It makes me glad the shop is empty, otherwise I’d seem really crazy, talking to myself. Especially during tourist season when out-of-towners come in for a look around and to buy ‘quaint souvenirs’—their words, not mine. I guess the locals are a little more used to my quirky ways. By now they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid at me talking to myself.
I grab the book again, careful to mind my head this time, and settle back into my chair to continue reading. I may only be a couple of pages in, but I will admit the book is good. Better than I expected. Reading a little more while the jobs wait won’t hurt.
It’s much later when the bell chimes again, and I look up in time to see the door closing. Once again, there’s no-one in the shop. A shiver runs down my spine.
I put down the book, which I’ve really been getting into, and head over to check out the catch. Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring my toolkit in from home, to see if I can fix the door catch if it’s faulty.
Satisfied that it seems to be okay and that I won’t need to do any DIY (phew), I shrug and muse at the number of visitors in spirit who seem to want to stop by today. I feel guilty for neglecting the jobs while I got sucked into that damn book, so I reluctantly go back to pottering around the shop. I whip out a duster and wipe down the shelves, but it’s pretty half-assed.
Noting that I’ve managed to waste—I check my watch—twenty minutes working, I switch the door sign to ‘closed’ and flip the lock. I grab the book and head into my back room; the place where I give readings and client treatments. It has the couch, of course, but also a comfy chair that has my name on it for the rest of the afternoon. I know I could just go home early and read, but I’ve become so absorbed in the story, that I don’t want to wait to read the next bit.
I push past the curtain separating the two rooms and enter my haven. The walls are painted a sky blue, incense burns, and my favorite candle begs me to light it, which I do. I grab a drink from the small galley kitchen that’s behind the treatment room and get ready to settle in for another hour or two’s romance reading. Sounds like a perfect Tuesday to me.
Chapter Three
I go to take my spot, book and drink in hand, on the comfiest chair known to man...only, I can’t. Because the beautiful patchwork wingback armchair, in a gorgeous mosaic of blue hues, is occupied.
“Oh…” I give a little noise of surprise, almost dropping my drink, and then give in to the universe; it’s always testing me in weird and wonderful ways. This surely has to be one of them.
“Hello, beautiful,” I croon at the animal that’s curled up and made itself at home in my favorite spot. “Where did you come from?”
The sleeping creature opens one lazy eye at me, doesn’t answer, and promptly closes it again. Not that I expected it to answer; animals talking back to me is even outside of my weird remit.
I stare at the sleepy four-legged creature in front of me. It has short fur of a light golden-sandy hue, and a white heart-shaped patch on its chest. Its face is petite and pointed, with a black nose. Its defining feature though, aside from the pure black obsidian eyes it keeps peeking at me, is the enormous pointy ears which stand up on end like a bat’s. The overall effect is comically cute, but in truth, I don’t know what I’m looking at. Some features seem quite feline, while others seem canine. I feel stupid for not being able to identify it (Him? Her? It feels wrong saying ‘it’ so I’m going with him) but this is Silver Springs: weirdness reigns supreme.
I approach him and notice that there’s no tag or collar. It seems pretty tame though. I wonder if I should take him to Silver Springs Animal Rescue. Someone might be missing their pet. I check my watch and realize that they’ll be closing soon, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I guess I’ll have to take him home with me tonight. I can’t remember if I have that old cat bed still in the shed. And I’ll have to stop by the pet store, Beastie Besties, if they’re open, to grab some supplies.
Tentatively, I reach out a hand and stroke the creature’s back. He has the softest fur I’ve ever felt; it’s like velvet, but somehow even better. He gives a contented little sigh and wiggles closer into my touch, silently demanding more. I oblige, because I’m a sucker, and the animal starts to purr. I smile. I really am a softie for making anything or anyone happy. I crouch down on the floor and give him a good five minutes of back scratching.
Gently, I scoop the animal up into my arms and cradle it against my chest, where it snuggles in. I decide to just head home, not wanting to leave him alone in the car while I shop. I think I have a can of tuna I can feed him tonight and I’ll grab proper food tomorrow. There’s no point going crazy buying supplies for the little cutie if he belongs to someone already and is safely home by tomorrow.
When I get to my truck, I find it unlocked. Shaking my head, I dismiss all of the craziness of today. The drive home is uneventful, the creature curled up on the passenger seat next to me. Even the rumbling of my old cherry-red pickup truck didn’t wake the little guy. I carry him into the house and set him down on the sofa, before wandering into the kitchen to make myself dinner. While it’s cooking, I check the shed for the cat bed, and find it, so I set him up a little den in the kitchen. He can sleep there tonight.
We enjoy a companionable silence while he lies curled up next to me all evening and he’s no trouble at all until it comes to bed time. I shut him in the kitchen with food and drink, and then head upstairs. I take a shower and get ready for bed, and all’s quiet downstairs.
It’s only once I get into bed and turn off the light that an awful high pitched whining begins. I ignore it. Or try to. But it’s really grating.
Some time later, when the sound of scrabbling claws against the door starts up, I grit my teeth. Ok, so I might have to replace the door, or at least repaint it, but I know you can’t give in on these things. Crumble once and they’ve got you right where they want you. Stay strong, Jas, I tell myself. There’s no way I’m letting that guy into my bed.
It’s the first almighty smash that has me leaping out of bed and racing down the stairs, terrified to find out what he’s just broken. Another two crashes have me filled with a sick kind of dread as I reach for the door handle.
Carnage...complete and utter carnage greets me as the door swings open. Before I get a chance to survey the damage any further than that, a great ball of fluff flies at my face and it’s only natural instinct that has me reaching out to catch the flying furball before its claws embed themselves in my face.
“Whoa, whoa! Hey, little guy, calm down,” I whisper. I clutch him to me and stroke him soothingly. I may be mad as hell about the damage this guy’s done, but he seems pretty freaked out right now and he needs calming. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have done any damage unless there was something seriously wrong. Maybe something outside spooked him? I do have a family of foxes who stop by quite often.
It takes a few moments, but eventually his frantic little heartbeat settles. I decide he can sleep on the end of my bed, and I’ll deal with the mess in the morning. Closing the door behind me without another glance, we head back to bed together. I deposit my newest houseguest on the end of my bed, fix him with a stern stare and tell him to stay put, before climbing back under the covers and trying to get some sleep.