Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(7)

“Oh, yeah!” In the rearview mirror, she sees him slap his cheek. “He was a she because she was going to have babies, and she didn’t follow us because she got here first. She’s the leader. We followed her.”

Bella can’t help but laugh. “Whatever you say, kiddo. But she—or he—had better move, because she’s going to get hurt if she stays there.”

“I don’t think she wants to move.”

Max is right. The cat just sits calmly staring at the car.

Bella rolls down the window and leans her head out, noticing the chill in the air. Suddenly, the tank top and cut-off denim shorts she donned this morning feel as though they belong to a different season.

“Hey, kitty!” she calls. “You have to get out of the road!”

Nope.

Bella may never have owned a cat, but she knows enough about them to be aware that they like to do things on their own terms. Which is fine when you’re talking about when to use the litter box and whether to eat your kibble. But when it comes to personal safety . . .

“Look out!” she shouts as an eighteen-wheeler comes barreling around a curve in the opposite lane.

The cat doesn’t budge, nor does it blink as the truck hurtles past just a few feet from where it’s sitting.

“Crazy cat,” Bella mutters. She beeps the horn. “Move! You’re going to get run over!”

“No! Don’t run her over, Mom!”

“I’m not going to run her over. But somebody else will if she doesn’t get out of the way. Besides, it’s dangerous for us to be stalled in this lane,” she adds, glancing in the rearview mirror. The road is sharply curved behind them. If another car—or, God forbid, a truck—comes along, it might not be able to stop in time.

Frustrated, she honks again.

The cat stays put.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbles, pulling the car off the road onto the narrow shoulder. She shifts into park, turns on the hazards, and climbs out of the car. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Max asks worriedly.

“To move our friend. We can’t just leave him there. He’s a sitting duck.”

“He’s not a duck. He’s a cat. And he’s a she, remember?”

She grins, leaving Mr. Literal-Minded securely strapped into the back seat. She darts a look to the left to make sure there are no cars coming before stepping into the road and wonders what she’d do if she did see one. And what would the cat do?

Surely it would run away—unless it’s injured. Maybe that’s why it’s not moving. Maybe it can’t.

“It’s okay, kitty,” Bella says, hurrying toward it and noticing that it certainly looks like the doorstep cat from yesterday. But gray tabbies are a dime a dozen, she reminds herself. They all look alike: tiger ticking; wide, green eyes; even that M-shaped marking on their furry foreheads, and . . .

And plenty of cats have red collars, too, she decides, noticing that this one happens to be wearing one, just like the doorstep kitty.

“What’s the matter, fella? Are you hurt?” Casting another glance at the highway, reassured to see that it’s still empty behind them, she bends over to give the cat a pat.

No sooner does her hand graze its furry head than it promptly falls backward.

For a moment, she’s certain she’s going to see blood, a broken leg, something, something . . .

She sees something all right.

The cat isn’t hurt; she’s purring and rolling languidly onto her back, stretching and arching her neck and then her belly to be rubbed.

“You’re not a fella, are you?” she asks dryly.

This cat, like its candy-cane-tailed counterpart, is decidedly female—and equally pregnant.

*

Ten minutes later, the first fat raindrop splats onto the windshield as she turns off Route 60 onto a tree-lined country road.

“Is this where the kitty doctor is, Mom?” Max asks from the back seat.

“Somewhere around here, yes.”

After manhandling the cat off the road and into the back seat, she was glad to see that her phone got Internet reception even in the middle of nowhere. She was going to search for local animal control but then thought better of it. Kill shelters still exist in some areas, and she doesn’t want their pregnant furry friend to end up in one. Instead, she looked up veterinarians, which seemed like the most humane option.

She heard after-hours recordings on the first three numbers she called and wasn’t sure what she’d do if the fourth and final one resulted in the same. But a harried-sounding man picked up.

“Lakeview Animal Hospital.”

“Hi, I . . . I found a pregnant cat in the middle of the road and I—”

“Is she injured?”

“I don’t think so. She wasn’t moving, so I picked her up and she seems—”

“And she’s a stray?”

“She’s wearing a collar, but it doesn’t have identification. I don’t know where—”

“Bring her in. I’ll scan her. Do you know where we are?”

I don’t even know where I am, Bella thought.

She glances from the road ahead to the ever-darkening western sky through the driver’s side window to the back seat. Somewhere along the way, the cat wound up curled in her son’s lap, its loud purring punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder.