Abby stirred awake. She checked her phone: four o’clock in the morning. She didn’t have to pee, so what woke her? She squirmed deeper under the cotton sheet and adjusted the lightweight blanket under her chin, faint river sounds lulling her back into sleep. The pillow, indented where her head rested, enveloped her in comfort.
Just as sleep began to gnaw at the edge of consciousness, Abby came wide-awake. She heard scratching, random but distinct, and sat up in bed. The noise continued, accompanied by a low, feral growl. She got up, shivering, sleep impossible.
Pulling aside the lace curtain at her window, Abby peered into the yard. Night shadows remained deep and dark, back-lit by moonlight, turning the landscape into the black and white from one of her father’s old film negatives. The only noise coming from outside, the distant rush of river against stone, sounded nothing like scratching. She eased into the hall, arms wrapped around her chest as if they could protect her from—what? Mice? Rats? Raccoons?
A low, almost human hum followed the next flurry of scratching.
Not a mouse, something bigger; definitely not good. Why didn’t Lisa hear this? She must have taken a sleeping pill again.
Abby crept closer to the wall, realizing the sounds came from behind it. When she tapped on the partition it sounded hollow. The noises stopped. She leaned her ear against the plaster—silence.
“Good. Whatever you are, just go out the way you came in.” Abby waited, heard nothing more, and returned to bed. Jack could check it out in the morning. She burrowed back under the covers and closed her eyes.
After a light, restless sleep, Abby awoke early and tried to make sense of the night noises from the hall, wondering if it had been the lingering fragment of a dream. The sounds from guests downstairs meant Lisa would be busy preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Abby stretched, yawned, and got up to the bathroom. She stopped in front of the wall on the way back to her room, staring at it as if contemplating a work of art at a Shadyside gallery.
She ran her hands around a faintly-raised, rectangular outline a little higher than the top of her head. With her palms splayed on the surface, she felt the bumps and furrows from layers of painted-over wallpaper. With a poke at the plaster, a ragged one-foot section crumbled under her hand; she inhaled a puff of stale air. A smallish, dark shape hurled itself through the opening. Abby fell backward, heart pounding; the figure disappeared into her room.
She tiptoed to her door to shut it but couldn’t resist peeking inside. On top of her dresser, hissing, teeth bared, back arched with stand-up fur, stood a black cat. Its pupils were wide, ears flat to the head, and tail bristling. Abby froze, barely breathing.
“So you’re the one who disrupted my rest,” she said in a monotone. “Just calm down; I’m not going to hurt you, pretty kitty-kitty-kitty. How did you get inside the wall? How long have you been there? You must be hungry.”
Abby walked toward her nightstand; the cat spit a warning. “Take it easy. I’m your new best friend.” She plucked a packet of goldfish crackers out of the drawer. “Do kitties eat cheese crackers? Want some? It’s the best I can do for now. Come on, yummy, yummy fishies for the sweet kitty.”
Speaking in a soft, even tone, Abby eased her way across the room until she stood in front of the cat. She held out her hand, one yellow fish-shaped cracker in the palm, and lifted it. The cat sniffed all around her hand and between her fingers, took a delicate swipe of pink tongue across the cracker, and ate it. After a few more treats it jumped off the dresser and onto the bed, pawed at Abby’s quilt, and began to wash itself.
“You’re so scrawny. No collar either, guess no one owns you. Hope you aren’t bringing fleas into my bed. I don’t know much about cats, but you look like you need someone to love you. And I could use someone to love.”
The cat cocked its head, as if understanding every word Abby said.
“Maybe we could put you to work as a barn cat. The perks are great, all the mice you could ever want.” She reached out to pet the cat. It hissed again and swiped at her with a paw, claws extended. “I get it; calm down. I’ll let you alone. I don’t like people messing with me, either. At least we know you have the equipment to catch those mice if you stay.”
Abby left as the cat resumed its bath. In her mother’s room she located an antique ceramic dish with the word KITTY stenciled in brown on yellow-glazed pottery. She removed the potted plant sitting in it, rinsed the dish in the bathroom sink, and filled it with cool water. Back in her room she set it on the floor beside her rocking chair.
“Here you go. Goldfish make me thirsty, how about you? And who knows how long you’ve been hiding in that wall without water? Check it out; you get to drink from Lisa’s old dish. She’ll love that, not.”
The cat waited until Abby moved away from the water dish before jumping down to examine the bowl. The small pink tongue darting out of a whisker-embellished mouth made a stark contrast to dull black fur. After drinking, it returned to the nest in Abby’s quilt, sitting alert and still.
Abby joined the animal on the bed, careful to keep some distance at first, but mesmerized by the brilliant copper-colored eyes that stared at her. She reached out a tentative finger and stroked the cat’s back; it didn’t move.
Bolder, Abby opened her hand and ran it down the length of the spine. In spite of the odd sensation of bone close to the surface, the soft fur tickled her hand. She lay down on her side, continuing the light, smooth caress. “Pretty little kitty …”
The cat straightened white-tipped paws, stretched, yawned, and moved over to nestle in the crook of Abby’s arm. It purred, deep and throaty, as she continued to stroke its back. They both fell asleep as a puddle of early morning sun moved across the bed.
Abby woke to a hissing sound, followed by her mother’s strident voice.
“Abby? Are you sick?” Lisa gasped. “What in the world? Is that a cat?”
Abby laughed. The sight of Lisa’s shocked face, the strange cat hissing, and the clock that read “11:45 a.m.” were all too surreal.
She spoke to the cat in a soothing voice. “Chill kitty. She’s okay, she won’t hurt you. She’s happy you came to live here, right Lisa? She knows you’re just what we need.”
Abby looked at her mother, pleading. “It’s a long story, but can we keep her? I know it’s the obvious kid cliché, but I will take care of her. You even said a cat would be helpful with mice in the barn. And cats practically take care of themselves.”
As if on cue, the cat stretched, jumped off the bed, sauntered over to Abby’s mother, and sniffed. After receiving a brief pat on the head, the cat rubbed against her leg before returning to Abby.
Lisa started to shake her head and speak, paused for what seemed like an eternity, then smiled at Abby. “We’ll try it, for now. Make sure she doesn’t belong to anyone else. We’ll get her checked out at the vet in town and buy some supplies. I guess this means we can advertise a resident cat at Bikers’ Rest.”
Abby jumped out of bed. She reached to hug her mother but dropped her arms to her sides before they made contact. “Thank you so much. I mean it. And no, I’m not sick. I’m sorry I overslept and didn’t help downstairs.” Abby realized it had been a while since she talked to Lisa instead of at her.
“Does it have a name?” Lisa said. She raised her eyebrows when she saw the water dish, embellished with the kitty logo. “Hmm … my antique Roseville crock … I’ll get you a plastic container for water. Your dad bought this for me a long time ago as a joke since he wanted a cat, and I didn’t. Anyway, what are you going to call it?”
“I’m thinking she’s a girl.” Abby looked at the cat. “Shadow?” The cat ignored her. “Midnight?” The cat yawned and licked a paw. “Kitty?”
The cat meowed, walked to the water dish, and took a delicate drink. “I guess her name’s Kitty. Not too imaginative, but she seems to claim it.”
Lisa reached for the ceramic dish, and the cat hissed at her. “Well now, Kitty, looks like you not only claim the name, but my china, as well.” She hesitated and sighed. “Adam would have loved a cat in the house; it’s all yours, Kitty.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get some groceries and run a few errands. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” She started out of the room, then turned, frowning. “I almost forgot when I saw the cat. What happened to the wall? Did you do that?”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” Abby recounted the story of finding Kitty.
“We’ll need to remember to shut the screen door all the time so no other critters wander inside. I’m not worried about the esthetics up here, but it does need repair. See if Jack can fix it. It shouldn’t take long to just close the hole.” Lisa started to leave again, then turned back. “Throw the sheets in the dryer for me, too, okay? Thanks.” Without waiting for an answer, she hurried downstairs.
“No problem.” Abby watched as Kitty sauntered across the room and hopped up on the table by the window, then onto the old Bible sitting there. Both were illuminated in a shaft of sunlight. She stared at the Bible, distracted by thoughts of Silas—both the mystery, and also his presence in her life. When her mother’s voice floated up the stairs, she jumped.
“Abby? Get busy with those sheets. I’m leaving.”
Abby sighed. She dressed and paused on the way through the hall to examine the wall. A chunk of plaster on the floor and the jagged hole made it look like a derelict tenement. Abby thrust her hand into the opening, feeling a slight draft of cool air, which meant an opening at least big enough for a cat. Or maybe something more.
Abby took one last look at the wall and glanced into her room. “I guess all mysteries will have to wait for another day, Kitty.”
The cat meowed and turned her back on Abby. Settling into the pool of sunlight streaming through the window, she fell asleep on the Bible.