puppy.” Fargo looked up and gave a half wag. Sometimes I still called him my good puppy. “But a puppy wouldn’t be right for Harmon. He needs something he can leave overnight when he goes out on one of the fishing boats or beachcombing after a storm. And Mildred is a cat person.” The word “cat” got to him. He sat up and looked around alertly, ready for play, a chase, even supervised socializing, whatever worked.
“No, Fargo, I’m thinking in terms of kittens.” He was still looking. “Let’s go. You won’t like where we’re going, but you can stay in the car.”
As we turned into the vet’s driveway, Fargo curled up in a tight ball, getting smaller and smaller as I parked. I opened my door. “I won’t be long, you stay.” He closed the one eye he had cracked open.
Entering the vet’s I saw that Victor was chatting casually with his office manager and a kennel boy. Good, I wouldn’t have to wait.
“Hey, Alex, what’s up? Where’s Fargo?”
“In the car, he’s fine.” I explained the purpose of my visit.
“You’re a good sport, Alex. That’s a great idea. Let’s see who’s got some kittens.” He walked around into the waiting room, where a large bulletin board took up most of one wall. He looked over a number of the notices pinned there, then removed one.
“Here we go, Alice Pennington. She takes very good care of her animals. She felt Melody deserved to have one litter and will have her spayed as soon as the kittens are placed. I believe Melody produced seven beauties. Let me call Alice and see who’s left.”
Four were left—three females and a male. I departed the vet’s with two of those cardboard carriers, several samples of kitten food, and two booklets on the care of kittens, with a note penned on the front: Be sure the kittens visit a veterinarian by Sept. 1, for booster shots and to arrange neutering.
Alice Pennington was glad to see me. The kittens were now almost nine weeks old and full of energy. I picked out a sweet little tiger female and the gray and white male for Harmon. I figured a gray and white male might have been too reminiscent of Hercules for Mildred. For her I chose a sweet-faced calico, thinking a gentle female might also be better than Hercules in the affection department.
Alice gave a little moue, followed by some very unappealing baby talk. “Poor little tabby-kit is going to be left all alone and by her lonesome, isn’t her? Oh-hh. Poor babykins. Poor little orphan kitty-pooh. And, you know, Alex, it’s really easier having two. They entertain each other.”
I knew I was being sweet-talked, but what the hell? I popped poor little tabby-kit into the carrier. I proffered Alice a twenty-dollar bill, which she made one weak gesture of declining, but then reached for, returning to normal-speak.
“Thanks, it’ll help with Melody’s spaying bill.”
Chapter 5
Driving toward Mildred’s house, I thought of names for kittens, while Fargo kept turning toward the backseat and whuffling. Since Mildred had named her old cat Hercules, I figured maybe she was into Greek mythology. Well, okay. We could do that. The little calico looked to be sunny-tempered, so we could call her Eos, the dawn goddess. And the tabby hadn’t seemed the least bit pitiful to me. In fact, she had seemed quite sassy, so she became Eris, goddess of discord.
Parked in Mildred’s driveway, I printed a stick-up note on the pad I kept in the compartment: “We are homeless and helpless. Won’t you please take care of us? We know we will be happy with you. Love, Calico Eos and Tabby Eris.” Making sure the little plastic bowl of food in the carrier was full, I filled the other small container with water from the jug I keep in the car for Fargo, and set the carrier on the porch in the shade. One down.
Making the short trip to Harmon’s place, I repeated my actions. I didn’t really think Harmon would be interested in Greeks of long ago, so I signed his note: “Tom and
Learning to Kill: Stories