The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

Epilogue

Dashiell hadn’t liked the idea of getting into a cat carrier—but then what cat did? I was now searching the nooks and crannies in my house for spots he might have hidden, glad he would finally be going home. Of course, he thought he was headed for the vet and had taken off the minute I pulled the carrier up the basement stairs.

With Thanksgiving come and gone, and the Christmas season upon us, I smiled at the thought of what a wonderful holiday this would be for Finn and his family—his real family. Not blood relations, but the people who cared deeply about him.

I’d managed to close the basement door when Dashiell ran off, but the rest of the house was Dashiell’s playground for this game of hide-and-go-seek.

As my three cats followed me around—and were no help whatsoever—I thought about how Dashiell was the one who started this latest journey of mine. I felt very lucky I’d met Finn—and gotten to know Tom so much better.

I was on my belly, looking under the guest room bed for about the fourth time, when I heard someone knocking loudly on my back door. Syrah took off immediately, his curiosity piqued.

Merlot decided on a more leisurely stroll out of the guest room, while Chablis decided she’d wait right where she was—in the fairly safe guest room. Yoshi’s stay here had spooked her and convinced me a dog wasn’t in my immediate future, even though I adored dogs. Yoshi had gone with Finn to live at Tom’s house and my home had felt a little lonely without them. Now it was Dashiell’s turn to go live with Tom, Yoshi and Finn. I’d agreed to allow Yoshi an adjustment period at his new place by keeping Dashiell with me, even though the two seemed to get along just fine while they’d been here together.

I made it to the back door and said, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” called Tom. “Is something wrong with Dashiell?”

I unlocked the dead bolt and the other door lock and when I let Tom in, he said, “Good job keeping this place secure. But we expected you over at the house at least thirty minutes ago.”

I stared up at him. “You could have called—and I would have told you the problem. Dashiell is a reluctant traveler. I don’t blame him, either. Cat carrier equals Doc Jensen in his cat mind.”

“He’s hiding?” Tom asked.

“Yup,” I said, blowing up at the bangs that had fallen into my eyes.

“No, he’s not,” Tom said with a smile.

“Yes, he—” I heard a small meow. The elusive Mr. Dashiell must have heard Tom’s voice.

“He has a pitiful voice for such a big cat,” I said.

“I still love him.” Tom pulled me to him and gazed down into my eyes. “But not as much as I love you.”

Before I could respond, he kissed me.

I liked the kiss, liked the words and liked how, when we came apart, four cats were staring up at us looking, well… happy.