No Room at the Inn
In Cedar Cove winter often follows hard on summer, with little transition between the brilliant greens and blues of August to the grays and browns of the colder months. But some years, like this one, summer lingers into early September, fading gradually into a golden autumn. By mid-October, the Thyme & Tide's carefully tended lawns had dried to the color of spun honey; in Peggy Beldon's perennial beds, the pink phlox and yellow coreopsis had given way to russet and gold mums, purple asters and dusky, rose-colored sedum.
On this bright morning, the mistress of Cedar Cove's premiere B&B stood at the kitchen sink, enjoying the view out the window as she finished the breakfast dishes. Even though guests became scarce after Labor Day, Peggy stayed busy. Later today, she and Bob would make their annual pilgrimage to the farmer's market to load the pickup with pumpkins, gourds, straw bales and corn shocks that would decorate the grounds of the Thyme & Tide through Thanksgiving.
As the lovely blonde woman surveyed the broad expanse of lawn and pondered where to erect the scarecrow she planned to make from Bob's old work clothes, her eye was caught by an unexpected sight.
"Well, what do you know!" she said, leaning forward a bit.
""Not much." Her husband of 30 years had tip-toed up behind her. He snaked a long arm around her slim waist and reached for the cookie jar on the counter. Without shifting her gaze from the window, Peggy lightly slapped his wrist. "Bob Beldon, you had bacon and eggs not 20 minutes ago."
Undeterred, the big man deftly lifted the lid of the jar and snagged a couple of oatmeal raisin cookies. "This is dessert," he mumbled before taking a big bite. "What's so fascinating outside?"
"Look over by the pond, on the black rock," she answered.
He leaned over her shoulder. About 20 yards away, a fuzzy patch of orange was visible next to a tall thatch of fountain grass. "What the devil ….?"
Peggy smiled a little; Bob really needed to wear his glasses all the time, but he was a little vain and was often forced to squint.
"It's a cat," she informed him. At that moment, the shape suddenly shifted on its perch, revealing a pair of pointed ears and a long, sinuous tail.
"Hrrrmph. I'll take care of that," Bob huffed. He strode to the back door, stepped outside and headed in the direction of the animal. "Hey! Scat! Get outta here!" he shouted, waving his arms. The feline took one look at the giant, plaid-clad creature stalking toward it and beat a hasty retreat. It was an indistinct blur as it dived through the ornamental grasses and streaked across the lawn.
"Oh, Bob. Was that really necessary?" Peggy asked as she walked up beside him.
Her husband glowered in the direction of the now-vanished stray. "If you see one cat, pretty soon you've got a dozen," he growled. "Besides, you know how I feel about cats. They're sneaky and contrary."
Peggy laughed. "You mean they do as they please and won't follow orders."
Bob slung his arm around Peg's shoulders and turned them both back toward the house. "Exactly. I've already got one feisty, independent creature to contend with around here," he said, giving her a little squeeze.
Peggy glanced up to see him grinning at her. At her wry look, he gave her a quick wink and she smiled indulgently. As the couple headed back inside, Peggy cast a quick look over her shoulder and spied a small, furry face peeking around the corner of Bob's workshop.
She thought it best not to mention this to her husband.
Over the next couple of weeks, Peggy spied the cat several more times. Once it was slinking low and slow along one side of the garage, apparently hunting something. Another afternoon it sat on the hood of Bob's pickup, face turned to the sun. Peggy noticed it looked a little thinner and more scraggly each time she spied it.
On a blustery, overcast afternoon Peggy watched Bob make a half-hearted charge at the four-footed trespasser, startling it momentarily from its position in the middle of the path from the main house to one of the guest cottages. At the big man's sharp exclamation, the cat dashed away and out of sight. Peggy stepped outside and met her husband coming across the lawn, shaking his head. Peg handed him a mug of steaming coffee and a peanut butter cookie and they sat down next to each other on the porch steps. Before they had even settled comfortably, both spied the cat sauntering across the yard. It stopped about 50 feet from them, sat, gave them an indifferent glance and began serenely cleaning itself.
"That animal is a slow learner," Bob grunted. "I put the run on him half a dozen times a day, but he always comes back."
"Are you sure it's the cat that's the slow learner?" Peggy grinned.
Bob narrowed his eyes at her. "Huh. Reminds me of a skinny friend of my kid sister that used to hang around our house when I was in high school."
"Oh?"
He nodded grimly. "Yep. Seemed like every time I turned around, there she was. Talk about a nuisance."
Peggy took a sip from her mug. "So what did you do about this pest?"
Bob sighed heavily, then shrugged his broad shoulders. "What else could I do? I married her."
Peggy gave her hubby a playful nudge and they both laughed, causing the cat to look up from his self-cleansing routine. Bob scowled and gestured toward the animal with his mug. "That interloper better not be thinking it will wear me down. I'm already in one committed relationship; I'm not about to take on another one."
"It does seem very persistent," Peggy commented. "Maybe it's sick or something."
Her husband grunted. "As fast as it high-tails it when I holler, I think it's in better shape than I am."
"I just hate to have the poor thing out in the elements. It will be getting cold soon," Mrs. Beldon sighed. "We should at least try to catch it and bring it to the shelter."
"I've already thought of that. Can't get within six feet of the thing before it runs off."
Just then, a rusty, old pickup truck rumbled up the driveway and screeched to a stop. Peggy frowned a little as Mike O'Leary, who lived on the next property toward town, jumped out of the cab. Like Bob, Mike was retired from a living as a fisherman and had been one of her husband's most enthusiastic drinking buddies back in the day. He was a rough character, coarse in speech and crude in manners. Peggy prided herself on liking all her neighbors … but there were a few she liked best when they stayed home.
"Heya, Bob, Peggy," the old salt called, striding toward the couple.
"Hi, Mike," Bob answered. "What brings you out our way?"
"Was hoping you were in the mood to drop a line in."
Bob gave him a regretful half-smile. "No time for fishing today, I'm sorry to say."
Mike smirked and gave a little nod in Peggy's direction. "Little woman's got you on a short leash, eh?"
Before either Bob or Peggy could respond, Mike caught sight of the little orange cat. "Is that thing still hanging around?" He abruptly bent over, grabbed a pebble from the ground and pitched it at the animal. "Get outta here, you mangy beggar!" Though the rock missed its target, the cat gave a startled hop and dashed away.
"Hey!" Peggy exclaimed. Bob put a calming hand on her arm.
"I gather you're familiar with that cat," Bob said. "You know who it belongs to?"
O'Leary nodded. "That was Edna Stanton's cat."
"Oh, how sad!" Peggy remarked. The elderly lady, who had been Bob's fiercest rival in the annual holiday lighting contest for years, had passed away a few weeks before. Peggy was grateful that Bob had withdrawn from the previous season's competition, allowing the woman to have her moment in the spotlight.
"Edna lived five miles the other side of town," Bob said. "How'd that cat get all the way out here?"
"When her boy Ken came down up from Portland to clear out the house after his mom died, he didn't know what to do with the cat. So he brought it out here and dumped it off."
"That's just horrible!" Peggy gasped. "How could anyone be so cruel?"
"Are you sure that's what happened?" Bob asked. Peggy was glad to detect a note of disgust in his voice.
"Yup. Saw him do it. He dropped the thing just down the road from my place. Opened the door of the car and threw it out." He shrugged. "It showed up in my yard a little while later. I took a pop at it with my .270 Winchester, but missed the damned thing. Still, it got the message it wasn't welcome. Haven't seen it again until just now."
Peggy felt her face grow hot from anger, but Mike didn't seem to notice as he continued speaking directly to Bob. "Say, I could bring my gun over here and take care of that for you, Bob," he suggested.
"Thanks anyway," Bob answered quickly, before his wife could offer the man a piece of her mind. "I think we can handle it."
"A little rat poison in a can of tuna would do the trick," O'Leary added.
Bob stood up abruptly. "Yeah, I guess it would. I hate to give you the bum's rush, Mike, but I've got a pretty full day here. Some repairs in one of the guest bathrooms. You understand."
"Okay," Mike said. "Guess I'll head down to the Legion and see if there's a card game I can get into." He gave a little nod toward Peggy, who responded with a thin-lipped smile. The Beldons watched their neighbor climb back into his truck and drive away.
"He'll be home late and the truth won't be in him," Bob muttered, using one of his father's favorite euphemisms for getting drunk. He shook his head, and Peggy knew he was also thinking, "There but for the grace of God …" Bob had been trying for years to get Mike to admit his problem and enter the AA program, without success. Peggy admired Bob's compassion, though it meant seeing more of Mike O'Leary than she'd like.
"Bob, you wouldn't think of poisoning that cat, would you?"
The innkeeper gave his wife an incredulous look. "Come on, Peggy. You know me better than that." He looked out over the yard, where the object of this conversation had reappeared. The couple watched as the cat stretched out its long body and settled on the dry grass. It gave them a calm look, then closed its eyes.
"Ha! That thing is darned lucky there's a tender-hearted woman living here," Bob groused.
"And that woman's darned lucky she's married to a tender-hearted fella," Peggy beamed. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, ruffled a hand through his shock of gray hair. "You're a good man, Bob Beldon."
"Aw, Peg."
The wet season started a couple of days later. From a light morning mist, the sky darkened throughout the day. By the time Bob ran in from his shop at suppertime, the wind had kicked up and the rain was coming down in sheets. Carrying steaming bowls of her fish chowder to the table, Peggy happened to glance out the dining room window.
"Uh, oh, Bob," she said as she sat down across from him at the sturdy, hand-crafted table. "You didn't get the shop door completely closed when you came in."
Her husband tore off a piece of one of Peggy's homemade sourdough rolls and dunked it in his stew. "Fassawite," he muttered around a mouthful of stew.
"Excuse me?"
Bob swallowed and took a swig from his water glass. "I said, that's all right." Without looking at his wife, he dug into his chowder again. "I'm not going back out in this downpour to close it."
A little quirk appeared in Peggy's forehead at this unexpected answer. "That's all right? Since when do you expose your precious man-cave to the elements? Honestly, sometimes I think you care more about your band-saw than you do me."
Bob finally put down his spoon and looked his wife in the eye. "First of all, the door's only open a crack. And secondly, how could you doubt that I love you more than any power tool." He reached for another roll and Peggy saw a mischievous grin playing at his lips. "After all, my band-saw never made me a chowder like this."
"Hm. You talk pretty smart for a man who hasn't had his slice of pecan pie yet," Peggy replied in a mock warning tone.
Her husband looked properly chastened. "I'll be good," Bob said hastily, then added hopefully, "Is there whipped cream?"
As she cleared the supper dishes a little while later, Peggy was still puzzling over Bob's uncharacteristically blasé attitude toward what he called his "Inner Sanctum." He was usually extremely meticulous about making sure everything in the shop was stowed away and secured: "ship-shape from stem to stern," the career fisherman would often say.
If he hadn't exhibited such a healthy appetite, Peggy might have worried that her man was coming down with something. At the moment he was in the den, reading the paper in his easy chair with the nightly news talking to itself on the television. Perfectly normal for Bob.
Peggy squinted out into the darkness, trying to see the shed through the continuing deluge. Just then a flash of lightning lit the sky and she spied a small, thoroughly bedraggled figure lope across the lawn and dart through the small gap into the woodshop. It occurred to her suddenly that Bob hadn't acted surprised when she mentioned the door ajar … almost as if he already knew it was open. Almost as if he'd "forgotten" to close it deliberately.
Tossing her dishcloth over one shoulder, Peggy walked quietly to the den and peeked in. Bob had fallen asleep in his chair. The newspaper was tented over his chest and his reading glasses were askew on his nose. Peg tip-toed in, carefully removed his glasses, and set them on the coffee table. "You big softy," she whispered as she leaned down to gently kiss his forehead.
Several days later, the clouds parted long enough for Peg to take some laundry out to the clothesline. As she passed Bob's shed, she was surprised to hear his low rumble from within, chatting animatedly. Peggy glanced toward the driveway, but saw no visitor's car. There weren't any guests at the B&B this week. Who on earth could he be talking to?
She walked to the shop door and peeked in. There was Bob at the woodworking bench, carefully hand-sanding what appeared to be a table-leg-in-progress. Beside his project, as if supervising the work, sat the orange cat.
"You see, Sam," Bob was saying quietly, "The key is long, smooth strokes. That's how you get the smoothest surface." The cat blinked solemnly back at him.
"Bob Beldon!" Peggy exclaimed, stepping into the shop.
Both Bob and the cat jumped. Bob dropped his sanding block and the cat leapt from the table, disappearing into the shadowy recesses of the shop.
"Peggy! What are you doing, sneaking up on a guy like that? If I'd been using the rotary saw I'd be a one-handed woodworker right now."
"Never mind that, mister," said his wife, walking up to him and jabbing the center of his broad chest with her index finger. "What's that cat doing in here?"
"What cat?" Bob responded innocently. He glanced around the shop and shrugged. "I don't see any cat."
Peggy pursed her lips and pointed to the floor near Bob's feet, where a pair of small bowls were lined up next to a tool chest. One contained water; the other had remnants of what Peggy guessed to be some kind of canned meat. "Developed a taste for eating off the floor, have you?"
Bob's face assumed the expression of someone who's just been busted and doesn't much like it. "Yeah, yeah, all right." As his wife started to giggle, Bob scowled. "He's caught three mice in here in the last week. We have an agreement that he can stay until the rodent population is under control. Then it's the old heave-ho."
"And the food?"
"You know our policy, Peggy. Long-term boarders are expected to help out around the place. In exchange, they get a place to sleep and three squares a day. We can't expect Sam to work for nothing." At that moment the animal sauntered out from the shadows and sat in the middle of the concrete floor, watching his landlords' conversation with apparent interest.
"Sam? What kind of a name is that for a cat?"
Bob was looking more exasperated by the minute. If there was anything he hated, it was getting caught in an embarrassing position by his wife. "How should I know what his name is? I call him Sam because he reminds me of a kid from my platoon in 'Nam. He had bright orange hair just like that."
"Was your friend Sam a girl? Because I'm a pretty sure that's a female."
Bob rolled his eyes. "Short for Samantha, then. Call him – her – whatever you want. It's not like it's going to come when it's called. And it won't be around long enough to learn its name anyway."
"Whatever you say, Bob." Peggy stooped to examine the contents of the dishes more carefully. "So that's where my tea saucers have got to." She stuck the tip of a finger into the gooey remains of some brownish substance in one of the dishes, then tentatively sniffed it. "Tuna?"
"Mackerel." Bob leaned against the wood bench and folded his arms. "Eats it like it's going out of style. I gave it some milk the other day. It lapped it up, then five minutes later upchucked all over my jigsaw."
Peggy sighed. "Most cats are lactose-intolerant, Bob. Milk's really not good for them."
"It sure didn't stop it from emptying the bowl in about 10 seconds flat." Bob shook his head. "Talk about a dumb animal, eating something that's going to make it sick."
"Said the man who wolfed down TWO chili cheese dogs at the county fair last week and was up all night moaning about it," said Peggy, moving close to Bob and wrapping her arms around his waist.
"One good thing about this cat," Bob mumbled into her hair. "It doesn't give me any backtalk."
The cat leapt onto the workbench next to the couple. "Meow," it said.
By the first week of December, the extended fall had most decidedly turned to a typical Pacific coast winter: clouds and a cold, persistent drizzle. Late one afternoon Bob came stomping in from outside, his red plaid flannel jacket coated with a light sheen of sleet.
"Holy cow," he called from the entryway. "That wind is blowing off an iceberg!"
"Dan the weather man says it'll turn to snow by evening," Peggy said, coming from the kitchen with a mug of hot cider in each hand. Bob hung up his coat in the hall closet and reached for the beverage Peggy held out for him.
"Do I smell gingerbread?" he asked, heading off in the direction of the aroma.
"It seemed like that kind of day," Peggy answered. She followed her husband into the kitchen. "Even if Christmas is still a few weeks away."
"Never too early for gingerbread," Bob agreed, snagging one, then another of the still-warm confections from a cookie sheet on the counter. "Did you say it's going to snow?"
The pretty blond nodded. "More than a flurries, too. They're predicting an actual snowstorm. Could be 6-8 inches by morning." She took a sip from her coffee.
"Hmm." Bob chewed thoughtfully. A little crinkle creased his forehead. "Gonna get pretty cold, then." He glanced toward the kitchen window. Dusk was falling and, sure enough, the first flakes were swirling around the windowpane. Bob's frown deepened. "Hmm," he muttered again.
"Something wrong?" Peggy's mate sometimes needed a little prodding to share his thoughts.
He looked at her. "It's nothing. Just a little unexpected, that's all."
"Well, we've got the place to ourselves, we're nice and cozy, and I've got a bag of chestnuts in the cupboard we can roast later if you get the fireplace going."
Her husband still seemed distracted. "Uh, a fire? Okay. I'd better make sure I've got enough wood in, then." He popped the last bite of gingerbread in his mouth, turned on his heel and headed back toward the front door.
"Bob, I'm pretty sure the wood rack is full," Peggy called after him, but the front door was already closing behind him.
Ten minutes later, Bob was back with an armful of wood and wind-reddened ears. He stamped a light coating of snow off his boots as he shucked off his coat again. "Getting colder by the minute."
The wind had risen even higher, and it was snowing in earnest now. Icy pellets pinged against the living room windowpane and Peggy observed that the ground was already covered by a blanket of white. Bob knelt down by the fireplace and began arranging sticks of kindling.
"I don't suppose you've seen that cat around today," he remarked off-handedly over his shoulder.
"You mean Sam?" Peggy shook her head. "No. She's not in the workshop?"
"Haven't seen her in a couple of days," Bob said. He reached up and selected a long match from a box on the mantle, lit it, and applied it expertly to the neatly stacked wood on the grate. Only a moment later, a nice fire was blazing.
Bob grunted as he got to his feet. "Somebody probably took her in. Or she smartened up and headed south for the winter, with the birds."
"Probably," Peggy answered. "I just hope it didn't wander onto Mike O'Leary's place again. He's always looking for an excuse to shoot that gun of his."
Bob threw a large log on the blaze. "Now, Peggy. Don't go thinking the worst. It's just as likely she's snuggled up on some old lady's lap right now."
"Did you leave the shop door open?"
"A crack." Bob picked up an andiron and poked at the flaming logs on the grate. "That cat will be fine," he said, almost to himself. "Cats are smart. They know how to take care of themselves."
"I guess you're right," Peggy said. "Anyway, you'd better get washed up. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
As she turned to go back to the kitchen, Peggy saw her husband glance out the living room window again. There was nothing but darkness, and swirling snow, and the keening of the wind.
On any other night, Peggy's special pot roast with potatoes, carrots and plentiful gravy would have elicited an enthusiastic response from her husband. Tonight, however, it was a subdued Bob who filled his plate from the old crockpot Peg had gotten from Bob's mom as a wedding gift. Peggy tried to keep up a light-hearted chatter while they ate, but the conversation was mostly one-sided, and each lull was filled with the sound of the howling gale rattling the windows.
When Bob pushed his chair away from the table before Peggy had a chance to offer him a slice of pumpkin pie, she knew he was seriously uneasy. He headed right into his den. Putting off the dishes for a while, Peggy decided to join him. She found him staring at the TV, which was tuned to the Weather Channel. The screen displayed a map of Washington, with concentric circles in varying colors spreading out from Seattle, some 60 miles away. Though Cedar Cove was too small to be marked on the map, Peggy knew they were located in a darkish blue band that was labeled "dangerous windchills." Dan the Weather Man was explaining that the state was in the throes of an unusually severe storm for the region, the kind of tempest that would be called a "Nor'easter" on the other side of the country.
Abruptly, Bob climbed out of his easy chair.
"Where are you going?" Peggy asked as he stomped out of the room. He didn't answer, so she followed him down the hall to the front foyer, where he opened the closet door and pulled out his warmest coat, a wool lumberjack's hat with ear flaps that he'd inherited from his Dad, and his sturdiest boots.
"You're not going out in this?" Peggy demanded.
"I – I forgot something in the shop," he answered brusquely.
"Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning," Peggy argued. "It's dark and cold out there, Bob."
"I'll only be a minute," he said, wrapping a woolen scarf around his face. "Afickalefafanunnig."
Peggy pulled the scarf down from over his mouth. "Care to try that again."
"I think I left a fan running," he said. "I was varnishing in there today. Don't want it to overheat and start a fire." He wrapped up his face again, then pulled down the scarf himself. "Don't worry. I'll be right back."
Peggy gasped when Bob opened the front door and a blast of icy wind hit her. Wrapping her arms around herself as he closed the door behind him, Peggy hurried to the window to watch her husband. Through the heavy, blowing snow, she could just make out his large, dark form cross the yard and disappear into the shop. A light flicked on inside. Moments passed. The light flicked out again, and Peggy saw Bob leave the shop, pulling the door closed behind him. But instead of heading back to the house, he abruptly turned and disappeared around the back side of the building.
Alarmed, Peggy pressed closer to the window and strained to see further into the darkness. Five minutes passed. Ten. After 15 minutes, Peggy hurried to the front hall closet and pulled out her own coat and mittens. She was rummaging in a storage bin for a flashlight when the front door suddenly slammed open and her husband blustered in, covered with snow and ice.
"Bob! What on earth have you been doing!" Peggy snapped, relief making her voice sharp. "You scared me half to death. Do you have any idea-" She stopped abruptly when she noticed that one hand, whitened from cold, clutched the front of his jacket tightly, while the other cradled his ribs, almost as if he were in pain.
"Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?" she asked, hurrying to pull the ice-stiffened scarf away from his face. Behind the crusty material she found a broad, triumphant grin. "Oh, Peggy, I'm fine. Don't be such a worrywart," he said. The fingers holding his jacket tightly closed now fumbled with the buttons, opening the coat. There was a rustling from inside and suddenly a small, orange head popped up over Bob's hand.
"Oh, it's Sam!" Peggy exclaimed. She inserted her hands into the little nest Bob had formed in his coat and pulled the shivering creature out. "She's as cold as ice!" While Bob took off his gear, Peggy hurried to pull a soft afghan off the back of the couch. She wrapped the cat in it and sat down in front of the fireplace, placing the swaddled cat in her lap. "Ah, it's okay, sweetheart," she murmured as she rubbed its sodden fur with the blanket. "You're safe and warm in here."
Hearing her husband's footsteps approaching, Peggy called, "Where did you find her?"
"Where else?" Bob answered, coming in and squatting awkwardly next to his wife. "Up a tree."
"Up a tree!"
Bob stretched his palms toward the warmth of the fire. "Yeah. That old elm tree behind the shop. Shoulda known that's where she was – I had to fish her out of it last week. Dumb cat." He reached over and lightly ruffled one damp ear that stuck out of the blanket nest.
Peggy lifted her bundle and looked the miscreant straight in the face. "You naughty kitty!" she scolded. Sam answered with such a pitiful little "mew" that Peggy clucked sympathetically and cradled the creature close to her chest.
"You females," Bob groused beside her. "Always needing to be rescued. Reminds me of that time you took the catamaran out on the bay. Didn't know how to sail and couldn't swim a stroke, but away you went anyway."
Peggy smiled. "I was trying to impress a boy."
"Oh, I was impressed all right, when I had to row out and fetch you back to shore."
"I seem to recall you were rewarded for your heroism." Peggy glanced sideways at her husband and saw the slight blush and almost bashful smile that told her also remembered their first kiss all those years ago.
"So how did you rescue this little one?" Peggy asked.
Bob shrugged. "I just shimmied up the tree and brought her down."
"What!" Peggy exclaimed loudly enough to startle the dozy cat. She popped her head fully out of the blanket, squirmed off her lap and started exploring the little patch of hardwood floor in front of the fire, pouncing and pawing at the flickering shadows from the flames.
"Now, Peg. It was no big deal."
"No big deal? You climbed an ice-covered tree in the middle of a snowstorm," Peggy said sternly. "My God, Bob. You could have broken your fool neck."
He scoffed indignantly. "I used to scramble around in the rigging on my uncle's boat in weather a lot worse than this."
"You were a lot younger then."
"Hey!" he objected. "I happen to think I'm still in pretty darned good shape."
"And I want to keep you that way," said Peggy. "So no more climbing trees, Robert James Beldon."
Bob flinched a little at her tone. When his wife used his full name, she meant business. "Really, Peggy. There's no need to make a Federal case out of-"
"I mean it," she interrupted, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't make me withhold something you like very much."
"You wouldn't!"
"Oh, I think you know I would. Stay out of the trees or there will be no more baked goods for you, mister."
She had him there. "Fine," he sighed. Sam strolled over to Bob, who ran a broad palm smoothly down its still-damp back. The cat immediately flopped onto her side and began purring loudly.
"She's got her motor running," Bob grinned. "Looks like you'd better keep four feet on the ground from now on, Sammy girl." He tapped the animal lightly on its nose; she responded by batting playfully at the frayed cuff of his flannel shirt.
Bob grunted and struggled to his feet. "Well, now that tonight's little drama is over, I've got a Seahawks game to watch."
"I'll make popcorn," Peggy said as her husband padded off toward the den, followed by their furry, orange houseguest.
Moments later, Peggy carried a big, red bowl of buttered popcorn to the den. There she found football on the flat screen and her husband asleep in his chair. On his chest, a fluffy circle of cat rose and fell with each gentle snore.
"I think Bob may have been right about you after all," Peggy whispered as she set the bowl on the coffee table. "You knew darned well if you hung around long enough, you'd be allowed to stay. Pretty sneaky plan."
The cat raised its head and gazed at her with knowing, golden eyes. Peggy winked at it. "It worked for me, too." Peggy picked up the remove and lowered the volume, then turned to leave. At the door, she glanced back. "Just one house rule: Don't get too comfortable on that lap. I've still got first dibs."
As the cat lowered its chin back on Bob's chest and closed its eyes, Peggy tip-toed out, leaving her husband and his second-best girl to their rest.