been quiet except for a house fire in late August. I was surprised to find Catsby waiting in the car as I was about to head off to work, but I followed when he told me where to go. The house was already ablaze when we arrived. In the yard, a mother and father were attempting to save a young boy. Catsby told me to distract the parents while he worked. He also told me not to watch—he never wanted me to see the process. The boy had severe burns on his legs and was barely breathing. I could hear fire trucks in the distance as I tried to calm the parents. It was only a few minutes before the boy started coughing and they rushed past me, to his side. Catsby was already gone, hiding back in the car. I was amazed at how different the boy looked already. Even the burns had abated.

After saving the burn victim (# 7), Catsby acted like a normal cat—sleeping, playing with toys, begging for food. Whenever I would hear of an accident at work, I would relay the news to Catsby, silently asking if this would be his last save. He would shake his head. Though we had agreed we would make the decision together, deep down I knew it would be his call. I could tell the decisions weighed heavily on him, as he always acted a little sadder when deciding not to save a life. On these days, he would crawl into my lap in the evenings. I would stroke his fur, and he would purr contently, words unnecessary.

The only change was Catsby's lack of affection towards Tiffany. At least once a week, my wife would ask me, "Do you think he's avoiding me because of?" and then she would point to her stomach, which looked like she had ingested a small ham. I assured her that wasn't the case, kissing her belly and telling her to focus on our baby girl. When I would ask Catsby about his change in behavior towards Tiffany, he would just shrug and say "I figured she needed more space," and then change the subject.

I'm in the office preparing notes for an interview I have in two hours with the developer of a new strip mall being built in town. Catsby sits on the desk in front of me as I work, desperately trying to explain to me the relationship between dogs and cats. "We don't hate them," he insists. "We are trying to teach them not to be so desperate for attention. See, what you call loyal, we call pathetic."

"Thanks for the lesson," I say, humoring him. My cell phone rings and I'm saved by the bell. I figure it's my editor. Ever since I wrote three stories that received national attention—thanks to the work of Jay Catsby—I received a lucrative promotion and more responsibilities as assurance I wouldn't bolt to a bigger paper. But my editor is still a control freak, so I'm constantly being watched like a hawk.

It's Tiffany. "Hey sexy," I answer. "Are you ready for a nice long weekend?"

"Steve," she says solemnly. "It's my dad." She sounds like she's been crying. Jay sits up on alert, knows something is wrong already. "I just got a call that he had a heart attack. I'm sitting in the school parking lot. I need to get the hospital, but I can't stop shaking."

I run my free hand through my hair. "Sweetie, listen to me. It's going to be okay, just trust me. I can meet you at the school. I'll drive you."

"No," she says quietly, and then there's a pause and I know she's crying. I can barely make out her words. "I just can't believe it, Steve. He's my best friend. First my mom. I'm not ready to lose him too. And what about his grandchild? He can't miss this."

"He won't. I promise." I talk her through the tears until she is calm enough to drive. I tell her I'll meet her at the hospital and everything will be okay. I also take the initiative to call Jimmy, her brother, who lives about an hour away in Harrisburg.

"Jay, you're up," I tell Catsby when I hang up with Tiff. "It's Tiff's father. This is number eight." Tiff and her father, John, were extremely close growing up. When her mother died a few years ago of cancer, the two became even closer. With our child only a few months away from being born, I wasn't going to let John miss it.

Catsby hesitates. "Are you sure?" he says. "Maybe it's not that serious. He may already be stable."

"Can't risk it." I'm running from room to room, throwing belongings for Tiff in a bag. I know I sound demanding right now, but I don't care. There's no debate here. I run back to the office for my cell phone. "As soon as I get off the phone with Jimmy, we're going."

"But Steve. It's just—"

"Jay!" I scream as I pound my hand on the desk. It stings, but I refuse to admit it. "I don't care what you have to say. This is her father. Do you get that? He can't miss the birth of our child. He just can't."

The conversation with Jimmy is short. He is clearly shaken and though I've never seen him emotional, I can tell by his voice that he is near tears. He says he'll be at the hospital in 40 minutes. I tell him to drive safe and not worry. I don't tell him how I know that everything is going to be okay.

"Come on Jay," I say curtly. "It's time to—Jay?"

He's gone.

"Jay!!" I bellow. "I don't have time for games. Get out here. Now!"

Nothing.

I'm growing impatient. I feel my face getting hot. "You have two minutes and if you don't show up by then, you better not show your face ever again. YOU GOT THAT?"

But the only thing I hear is my teeth grinding and my fists pounding on anything around me.

I storm out of the house and slam the door behind me.

It's almost eight hours until we arrive back at the house. I've opened up our home to Jimmy and his wife, Kylie. I'm not sure how long we sat in the room with John's body, my arm around Tiffany, watching her fall apart in the worst way, saying goodbye to her father. Afterward, we met with our pastor to discuss funeral arrangements to take place over the next few days.

I am by Tiff's side constantly in the days that follow—holding her while she cries, helping her to stand during the services, squeezing her hand while greeting those who give their condolences to her and Jimmy. I'm even a pallbearer, helping to guide John's body to its final resting place. All the while, though, I feel like a fraud. I could have prevented all of this. For whatever reason, Jay was hesitant. I never should have let him out of my sight. I can't bring myself to tell Tiff the truth—that her father's dead in part because I failed. But I also know who is really to blame, and luckily Tiff doesn't ask where he is, because Jay Catsby has not come around.

It's ten days before he resurfaces. I come home from work to find my wife resting in our room. Jay Catsby is lying next to her, purring as she strokes his fur.

"Look who it is?" Tiffany says smiling. "I guess he's not afraid of me after all. He knows that I needed him."

Catsby doesn't meet my gaze, but I glare at him anyway. "Yeah," I say loudly. "I bet he knows."