Return to Virgin River (Virgin River #19)(10)

“So, I found a kitten,” she said at the pet store.

“How old?”

“I have no idea,” she said. And she made her hands into a small cup.

“Boy or girl?”

“I also have no idea,” she said.

“It’s a little hard to tell when they’re babies, but... Well, you better see the vet right away—it might need formula. You’ll want to have it neutered because if you don’t, you’ll have a batch of new kittens before you can say ‘here-kitty-kitty.’ Now, what do you need?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me.”

An hour later she was on her way back to Virgin River with the back of her SUV full of supplies from kitty litter and food to a scratching post. She had a cat carrier so she could take the kitten to the vet. And once she got back, she spent the better part of an hour on her hands and knees looking everywhere for that kitten. She called for it over and over, but there wasn’t a sound. She was just about to give up when she pulled her head out from under the bed and something landed splat on her head, claws bared. And she screamed as if someone had come after her with a bloody knife.

She held on to the kitten with one hand and ran her fingers through her hair with the other, fully expecting to find blood. “You’re an evil little thing, aren’t you?” she said to the kitten.

Ah, but she had a sweet face. Or he did. She turned the cat over and gave it a close look-see. She thought it must be a girl, but she wasn’t completely sure. She decided she hoped it was a girl and she pressed her face into her soft black-and-white fur. And the kitten bit her nose. “Jesus!” she swore. “Maybe that means you’re hungry. Or maybe you’re just plain mean! My luck. I hear there’s a no-kill shelter nearby so watch it!”

Then she put out the pan and kitty litter, having no confidence at all that would work. She opened a can of food and put out a bowl of water. To her surprise, the kitten went right to it. Kaylee crouched down to get a better look at the kitten’s delicate bites and heard a little purr. “Aww,” she said, giving the kitty a stroke.

When the kitten was done eating, Kaylee placed her carefully in the litter pan, hoping for the best. The saleswoman at the pet store said, “It’s going to take quite a few tries but eventually she’ll do her business in the litter box because cats prefer that—they like to bury the evidence.”

Every twenty minutes or so, Kaylee put her in the box and waited. Nothing happened. They spent the rest of the day like that and Kaylee was too distracted to get any writing done. Eventually when Kaylee got tired, she held the kitten in her lap and began a mental conversation with her mother.

I found a kitten. If you were here we’d have to take her to a shelter but I could use some company. She’s not great company yet but all my writer friends have either dogs or cats. I’d rather have you. Of course I’d rather have you, but that choice was taken from us. So now I’ve gambled on a cat that clawed my head and bit my nose. Stop laughing! I’m doing my best, you know. Here I am in Virgin River where I know no one and am relying on the kindness of strangers...

And then, predictably, she began to tear up.

I miss you so much. I dream dreams of us sometimes and I’m not sure if that helps or hurts. Oh, Mom, I know you expect me to be tough and smart and capable and I don’t think I am. I don’t think I ever was... I’m just lost without you.

Eventually she fell asleep, the kitten in her precious little kitten bed beside her.





* * *



The next morning Kaylee woke to the sound of scratching. The little heathen was scratching the sheet and she had pooped on the bed.

“Great,” Kaylee said.

There was some serious tidying up to do and after Kitty had some breakfast and a brief visit to the sandbox, Kitty went in the cat carrier Kaylee had bought. That would keep her from hiding or having an accident. Then Kaylee took a walk. Though the scenery was lovely and the August morning was cool and fresh, those were not the reasons she faithfully walked each day. It was a holdover from those first weeks after her mom had passed, back when she couldn’t seem to find a reason to get out of bed. At the time she told herself she was simply exhausted from putting together a celebration-of-life event, entertaining friends and family, and not sleeping well at night because the darkness brought increased longing. Then she realized she was grieving and depressed and began to fear she might melt into a puddle and disappear. That seemed briefly desirable, but the image of her mother’s beautiful face twisted into a disapproving frown provided some stimulus to get up and move, to shower when really, who cared? She forced herself to eat though she wasn’t hungry and forced herself to move when what she wanted to do was curl up and just fade away.

Thinking her mother might be watching and that she would approve of Kaylee’s efforts kept her going. And taking at least one long walk every day became routine for her.

After her walk, she showered and went through the motions of getting comfortable, brewing a fresh cup of coffee and propping the laptop on her thighs. She began reading the work in progress from page one. Again.

But she realized she was reading page seven for about the twentieth time and she had just had it. “This can’t go on,” she said aloud. “I have got to get my mojo back. If I can’t write, what can I do? After the money I have runs out, take to the streets?”