The Speed of Souls Page 4

  Speaking of Jerry, I can see him standing by himself, not far from where Alex’s tent is. He keeps looking at something. Staring at something. It’s a dog. A German Shepherd. He’s black and brown. And big. I think about Hugo. God, I miss him. That’s why Jerry must be staring at him. He must remind Jerry of Hugo.

  Poor Jerry.

  “You missed another one, Cassie,” Julie says.

  I glance around. There are four popcorn kernels on the ground around me. This no longer matters.

  I walk toward Jerry.

  “Whoa, Cassie! Slow down.”

  Sorry, Julie.

  By the time I get to Jerry, he’s at Alex’s tent, next to two young girls. I don’t like them. They smell. Like Her.

  Julie gives my leash to Jerry. Then she goes behind the table where Alex is. I sit down next to Jerry.

  Jerry leans down and asks me, “Did you get some kettle corn?”

  I bark.

  Yes, I did. It was amazing.

  I lick his face. He seems okay. He doesn’t seem sad. He seems something else.

  Before I can figure it out, the girls reach down and pet me. I want to growl at them, but I don’t. I know it will make Jerry upset. So I let them pet me with their big rings on their fingers and their smelliness. I know the smell is called Perfume. Finally, after a few more pets, they start talking to Alex, putting different head-hiders on.

  I turn my attention back to Jerry. I perk up my ears. I can hear a rustling. It’s coming from Jerry’s belly. I can hear his stomach churning. It’s how he gets when he sits in front of the computer lately.

  But why here? Why is the German Shepherd making Jerry’s stomach rumble?

  As if reading my mind, Jerry turns his head and glances at the German Shepherd. I follow his gaze. Then I realize it isn’t the German Shepherd. It’s the German Shepherd’s human. The girl is making Jerry’s stomach rumble.

  I know Jerry wants a playmate. He wants another human. A female human. Especially now. Especially after what happened to Hugo.

  But I’m not so sure about this. Not after what happened with Her. And I want Jerry to myself. I don’t want to share him. But I know a female human playmate will make Jerry happy. And that’s all I want. All I want is for Jerry to be happy.

  I bark.

  Go talk to her.

  “What?” Jerry asks.

  I bark again.

  Jerry doesn’t move, so I start pulling him. Pulling him toward the girl.

  “Cassie!” he shouts.

  The girl and the German Shepherd are a few tents away. I pull, pull, pull Jerry toward the pair.

  I can hear Jerry stumbling behind me.

  “Where are you going?” he keeps shouting.

  Jerry

  Cassie is dragging me through the Farmers’ Market. I nearly trip over my feet trying to keep up with her. Then I see where she’s headed. Toward the German Shepherd. And the girl.

  How did she know?

  Though I shouldn’t be surprised. I learned long ago never to underestimate Cassie’s intelligence. It isn’t just that she’s a mix of two of the smartest dog breeds (border collies are widely considered the Valedictorians of the species and golden retrievers aren’t far behind, being the most common breed of service dog), it’s more than that. It’s a level of empathy rarely seen in humans.

  I know this is because of whatever happened to Cassie at her first home. I’m pretty sure her first owner was a woman and she wasn’t nice to Cassie. A year after I rescued Cassie, she got a few ticks and the vet had to shave her down in a couple of spots. In one of those spots, there was a small circular scar. I didn’t think much of it until a couple of months later when an older woman smoking a cigarette bent down to pet Cassie.

  Cassie’s hackles raised up and she snarled at the woman. It was the first and last time I’ve ever seen her snarl.

  Because of this, Cassie is circumspect of all females—she eventually warms up to them, but it takes a while—which is why it’s even more incredible that she’s dragged me through the Farmers’ Market toward this particular one.

  We come abreast of the girl and her dog near the honey booth. Cassie and the German Shepherd give each other a few polite sniffs and the girl turns. Up close, she is strikingly beautiful. She’s holding a bottle of honey in her hand.

  “Hi, honey,” I say.

  I see the words leave my mouth and immediately want to delete them. That’s what’s so great about writing. If you write something stupid, you can just highlight the words, hit a button, and voilà, it’s like they never existed.

  Not so much in the real world.

  The girl cringes, then says, “Uh.”

  I feel sorry for her. Sorry she will have to endure me hitting on her.

  “Because of the honey in your hand,” I explain.

  She glances at the honey in her hand, then back at me, then to her credit, and I suppose mine, she smiles and laughs.

  The guy working the honey tent, who is approximately my age, with a heavy beard, gives me an approving nod.

  I throw him a quick smile, then stick out my hand toward the girl and say, “Hi, I’m Jerry.”

  The Shepherd’s leash is in one hand, the bottle of honey in the other and she can’t shake. I should have noticed this. Most men would have noticed this. She awkwardly transfers the honey to the hand with the leash and we shake. In the awkwardness of it all, I do notice she isn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “I’m Gloria,” she says. She glances down where Cassie and her dog are still doing their sniffing dance and says, “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, that’s Cassie,” I say with fatherly pride. Then ask, “Who az dee Jarman?” I may do this in what I believe to be a German accent.

  The girl pauses for a moment as if trying to decide if this is funny or offensive. Luckily, she finds it funny, laughs and says, “That’s Bruce.”

  “Bruce?” I laugh. “That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah, I wish I could say I came up with it. But that was his name when I rescued him.”

  “Same with Cassie,” I say.

  “She’s a rescue?”

  I nod.

  Gloria bends down and says, “Hi, Cassie.”

  Cassie comes over and gives her hand a sniff, then a soft lick.

  My eyebrows jump. “She likes you,” I say, surprised by Cassie’s obvious endorsement.

  “Well, I am pretty likable.”

  I laugh. “Yes, you appear to be.”

  “So do you live around here?” she asks.

  “Yeah, just a few blocks from here actually. How about you guys?”

  “Not far. Over by Reagan Beach.”

  Reagan Beach is a dog beach a couple of miles away. I used to go there all the time with Hugo and Cassie.

  I think of Hugo, remember life is short, and decide to go for it. I ask, “So, do you maybe want to grab a cup of coffee sometime?”

  “Oh,” she says, then adds, “No.”

  It takes a moment for this to register.

  No.

  No?

  Wait, isn’t she supposed to make up some excuse, say she’s busy, or that she has a boyfriend, or that she’s a lesbian? Isn’t she supposed to water it down, to dilute it, to say, “Sorry, I’m not interested,” or, “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to pass”? Anything but No.

  “No?” I say, more confused by her directness than spurned by her rejection.

  “Yeah, no.” She smiles. “But thanks for asking.”

  I don’t want to laugh, but I laugh. I laugh, and I say, “You’re, um, you’re welcome.”

  I glance at the guy working the honey stand. He’s cringing as if he’s vicariously felt the trauma of what just occurred. Like I’m his character in a game of Street Fighter and I just had my spine removed and was set on fire.

  Within a short nanosecond, my confusion gives way to visceral, palpable, universal self-consciousness.

  I
give a tug, probably stiffer than I would like to admit, on Cassie’s leash and do an about-face. I glance across the way to where Alex and Julie are staring at me. I should go over and say goodbye, but I don’t want to. Alex will make me relive it, word for word. Tit for tat.

  I give a short wave goodbye, then pull Cassie through an opening between the booths. After two blocks, I stop. Before getting Pluto Three published, I was rejected by hundreds of agents and publishers, so I’m not exactly sure why I feel the way I do.

  I lean down on my haunches and Cassie comes and rubs her head against my chest.

  I give her a rub behind the ears and say, “Well, thanks for trying.”

  Chapter 5

  “NEW HOME”

  Hugo

  “This one,” the little girl says. She has both her hands wrapped around my belly and is holding me a few inches from her face. Her eyes are the same color as the Big Cat, a light gold, and both of her front teeth are missing. She reminds me of Julie, but not as stretched out.

  A bunch of humans have come and gone over the past few days. They take turns picking us up, holding us, rubbing our bellies. Some are small, like the girl holding me now, others are bigger, others older. All have been she-humans. I wonder if he-humans, Jerry-humans, exist in this new world.

  Two of the she-humans took baby cats yesterday. I don’t know where they went. Did they go to one of the tall, skinny houses across the street? Is it weird that I miss them?

  “Are you sure, Sara?” asks the she-human who came with the little girl.

  “Yes,” Sara says. “I’m sure. He’s so cute. I like the gray stripe down his head. And his eyes, I like how they are yellow on the outside and more green on the inside.”

  She cradles me to her neck and squishes me with her head.

  I glance over her shoulder at the Big Cat. She’s standing next to the white fence. She has been standing for the last two days.

  Since the first baby cat left.

  ~

  I’m in a car.

  I keep trying to scramble up Sara’s body so I can see through the window. To see Outside. I get on her shoulder and press my face to the glass. When I did this with Jerry, he would roll the window down and I would stick my head out. I wait for the window to go down, but it doesn’t.

  Through the window, I see the many tall, skinny houses. And cars. So many cars. And humans, both she-humans and Jerry-humans. (They do exist!) I can see them in cars and walking on the street. Each Jerry-human I see, I think it might be Jerry, but they are gone before I can be sure.

  Each time I get up on Sara’s shoulder and push my face to the window, she pulls me off and sets me back in her lap.

  I want to see more Outside and let out a squeak. I still can’t talk, but I’m getting close. (I’m starting to figure out how these new sounds work. They are so much different than what I’m used to.)

  “Did you hear that, Mom?” Sara says. “He just meowed.”

  So that’s what that noise is called.

  “I heard,” Mom says. “It was so cute.”

  I meow again, but other than Sara laughing, it doesn’t accomplish anything.

  A few minutes later, the car stops.

  Sara carries me toward a tall, skinny house. Like the house before, it’s on a hill.

  Once in the house, Sara sets me down on the ground.

  “Welcome to your New Home,” she says.

  ~

  I spend most of my time at my New Home running. Running away from Sara. All she wants to do is hold me. That’s the problem with being so small: if something bigger wants to hold you, it usually can.

  I’m used to being the holder, not the holdee. Squirrels, birds, mice, you name it and I held it. I held it, then I killed it.

  I don’t think Sara wants to kill me, but sometimes she holds me so hard I think she might.

  Once I scratched her and she screamed. Mom came and whacked me on the head. I don’t scratch anymore. But I still squirm. And thrash. And then I get away. And then I run.

  Thankfully, Sara will leave me alone when I’m eating. I get to eat a lot of kibble. But my little teeth are terrible. They make it so hard to crunch up my food, but luckily, baby cat kibble is much smaller than dog kibble.

  Sara also leaves me alone when I have to go to the bathroom. I still hate peeing and pooping in the weird sand, but it isn’t as bad when you’re not sharing it with five other baby cats. I would still prefer to do my business outside in the grass, but as much as I scrape at the front door, it never opens.

  Right now, I’m hiding under the couch. I can see Sara’s eyes peeking underneath, her hair dangling over her face. “Come out of there!” she yells.

  I meow.

  No!

  Sara reaches out her arm, but it isn’t long enough. She disappears and then reappears on the other side. Her arm snakes through, but I’ve moved so I’m just out of reach. I’ve started to like this game. Mostly because it makes Sara so mad. It’s fun until Mom gets involved. Mom usually brings a broom.

  Sara wiggles her fingers a few inches from me, then she yells, “Cheese!”

  Wait, did she say, cheese?

  Does she have cheese?

  I slowly crawl out from beneath the couch, poke my head out, then go sit right in front of Sara.

  I meow.

  I’m ready for my cheese now.

  Sara picks me up, cradles me to her chest, and rubs her chin all over me.

  “Ah, Cheese,” she says.

  This is when I realize cheese isn’t a snack.

  It’s my name.

  ~

  I’m a baby cat named Cheese.

  I’m a baby cat named Cheese.

  I’m a baby cat named Cheese.

  ~

  I don’t like Dr. V.

  He has weird eyebrows. He didn’t give me a treat when he first saw me. And his hands are cold. (And he said that I weigh two pounds. Two measly pounds!)

  I want Dr. Josh. Dr. Josh was the best. He would always give me a treat right when he saw me. He’d yell, “Hey, Big Guy,” then he’d ruffle my head and give me a treat. I liked when he called me Big Guy. Sometimes, Jerry would call me this, but it never sounded the same as when Dr. Josh did it.

  But the best part about Dr. Josh was: I trusted him. I knew he wouldn’t do something without telling me first. He would say, “All right, Hugo, I’m going to put this thermometer up your butt now.”

  Not Dr. V.

  One second I’m sitting on the table. The next minute, I have a thermometer up my butt. No warning.

  And that’s why I scratched him.

  He has a Band-Aid on his nose where I scratched him and his weird eyebrows are all squished together. He’s holding a big needle in his hand. It’s the biggest needle I’ve ever seen.

  I try to jump off the table, but Sara holds me down.

  “It’s okay, Cheese,” Sara says. “It will only hurt for a second.”

  I hiss.

  Yes, I learned something new.

  I can hiss.

  I hiss some more.

  Get that psycho and his needle away from me!

  “Mom, come help me hold him down,” Sara says.

  Mom joins in, helping to pin me to this cold metal table.

  This is a new low.

  I feel the needle poke my butt. It hurts. It’s worse than the time I got stung by a bee.

  After two more shots, Dr. V finally asks me if I want a treat.

  I don’t.

  ~

  Yellow.

  That’s the color of my collar.

  Not red like before. Or even blue. No, it’s yellow.

  You know who has a yellow collar? Cassie. You know why? Because Cassie is a girl.

  It’s bad enough being a baby cat named Cheese. But a baby cat named Cheese in a yellow collar?

  What did I do to deserve this?

  “I got you something else,” Sara says.


  I recognize the white bag that she pulled the collar out of. I know it’s from the Ball Shop. I know this isn’t what it’s called, but when Jerry would take me and Cassie there, that’s what we would usually get. (At least that’s what I would get. Cassie always went for the pig ears.)

  Sara pulls something out of the bag and tosses it on the carpet right next to me.

  I gingerly take a couple of steps forward—my butt is still sore from my showdown with Dr. V—and inspect it. It’s a fake mouse. I bat at it a few times, then take a couple of steps backward and lie down.

  “You don’t like it?” Sara asks. “Well, then how about this?”

  She pulls out a ball.

  I feel my whiskers twitch.

  The ball is a rainbow of colors. She tosses it on the carpet and it jingles. I bat it with my paw and it jingles some more. I don’t like the sound it makes. I like things that squeak. Not jingle.

  “Not that one either,” Sara says, shaking her head. Her hand goes back into the bag and comes out with a package. She opens it. I take a few steps toward her. She has her back to me, but I can see her smiling. She turns around. She’s holding something metal in her hand.

  Red dot.

  Red dot.

  Weird red dot.

  There is a weird red dot on the carpet.

  How did it get there?

  I jump on it.

  I look under my paws.

  It’s gone.

  Now it’s on the wall.

  Red dot on the wall.

  I run over there.

  I hit it with my paw, but nothing happens.

  Then it’s moving.

  I chase this weird red dot around the room. I don’t even notice that Sara is laughing so hard she’s fallen over on her side. Mom is in the doorway. She’s laughing too.

  I don’t have time to figure out what they are laughing about; the red dot is back.

  I pounce on it.

  I’ve got it this time.