Arsenic And Old Books

I looked out the kitchen window at the wet, gray November morning, and I wanted to go back upstairs and climb into bed. Surely they could get along fine without me today at the Athena Public Library. I was only a volunteer, after all.

On days like this I sometimes wondered whether I’d made the right decision a little over a year ago to leave Houston—my home for twenty-five years—and move back to my hometown in Mississippi. With my wife gone—thanks to pancreatic cancer—and my two children grown and out of the house, suddenly what had been a happy home felt more like a prison. Though loving memories abounded in that place, I no longer felt that it was home, with only one person to occupy it.

Not long after my wife, Jackie, died, my dear, sweet aunt Dottie, my father’s sister, also passed away—ironically, from pancreatic cancer. She left everything she had to me, her only surviving relative. That included her beautiful old house, a place I loved with all my heart. Along with the house came a surprisingly large amount of money, and that meant I could afford to retire from my job in the Houston Public Library system and move home to Athena.

That’s what I did, and most days I didn’t regret it. Other days I felt mildly depressed—all part of the grieving process, I knew, but recognizing that didn’t help much. Volunteering at the public library once a week got me out of the house, as did a part-time job cataloging rare books at the Athena College library three days a week.

“You need something, Mr. Charlie?”

The voice of my housekeeper, Azalea Berry, broke into my melancholy thoughts. I turned away from the window to face her. She set a basket of laundry on the kitchen table and regarded me, her head tilted to one side.

I offered her a faint smile and shook my head. “No, I was only looking at the weather. Trying to talk myself into getting out in it and going to the library.”

“That’d be better than moping around here like a dog done lost his favorite bone.” Azalea didn’t mince words. I didn’t think she meant to be unkind, but a year’s experience had taught me that she didn’t believe in mollycoddling, either. I also realized, guiltily, that Azalea had had to come out into this same weather to take care of the house. “Miss Dottie sure wouldn’t like to see you dragging your tail-feathers.”

Azalea had worked for my aunt for many years, and on the day I moved in, Azalea told me she would stay on because Aunt Dottie made her promise to look after the house—and me. I hadn’t argued because I knew a superior force when I met one. Besides, Azalea took such good care of the house—and of me—that I had quickly grown used to being looked after and fed delicious Southern food. My expanded waistline attested to that.

For a moment I fancied I saw my aunt standing right behind Azalea and nodding her head at what her housekeeper had said. I blinked, and the image faded. This wasn’t the first time over the past year that I’d had these hallucinations—if that was indeed what they were.

“You’re right.” I nodded. “I won’t melt. Guess I’d better get a move on.”

Azalea picked up the basket and nodded. “I’ll be gone by the time you’re home again. I’m going to bake a casserole for you. It’ll be in the oven.”

I thanked her before I went into the hall to grab my raincoat from the coatrack. When I walked back into the kitchen on my way to the attached garage, I heard her singing in the utility room, along with the sound of water filling the washing machine.

The drive to the public library took only a few minutes. Nothing was far from anything else in Athena, a fact over which I marveled frequently after so many years in Houston. I parked my car in the lot beside the building. The front end touched the low hedge that bordered the lot on three sides. As I stepped out of the car, unfurling my umbrella as I did so, I thought I saw something moving in the shrubbery. I shut the door and stood for a moment, watching, but then decided I must have imagined it. There was no further movement in the dark areas beneath the shrubs on this murky day.

I headed into the library to get out of the rain and into the warmth. The cheerful faces of two of the library staff members, Lizzie Hayes and Bronwyn Forster, greeted me, and my spirits began to lift. Really, I was lucky to have such nice people to spend time with, and I ought to be more grateful for that. Besides, I knew they appreciated the help I gave them.

I spent a couple of hours cataloging and processing new books, interrupted by the occasional short burst of conversation with either Lizzie or Bronwyn. Teresa Farmer, the chief reference librarian, popped her head into the office to say hello, and we chatted for a moment. Teresa asked if I could work the reference desk from two to three today, and I said I’d be happy to. After that I would be done for the day.

The time passed pleasantly enough, though slowly. Few people made it into the library, probably due to the weather. When I finished my stint at three, I bundled up again, bade everyone goodbye, and headed to my car, umbrella over my head.

As I neared my car, I saw a longish, dark shape dart out of the shrubbery and run under the car. I stopped a few feet away and squatted awkwardly as I tried to keep the umbrella over me. I thought I saw an animal of some kind behind one of the rear wheels, but the afternoon was so gray that I had difficulty discerning anything clearly.

My knees protested as I stood, and I remained in place. What kind of creature was under my car? Could it be a possum or a raccoon? They turned up in people’s yards all the time. The last thing I wanted was to be attacked by a wild animal. No, I decided after a moment’s reflection. The way the creature moved, it had to be a cat. Probably a family pet that had strayed away from home.

I took a couple of steps toward the car and knelt again. “Hello there, kitty. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. Come out where I can see you better.” I repeated my words in a croon, over and over, and although my knees ached, I kept it up until finally a dark head with two large ears appeared from behind the rear tire.

“Well, hello, kitty,” I said. “You look wet and unhappy. How about you let me come closer? Would that be okay?” I kept up the soft patter as I moved clumsily forward in a crouch.

The cat didn’t run off. Instead he—or she—watched me intently. I got as close as three feet from him, and still he hadn’t moved. I stopped and held out my hand.

“Why don’t you come over and say hello? I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I bet you’re really wet and cold by now, and I’ve got an old towel in the backseat of my car. I can wrap you up in that and you’ll be all nice and warm. How does that sound?”

The cat regarded me for a moment, and I had the strangest feeling he understood every word. He meowed, rather loudly, and took a couple of steps toward me. I held still, but kept murmuring to him, and finally he came close enough for me to touch his head gently.

His bedraggled coat dripped water, and he looked to be a year or so old. He must weigh a good ten pounds, I reckoned. I couldn’t see a collar, and I wondered whether he had gotten loose from a nearby house or if someone had dumped him here. The latter thought made me angry, because I despised people who abandoned their pets. If they couldn’t care for them for some reason, they should at least have the decency to turn them in to a shelter. I knew Athena had a no-kill one.

I shouldn’t be so pessimistic, I realized. He was probably only lost. If that were the case, perhaps an ad in the local paper would help locate his family.

The cat rubbed his head against my hand and then looked up at me with sad eyes. He chirped at me—at least, that was what it sounded like. I’d never heard a cat make such a sound before. When my children were young, we’d had a pair of cats, littermates. Both of them were chatty, but I’d never heard either of them chirp.

What should I do next? I wondered. Should I try to pick him up and put him in the car? Or open the car door and see if he would jump in? I might scare him off if I tried to pick him up. I certainly didn’t want to get clawed. My coat would protect my arms, but I didn’t have gloves with me.

While I debated what to do, the cat solved the dilemma for me. He turned toward the car and put a large paw on the rear door. Then he stretched up on his hind legs and touched the handle.

I was so surprised I almost lost my balance and fell back on my rear on the wet pavement. This was one smart cat, I realized. I steadied myself and got to my feet, wincing at the stiffness in my knees.

“Okay, kitty, I’ll open the door and you hop in, okay?” I unlocked the doors, and the cat moved back to allow me to open the rear door. I closed my umbrella and stuck it on the floorboard. The cat jumped inside, and I leaned in to grab the towel I kept there and wrap him in it. I rubbed him with the towel, and he rewarded me with a deep, rumbling purr.

“You sound like a diesel engine.” I laughed. He kept up the purring while I continued to dry him with the towel. By this time the back of my raincoat was dripping, and I decided I had better get in the car myself. I left the towel around him, shut the door, then opened the front door and climbed in.

I twisted in my seat to look at the cat. He chirped at me again, all the while keeping his eyes focused on my face.

“What should we do now?” I said. “You don’t have a collar, so I have no idea where or to whom you belong.” I thought for a moment. “Maybe you have one of those microchips. I’ll need to take you to the vet to find out.”

The cat meowed, then started licking his right front paw. Had he just agreed with me? I wondered.

I pulled out my cell phone and tapped the icon for the browser. I did a search for veterinarians in Athena, and the first one who came up was a Dr. Devon Romano. Her clinic wasn’t far from the library, so I decided to head there.

A few minutes later my passenger and I pulled up in front of the clinic. There were three other cars in the parking area. I hoped I wouldn’t have to wait long. I still felt damp and chilled, and I was ready to get home for a hot bath.

Deciding that trying to handle the umbrella and the cat at the same time would be a recipe for disaster, I resigned myself to a wet head. I climbed out of the car and opened the back door. The cat eyed me with what seemed to be a suspicious glare as I stuck my head and shoulders inside the car.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I said in a soothing tone. “We’re going to go inside and talk to the nice people here, and they’re going to help us find out who you belong to, and then you’ll get to go back home and be warm and dry.”

As I talked, I reached toward him, and for a moment I thought he was going to slap at me with one of his large front paws. He held still, however, and let me check to make sure the towel was secured around him. He shivered suddenly, but then seemed content to let me pick him up and tuck him close to my chest.

I looked down at his face, and he stared up at me. His eyes seemed to be saying, “I trust you, human. Don’t let me down.” I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then I decided I was simply imagining things. I shut the door and locked the car. Then we dashed for the clinic.

The only person in the waiting room was a redheaded woman who had a rabbit in her lap. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. I stepped up to the receptionist’s window.

“Good afternoon, sir.” The young woman at the desk gave me a brief smile. “How can I help you?”

“I found this cat in the parking lot at the library. He doesn’t have a collar, and I wondered whether y’all could check to see if he’s been microchipped.”

“Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll let Dr. Romano know you’re here. Your name, sir?”

“Charles Harris,” I said.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris,” she replied.

I nodded and turned away. The cat had been calm all this time, and I glanced down at him. He appeared to be asleep. He certainly was a trusting creature.

I took a seat opposite the lady with the rabbit. We exchanged smiles again. Before I could speak to her, however, a young man in scrubs opened a nearby door and took a step into the room. “Mrs. Kendall, the doctor is ready for you.”

The redhead rose from her chair, the bunny in her arms. “Good luck with your cat,” she said.

I started to reply that he wasn’t my cat, but she had already turned away and walked toward the door. The young man ushered her inside, and the door closed behind them.

Once again I looked down at the cat cradled in my arms, still snug in the damp towel. My arms were tiring from the weight. I settled him gently on my lap. His eyes opened, then he yawned and began to purr.

“Don’t get too cozy with me,” I said. “I’m betting that you’ll soon be back where you belong. Although I can’t say I think much of someone who would let you get loose in weather like this.”

The cat made a sort of warbling sound, almost like a bird, and I blinked at him. What kind of cat was he, to make all these odd noises?

The clinic waiting room was nicely heated, so I decided to unwrap the towel. The cat should be warm enough without it now. I examined him when he was uncovered. He was dark gray and white, with some black markings. A tabby with tiger markings, I guessed. The fur around his neck was rather thick, no doubt part of his winter coat, and there were little tufts of hair sticking out from the points of his ears. He was a handsome fellow, and he had an uncanny way of looking at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Mr. Harris, Dr. Romano is ready for you.”

I looked up to see the young man in scrubs standing in the doorway. I got up from the chair, the cat in my arms, and walked through the door.

“Exam room number three, please,” the young man said. “Just up there to your right.”

I preceded him a few feet down the narrow hallway to the room he indicated and stepped inside. He followed me in and moved around to the other side of a stainless steel examination table.

“Let’s have him up here.” The veterinary assistant patted the tabletop.

I set the cat down, the towel under him, and the assistant began to examine him.

“Seems to be in good shape,” he said after a moment. “He’s been eating regularly. Where was it you found him?”

“In the shrubs at the public library,” I said. “He darted under my car when I was about to leave. I got him into the car and dried him off the best I could with the towel, and then I brought him here.”

The assistant nodded. “He’s lucky you did before he got run over, poor guy. Dr. Romano will be with you in a couple minutes.” He disappeared through a door behind the examination table.

I sat in the chair next to the table and eyed the cat. He stood still, gazing calmly around. He made that chirping noise again, then it turned into a sort of trill. His eyes fixed on mine, and he seemed to be asking me, “What next?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Immediately I felt foolish, but this cat had an odd effect on me. Perhaps I was running a fever and letting my imagination get the best of me. I felt my forehead with the back of my right hand. It was cool and dry. No fever.

A young woman of about thirty-five, dressed in scrubs with a white coat over them, stepped into the room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. Tell me what you know about this big fellow.”

I stood hastily. “Afternoon, Dr. Romano.” I explained the circumstances.

The veterinarian nodded. “Good of you to catch him and bring him in.” She turned away to the cabinets behind her. She opened a drawer and extracted a device about twice the size of her hand. “We’ll find out in a moment whether he has a chip. Let’s hope he does, so we can get him back home where he belongs.”

She stroked the cat’s head and spoke soothingly to him for a moment. He remained calm, stretching his neck to push his head against her hand. She held the device over his shoulders, and, after a moment, she shook her head. “No chip, I’m afraid.”

I felt oddly relieved, and that surprised me. I had no plans to adopt a pet, so why should I be happy this cat had no chip?

Dr. Romano laid the microchip reader aside. She examined the cat while I watched.

When she finished, I asked, “How old is he? He looks like he’s at least a year old because of his size.”

Dr. Romano smiled and shook her head. “No, he’s only about eight to ten weeks old, still very much a kitten.”

“He’s pretty big for a kitten, isn’t he?” I looked at the cat, who continued to sit calmly on the table between the vet and me.

“Not for his breed,” Dr. Romano said. “He’s a Maine Coon, and they are larger than most domestic cats. They reach maturity around three years, and adult males on average can weigh about twenty-five pounds.” She pointed out the distinguishing features, some of which I had already noticed: the tufts on the ears, the ruff around the neck, and then the hair between the pads on his feet. His tail was fluffy and long, now that he was completely dry.

“They make wonderful companions,” the vet continued. “They’re intelligent, loyal, and loving. They also tend to be mellow around children and other pets, even dogs.”

“You sound like a salesperson.” I smiled to remove any sting from the comment.

Dr. Romano grinned. “He’s going to need a home if you can’t find his owner. I don’t know of anyone in Athena or the surrounding area with Maine Coons, and we haven’t seen this handsome boy here before.”

“Maybe someone passing through town dumped him near the library,” I said. “That makes me angry even thinking about it.”

“I know,” the vet said. “Sadly, though, it happens a lot. People sometimes adopt pets without realizing the responsibilities that go with adoption. Then when they feel they can’t cope, they abandon the animals to fend for themselves.” She shook her head. “Sometimes when people move, they don’t take their pets with them. It’s totally reprehensible, especially when there are shelters to take them.”

I nodded. “I’d like to reserve a special place in hell for people who mistreat animals.”

“No argument with that here.” Dr. Romano sighed. “The question is, what are we going to do with this fellow?”

The cat, obviously aware we were talking about him, meowed loudly, then began to chirp. He turned toward me and walked to the edge of the table next to me. He held out a paw in my direction and chirped again.

“I think he’s telling you he wants to go home with you.” The vet laughed. “He seems pretty determined about it.”

I stared at the cat. I didn’t really feel up to the responsibility of a pet, and the good Lord only knew what Azalea would say if I brought a cat home. But there was something in those eyes, an intelligence perhaps, that made me think the vet was right. This cat had decided I was the person to take care of him, and that was that.

I shook my head. “I guess I don’t have much choice. He needs to be checked out, I’m sure. Aren’t there tests you need to run?”

Dr. Romano nodded. “We ought to check for feline AIDS and feline leukemia. The tests are relatively easy, and we can check for other problems as well by taking a look at his kidneys and urinary tract. If you don’t mind waiting about twenty minutes, we’ll take the samples we need, and then he can go home with you.”

The cat kept staring at me. Then he began to purr, that deep rumble that reminded me of a diesel engine. The way he looked at me made me feel he knew how lonely I was. My instincts were telling me that I needed to have this cat in my life.

I also thought he might be telling me that he needed me, too.

“Very well,” I said after a deep breath. “Let’s do it. My housekeeper may have a fit, but he needs a home. I’ll ask around and put an ad in the paper. I want to make sure no one else is going to claim him.”

“What about a name?” the vet asked.

I smiled. “Diesel.”

The cat warbled loudly, and Dr. Romano and I both laughed.

I stroked Diesel’s head. “I guess he approves.”

So did I, I suddenly realized. My heart felt lighter, and my depression had lifted, at least for now. I would have sworn Diesel smiled at me just then.

I hoped fervently that no one would come forward to claim him, because I was already quite attached to my new friend.

Luckily for both of us, no one did.