Four Rubbings

Chapter Ten: Josie-Pancakes and Moving Snakes

I SLAM THE 'OFF' BUTTON on the alarm clock harder than necessary and rub the last gritty traces of sleep from the corners of my eyes. It is a school day, which stinks. I stretch my legs beneath the cozy quilt and spy an empty divot where the cat should be, but instead I see only wisps of gray fur.

Footsteps thunder down the hall to my room and I jolt upright as my door swings open with a hard thud. Owen's freckled face peeks inside.

"Hey, Josie! Get up, lazybones. I found a kitty! A kitty! A kitty!" he sings, and pink splotches erupt across his cheeks.

My brother bounces up and down on tippy toes in fleecy blue space alien pajamas. His green eyes sparkle with mischief as heyanks on my comforter. If only he had enough muscles to pull me out of bed. Soon enough.

"Hey, Owen! You're supposed to knock before you come in!" I point to the sign I made months ago, skull and crossbones under the words, "Keep out!" He pays the sign about as much attention now as the day I taped it up, which is none.

"Sorry. Come see the kitty, Sis. Please, please, please!" Owen says. Without waiting for me, he turns and sprints down the hall and the "Keep out!" sign tears loose and flutters to the ground.

Every morning since way back when, I wake to find my pillow wet with tears from a dream I can never quite remember, and a knot of sadness in my chest. Today, I reach to flip the pillow over, but I stop. It is dry. Not exactly the proud feeling I had when I first mastered my ten-speed bike, but it's something. The feeling in mychest has changed from sadness to something uneasy and complicated.Something about my mom and a dream flits through my mind. I try to gather bits of the dream I had last night and find it is no more productive than sweeping the floor with my hands. She visited me and then she vanished.

Owen hollers down the hall, "Come on, Josie!" I promise torevisit the dream later.

I reach the family room and find the cemetery cat face down in a can of tuna. His full belly grazes the wood floor as he tries to lick the last morsels from the can.

"Isn't he the best, Josie?" Owen crows like a proud papa. The cat glances up at us briefly, a chunk of white tuna smashed across the bridge of his nose. "He's purring! Can you hear him?"

I nod. "Yeah. You sure that's not the noise he makes before he barfs?" As if to prove my point, the cat hiccups and then lops onto the sofa cushions, leaving behind a cloud of fishy gas.

"I found him, Josie. Me!" Owen bursts. "I was getting the newspaper for Dad, and the cat was curled up on the rocking chair.Dad said I get to keep him. He said we have to put up lost and found posters. But if nobody calls, I get to keep him. Forever!" Owen holds his hands behind his back and smiles.

I shake my head. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but this little guy followed me home from the cemetery last night. I was holding him prisoner in my room until I could talk to Dad. I guess he jumped out the window." Owen's smile vanishes, so I add quickly, "You did good, pal! He's in a strange place, so he might've gotten lost or even hit by a car if you hadn't brought him inside. Good job."

I gather him up in a bear hug and lift him off the floor until his feet dangle in the air. As I set Owen back on solid ground, the front door swings open and our dad enters the house, two grocery bags tucked under his arms. "Well, now we have the essentials. Thought I'd pick up some things for our new addition. You've met, I take it?"

A tall, lanky man in his mid-forties, my father's cheeks aretinged with color to match his windblown auburn hair. He puts down one bag and runs a hand through his wild curls. "It's pretty wicked out there. You'll need rain gear today."

As he hands me the bag, filled with a purple plastic box, liners, and litter, he asks, "Who'd like blueberry pancakes for breakfast?"

"I do! I do!" screams Owen. "How come you're making birthday food, Dad?"