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Sean makes the announcement at breakfast on Saturday morning. “So,” he says casually, looking around the table, “what do you say we stop by the animal shelter after your soccer game, Allie, and pick out a kitten?”
“Daddy!” Pandemonium ensues as the three girls, shrieking for joy, abandon their cereal bowls and hurl themselves ecstatically at their father. Over their heads Sean, looking pleased as a magician who has pulled off an especially difficult illusion, grins hugely at Elijah. It’s not a surprise to him - he’d been let in on the plan a few days’ earlier, and had gone with Sean to PetSmart the day before to purchase some essential (and carefully hidden away) supplies for the new arrival, like a litter box and cat litter, bed and toys, food and treats.
Elijah grins back at Sean, but in truth it’s a struggle. Although he’s as excited as he could be for Allie, Lizzy and Bella, who are going to get their longed-for kitten at last, it’s impossible for him to feel that same excitement. If anything, his predominant emotion is dread, and no matter how often he tells himself he’s being irrational, it doesn’t help.
Later that morning, after cheering Allie and her teammates on to victory at the soccer game, the family piles into the minivan and Sean drives them through the newly plowed and planted cornfields to the county shelter, about half an hour away. Even if he’d wanted to, Elijah couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise during the ride. Instead he listens as the girls squabble - more or less good-naturedly - over what they’re going to name their new kitten and whether it should be a girl or a boy.
From time to time, Sean glances over at him, wordlessly inviting Elijah to share his amusement at the more fanciful or improbable suggestions coming from the back seat, but for once Elijah doesn’t feel that thrill of belonging. His gut churns as a memory he’s tried unsuccessfully to bury so deep that it will never, ever surface rises relentlessly to the forefront of his mind. He should have known that he couldn’t run from it forever, any more than he could run from his past as a prostitute.
He’s never had a pet of his own. His mom had talked about it, as part of her dream of a home in the country where the two of them would live an idyllic existence, far from the city, from drugs and despair. “We’ll have a dog, Elijah,” she’d said, rocking him in her arms as she gazed out the filthy window as if seeing something besides the ugly black-stained bricks on the other side. “Maybe a cat, too. Won’t that be wonderful?”
When he was torn away from his mom and put into foster care, he clung to her dream, refusing to believe that they wouldn’t be together again someday, that they wouldn’t have that home in the country and the dog and cat his mom had promised him.
And then one day Elijah thought a part at least of that dream came true when Kim found a kitten abandoned behind a dumpster. It was a bedraggled scrap of orange and white striped fur with a high-pitched mewl and hazy amber eyes that she snuck into the house hidden inside her jacket. Naively, they’d convinced themselves that they’d be able to hide it in their bedroom, that they could sneak it milk and food and take care of it. Elijah had been secretly thrilled when it chose his lap to curl up on after eating, and immediately started purring. It looked kind of like the cat he’d imagined from his mom’s dream, and he decided that when his mom came to find him and take him away - he was still so certain then that she would - the kitten, and Kim, of course, would go with them.
For two blissful nights, until their foster father heard its plaintive crying and discovered its presence, the fantasy had survived. Then it had died with the kitten at the hands of the man who had been entrusted with their welfare but instead made their lives a living hell.
Staring sightlessly out the car window, Elijah vividly sees in his mind’s eye that tiny crumpled lifeless form and hears Kim’s sobs as she picked the dead kitten up from the base of the wall and cradled it in her arms. He’d flown at the Monster, as he’d privately called him, kicking and punching - with predictable consequences. From force of habit, he rubs at one of the scars left on his forearm by a lighted cigarette; almost he can smell the acrid odor of burning flesh.
That had been the day he’d truly understood what it meant to be completely powerless and alone.
Years later, when he’d finally escaped from the fucked up foster care system and was on his own making a shitload of money turning tricks, Elijah could have had a dozen pets if he wanted, but he’d told himself he didn’t need a fucking stupid kitten or puppy. The truth was, though, that the corrosive guilt he felt at his failure to protect from harm anyone he’d ever loved- his mom, Kim, that kitten- made it impossible. How could any innocent life be entrusted to his care?
Sean’s faith and trust in him have gone a long way to erase that guilt, but there are some scars that simply go too deep, far deeper than cigarette burns.
As they pull into the parking lot of the shelter, Elijah is weighed down by his memories, depressed in a way he hasn’t been in months.
The animal shelter is a utilitarian orange brick building with cement-floored chain link kennels spanning the length of the rear, and to his haunted eyes, it looks disturbingly like a prison. Even from inside the car, he can hear the dogs in the kennel runs barking. Their barks sound frantic to him, as if they are desperate to escape from the system, just as he’d been as a child.
Stop it, he tells himself as he gets out of the minivan. Just fucking stop projecting. This isn’t social services. Those aren’t kids, they’re dogs.
He busies himself with Bella, unfastening the seat belt and lifting her out of her car seat. She beams up at him with that sunny smile so like her father’s; he resists an impulse to fold her to his breast, to swear on his very life that he will keep her from harm.
“I want a kitty with blue eyes like yours, Lijah,” she states as Elijah sets her carefully down on the ground.
“As long as you don’t call him ‘Elijah’,” Sean says from the back of the van where he’s opening the hatch. “It would be very confusing to have two Elijahs in the house.”
“But Daddy...” Bella begins with characteristic stubbornness.
Elijah takes her hand and smiles down at her. “I think the kitten deserves a special name of his very own, Bella, don’t you?” She ponders this for a moment and then nods solemnly.
Sean takes the cat carrier they’d bought at PetSmart out of the back, locks the van and they go inside. Though plainly furnished with inexpensive tan plastic chairs and faux wood tables, the reception area is neat and clean. It’s crowded, too, for the shelter is only open from nine to one on Saturdays, and it’s quarter past twelve.
“Looks like we’ll have to wait for our turn. Go have a seat,” Sean says. “I’ll stand in line.”
“But Daddy I don’t want to wait!” Allie is normally mature beyond her tender years, but she sounds as plaintive as Bella, and her father gives her a sympathetic hug.
“I know, sweetheart, but it shouldn’t be for long. Now go on.”
She sighs and trails after her sisters to the chairs arranged along one wall. Elijah starts to follow after her, but a light touch on his arm stops him.
“You okay?” Sean asks, his brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
His intent, serious gaze holds Elijah captive. He wants to say ‘I’m fine’, but he can’t lie to Sean, and anyway, there’d be no point. He’s been rubbing at his scars, which is a dead giveaway to his state of mind.
“Not really,” he admits.
“What’s wrong?” Sean’s voice is so soft, so gentle, that it nearly breaks Elijah, because with Sean it’s never just a question, never routine.
Elijah’s gaze skates around the room, which is reminiscent of the waiting room at the Social Services agency, with anemic looking plants and multitudinous colorful informational posters, flyers and brochures, either taped to the walls or piled on tables in the corners. The subject matter might be different, but the impression is exactly the same: bureaucratic, and therefore to Elijah’s eyes threatening.
Finally he says, “I guess I’m not too comfortable in this kind of environment.” No way can he bring up the kitten or Kim.
Sean grimaces. “Shit,” he curses softly. “Elijah, I’m sorry. Would you rather wait outside?”
I’d rather you hold me, Sean. All I need to feel better is for you to hold me.
In all his life, until Sean, he’d only ever wanted one person to hold him - his mom. He’d been paid to do what men wanted, to be their fantasy come to life. The sex had never bothered him. He could turn off his mind, go through the motions, give them what they were gagging for. It was different with the johns who didn’t want sex, but only to cuddle him, to pour into his ear all their problems and tell him how no one understood them. God, how he’d loathed them, and their embraces that made him feel even emptier inside. You’re holding a shell, a husk, a dead thing, he’d wanted to say. But Sean, when he held Elijah, it filled the empty spaces inside him, made him feel, for the first time in his entire life, real and whole - and safe.
“No, it’s okay. Honestly, Sean, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He’s a long way from certainty on that score, but he can’t disappoint the girls - they won’t understand if he goes outside, and he doesn’t want to do anything that will put a damper on their excitement or will worry Sean.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” He injects a positive, persuasive note into his voice.
Sean gives his shoulder a squeeze. “All right then.”
There are several other children in the waiting room, and Allie and Bella, extroverts like their dad, start chatting with them. Lizzy, who isn’t as outgoing as her sisters, hangs back, so Elijah goes over to her and says, “Hey, get a load of all the photos on that bulletin board, Lizzy. Want to take a look?” Though he loves each of the girls equally, it’s Lizzy who reminds him the most of himself, for like him she’s an observer, self-contained, and often waits to see what everyone else is doing before joining in.
A large cork bulletin board dominates one of the white-washed walls. Pinned to it are dozens of snapshots of dogs and cats that have been adopted from the shelter. He and Lizzy stand hand in hand and examine the photos. Some of the animals have been photographed snuggled into the covers of their owners’ beds or snoozing among the sofa cushions, while others are wearing colorful collars or even elaborate costumes. The notes that accompany the photos are threaded through with love and gratitude, and Elijah thinks how very lucky these animals are to have found a happy ending and a forever home.
If only the kitten Kim had found could have had the same kind of happy ending, made use of those nine lives that cats were reputed to have. It might even still be alive today. He swallows a lump in his throat that is as much for Kim’s tearing grief as it is for the poor kitten who had died too young.
“Okay gang, we’re up,” Sean says, and unconsciously Elijah’s hand tightens around Lizzy’s.
“C’mon, Lijah.” Lizzy tugs him away. Her thin face is aglow with excitement, just like Kim’s had been that day. But Lizzy isn’t Kim, he reminds himself. She has a wonderful father who adores her and any kitten that goes home with the Astins will have a forever home, like the dogs and cats in the photos. Most important of all, it will always, always be kept safe from harm.
A dark-haired older woman in jeans and a beige polo shirt with the shelter logo embroidered on it in maroon stands next to Sean. She has a clipboard in her hands and a slightly frazzled expression on her face.
“Hi, I’m Nancy,” she says. “I’ll be showing you the animals available for adoption, but before I do that, we’ll need to sit down together so I can go over a few things and ask you some questions. It won’t take long, I promise,” Nancy adds with an understanding smile as Allie and Lizzy exchange disappointed looks. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping this way...” She indicates a door to her left bearing a sign that says ‘Counseling’.
They enter the small conference room, and sit down, with Bella on Allie’s lap. Elijah immediately, instinctively recoils from the atmosphere inside. It’s way too reminiscent of the Social Services offices, where his fate was discussed and decided while he’d sat, first in bewildered silence and later in sullen, having neither voice nor choice in the matter. He is neither bewildered nor sullen now, but as Nancy launches into an obviously well-rehearsed speech about the adoption process, what it involves, the fees and the requirements, he decides that she is no different from the caseworkers assigned to ‘help’ him: well-meaning but overworked, purposely distant and emotionally uninvolved. He knows the type too well.
“We’re interested in adopting a kitten,” Sean says. “I checked your Petfinder listings online and saw that you have a couple of litters available right now.”
“We almost always have litters available for adoption, Mr. Astin, especially at this time of year,” Nancy says ruefully. “There’s a never-ending supply, unfortunately - too many strays, too many people who don’t spay or neuter their cats.” She hesitates. “Of course, we also have a number of older cats in need of homes. Have you considered an adult cat rather than a kitten?”
It’s Bella who answers. “We want a kitten with blue eyes like Lijah’s,” she states firmly. “And that’s that.”
Sean chokes. Bella’s favorite new expression is ‘And that’s that’, and she uses it whenever possible.
“Well, if that’s that,” Nancy says, and from the quiver in her voice, it’s clear that she is working hard not to laugh, “I guess we’ll move on then.”
She starts going down a list of questions on the form attached to her clipboard. Do they have any other pets? Is anyone allergic? Is someone home all day? Do they understand the expense involved in owning a pet? What would they do with a cat if they had to move? Tick, tick, tick- the ball point pen in her hand flashes as she checks each item off or scribbles notes after Sean’s answers. Elijah might have been impressed by the shelter’s thoroughness, if he hadn’t know that it was probably meaningless.
Once or twice during the interview the woman’s hazel eyes slide speculatively to Elijah. No doubt she’s wondering why he’s there and what relationship he has to Sean and his daughters. He’s too old to be Sean’s son, and too unlike him to be his brother. Well, let her wonder, he thinks. It’s none of her fucking business. His life is no longer controlled by bureaucracy.
“There is a spay/neuter requirement for any kitten adopted from the shelter, Mr. Astin,” she says, “and we reserve the right to follow up with your veterinarian to ensure that the kitten has in fact been spayed or neutered, and additionally to make a home visit to check on its condition.”
“That will be fine,” Sean replies easily. “I think it’s great that you care enough to follow up.”
But Elijah almost lets out a cynical laugh. Care? Yeah, right. If they didn’t follow up how kids in foster care were being treated, what were the odds they’d do it for a kitten? Lip service. It’s all fucking lip service. No one really gives a shit.
The walls of the small stuffy room start to close in around Elijah, and he wishes fervently that the questions would end now and Nancy would let them out of this claustrophobic box that rouses such bitterly painful memories. To steady himself he fastens his eyes on Sean’s face, his beautiful, beautiful face. He remembers how it had looked that night at the hotel in Bloomington, every trace of grief and care smoothed away, and how he’d smiled in his sleep...
“Well, that’s everything, Mr. Astin. Just sign the adoption form at the bottom, and you’ll be all set.” She slides the clipboard and pen over to Sean.
Sean takes them and signs with a flourish on the dotted line. “Ready to go look at some kittens?” he says to the girls.
They are up and out of their seats as if jet-propelled, and Elijah meets Sean’s eyes and they exchange a grin.
Maybe I’ll get through this okay after all, he thinks.
~*~
Nancy leads them to the wing of the shelter where the cats and kittens that are healthy and ready for adoption are housed. It smells strongly of disinfectant, and a couple of teenage girls are busy, one mopping the floor and the other cleaning the stainless steel cages. The cages are stacked in two rows along one side of the long, narrow room, and Elijah can’t help but notice as he walks past that every cage is occupied by at least one cat, and sometimes two. His heart contracts with pity. So many needy animals - what will happen to them all? Each cage has a white index card attached to it, and the names written in black magic marker leap out at him: Amy, Buddy, Tiger, Candy, Duke, Stella... He tries not to look too closely at the cats themselves; he’s afraid of what he’ll see in their eyes.
At the far end of the room a pen is set up, and it’s here that the two litters of kittens are being kept. The pen is lined with newspaper and supplied with a couple of cardboard litter boxes, bowls of food and water, toys, a scratching post, and thick fleece pads for the kittens to lie on.
The girls are beside themselves as they bend over the pen, which has sides high enough to keep the kittens from escaping, but low enough that interaction is possible. Elijah tries to count the kittens, but it’s a hopeless case. Active hardly begins to describe them: they’re a multi-colored blur of constant motion as they wrestle and chase each other around the pen, or hiss and spit and pounce on the various toys provided for their amusement.
“Oh, they’re so cute!” enthuses Allie, her hands clasped at her breast and her eyes shining. “Can we touch them?” she asks Nancy hopefully. Several of the kittens have come over to investigate the newcomers and are standing on their stubby hind legs, wide-eyed and mewling for attention.
Sean had cautioned his daughters several times on the drive to the shelter that they had to be on their best behavior: no running, no shouting, and above all no touching any of the animals without permission. He’d used his best ‘listen up, your father is totally serious this time’ voice, and the girls had taken it to heart. Elijah is proud of them, prouder still of Sean, who is such an amazing father.
“It’s okay if you touch them,” Nancy says, “but remember, they’re still babies and they don’t have any manners yet. In fact, you’d better keep your braid out of the way unless you want a few kittens hanging from it - they’ll definitely think it’s a toy.”
Laughing, Allie tosses the long blonde braid she plaits for soccer back over her shoulder, and then reaches in to pet a fluffy black and white kitten; it bats playfully at her hand with its front paws. “Ouch!” she exclaims, and giggles. “His nails prickle. But oh, his fur is so soft! Lizzy, feel how soft it is!”
Lizzy, a bit more tentatively, touches the kitten’s fur, and lets out an ‘Ohhh’ of delight. Sean and Bella crouch down, too, but Elijah remains frozen in place, unable to do more than observe with a sick sensation in his stomach.
He is so not able to handle this, he realizes with dismay.
“What do you think of this little guy, Bella?” Sean says, pointing to a smoke-gray kitten with bright, bright blue eyes. “He sure has blue eyes.” He reaches in and carefully picks up the kitten.
The sight of the tiny kitten cradled in Sean’s palms is almost more than Elijah can bear. The Monster had only ever used his hands to punish and hurt. But not Sean. His hands sustain, they nurture and cherish... or act as a lifeline when it seems like there’s nothing left to hold onto...
“You have to be very, very careful when you hold a kitten, sweetheart,” Sean is saying. “Here, give me your hand and I’ll show you.” Gently, he guides Bella’s left hand between the kitten’s front legs and under its chest to support it, and cups her right beneath his hindquarters. Bella holds the kitten in her arms; her face is serious, focused and intent. Sean smiles and says, “He’s purring. Can you hear him?”
Bella nods and her face splits into a wide, awed smile. “I want this kitty, Daddy. He likes me.”
Elijah moves blindly away, retreating down the aisle. The sound of the kitten purring in Bella’s careful arms has raised too vivid reminders of Kim and himself. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Please don’t let me start crying. He’d never cried for the kitten, Kim had cried more than enough for the both of them, but he can feel a storm of tears gathering his chest, suffocating him, and he’s afraid that if he starts, he’ll never, ever stop...
And then something touches him on the arm - an orange paw. The paw has emerged from one of the cages in the top row. Startled, Elijah looks inside it to find a cat staring at him. It has wide, pale green eyes, extravagant white whiskers, marmalade and white striped fur, and its left leg is fully stretched through an opening in the cage door so it can reach him. The index card taped to the crate says ‘Tom - adult, DSH, neutered’.
Without thinking, Elijah gently grasps the paw between his fingers; the fur on top is plush as one of Bella’s stuffed toys and the pink pads are soft and smooth. The cat doesn’t try to pull his paw away, but regards him steadily. Elijah is sure he’s projecting again, but staring into Tom’s eyes, he seems to see his old self looking back: beaten down, weary, but still holding onto a vestige of hope that life could be so much more.
“Hey Tom,” Elijah says softly. “What’s up?” He has no idea how to talk to a cat, but somehow he doesn’t feel foolish. The cat, at least, doesn’t seem to mind.
“I see you’ve met Tom,” says Nancy from beside him. She’s carrying a stack of empty stainless steel cat food bowls she’d removed from the kittens' pen.
Elijah looks at her curiously. There’s a distinct softness in her voice that hasn’t been evident before, and it’s reflected in her expression. Tom, it seems, has gotten under her skin, penetrated the bureaucratic reserve.
“More like he introduced himself to me,” Elijah says. At that moment, he finds himself actually liking Nancy a little, even empathizing with her - her job has to be depressing and stressful as hell, dealing with so many abandoned and neglected animals. “How long has he been here?”
“About six months now.”
“That long?” Elijah is dismayed. What a fucking awful life - stuck in a cage day after day after day. “Why hasn’t anyone adopted him? He seems like a really nice cat.”
Nancy hands the food bowls to one of the kennel help. “Put these in the dishwasher, Kelly, will you?”
As Kelly takes the food bowls, she gives Elijah a speculative, ‘hmm, he’s kinda cute’ look and then a bright, interested smile. He still finds it weird as shit when girls notice him, something that happens with not great infrequency at the restaurant. In the city, his ‘sleep all day work all night lifestyle’ rarely brought him into contact with anyone who wasn’t gay or bi, and at the clubs and bars where he hung out, most of the females were transvestites. His smile in return is perfunctory and polite but not at all encouraging - his interest is in the cat, and even if it weren’t, there’s no room in his heart and life for anyone, gay, straight or bi, but Sean. Kelly’s smile fades and she carries the dishes away.
“Older cats are hard to place, especially males,” Nancy says. “But Tom also has a malformed leg which makes it even harder. Most people aren’t interested in adopting an animal with physical limitations.”
Elijah stoops slightly to look into the cage, and on closer inspection can see that the cat’s right front leg is abnormally short and crooked. “Was he born like that?” he asks.
“No, it’s the result of an injury - HBC, we think, probably when he was a kitten and the growth plate was damaged.”
“HBC?” He puzzles over the acronym.
“Hit by car,” Nancy explains. “He was a feral, so it never got veterinary attention, just healed on its own.”
“How come he wasn’t put to sleep if he’s got a bum leg?” Elijah asks curiously. He may never have been in an animal shelter before today, but he knows that cats and dogs are even more disposable than children in this fucked up world. The streets of New York had been full of them.
“Because Tom actually gets around fine - you’d be amazed at how well animals adapt.”
No I wouldn’t be amazed. Kids on the street do it, too. We adapt, do whatever it takes to survive. He feels a sudden kinship with Tom, the former stray. After all, he’d been a stray, too, until Sean came into that church five months ago and saved him.
“And also because,” her voice softens again, noticeably, “Tom has a super personality. A lot of ferals can’t be rehabilitated and placed as pets. But not Tom – he’s a total lover. He’s tired of living in a crate, even though we get him out every day for some individual attention, but somewhere out there is someone who will see what a great cat he is. He deserves a chance to find his forever home.”
The words are out of his mouth before he can question the wisdom of asking. “Would it be okay if I held him for a minute?”
For answer, Nancy unlatches the door to the cage. “Tom loves to be held. You’ll make his day.” She reaches inside and scoops the cat up. “C’mon, buddy. Looks like you’re getting some cuddle time.”
The moment the cat is deposited, already purring, in his arms, Elijah realizes it’s a huge mistake; he’s in too deep, making a connection where he shouldn’t. It’s like Kim’s kitten all over again - him laying his heart on the line and having it broken. They didn’t come here to adopt a cat, and it’s likely that the smoke-gray kitten with the bright blue eyes is going to be the girls’ choice. Maybe I can come and visit him sometimes… But he’s only had a few driving lessons with Sean and even after he gets his driver’s license, he won’t have his own car.
“Nancy?” Sean calls. “We need some expert help here. Is this kitten a boy or a girl?”
Nancy says to Elijah, “You can put Tom back in the crate any time you’re ready. He won’t make a fuss, I promise.”
The cat rests unmoving in Elijah’s arms, but he’s very much alive. His purr is a low deep rumble, his body solid and warm against Elijah’s chest, and his pale green eyes are fixed unblinking on Elijah’s face. The kitten’s eyes had been hazy and its body had been light and frail as a bird’s. He can remember it so clearly, even after all these years. But it might have grown up to be a sturdy cat like Tom - only it never had the chance. Tears, salt-hot and bitter, sting the corners of his eyes.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it, Tom,” he says softly to the cat, “but trust me, things could suck a lot worse.”
“What could suck a lot worse?”
Startled, Elijah looks up to see Sean standing beside him. He’s regarding Elijah with a quizzical expression.
“Nothing…” Elijah quickly says and glances toward the pen, where the girls are absorbed in something Nancy is telling them. “What about the kitten?”
“Looks like we have a winner,” Sean replies. “Bella is determined on the little gray one with the blue eyes – who is a male, by the way – and fortunately Allie and Lizzy are both in favor. Not that it would be hard to fall in love with any of the kittens. They’re all so damned cute.”
“That’s awesome,” Elijah says, and he means it. But he can’t suppress a pang at the thought of Tom, who has been in the shelter for so long, and passed over time and time again in favor of an adorable kitten.
“Nancy told me you have a new friend.” Sean changes the subject. “What’s his name?”
“Tom.”
“Hello, Tom.” Sean scratches the cat under his chin, and the bass rumble of his purr grows stronger. “He seems like a real sweetheart.”
“Yeah.” There’s a painful lump in Elijah’s throat that makes it difficult to speak. “But he’s been stuck here in a fucking cage for six months, Sean.”
“Still, you told him things could suck a lot worse. Why did you say that, Elijah?”
Caught off guard, Elijah’s long-suppressed bitterness bursts free like water from a breached dam. “Because at least he’s alive. At least he’s safe and looked after. At least…” Elijah chokes up and buries his face in Tom’s tawny fur. It tickles his nose and smells faintly of shampoo, as if he’s had a bath recently.
“Hey…” A hand rests gently in the middle of his back. He’d know that touch if he were standing blindfold in the tight-packed throng at the center of Times Square on New Year’s Eve. “I have a feeling you weren’t being totally straight with me, Elijah. Coming here has obviously triggered some pretty strong emotions for you. You should have told me.”
He lifts his head; a few wisps of cat hair cling to his chin from static electricity and he brushes them away with an unsteady hand. “I couldn’t talk about it, Sean. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about it.”
“Okay.” Sean doesn’t press him, just gives a brief nod, accepting, but he doesn’t remove his hand; it moves in tiny, comforting circles. “How about we talk about the cat instead? Six months is a long time to live in a place like this. I wonder why he hasn’t been adopted.”
Elijah recovers his composure; Sean’s touch anchors him, gives him something to hold onto in the shifting sands of his emotions. “Tom’s got a bad leg. Nancy says he was probably hit by a car when he was a…a kitten, and it never healed properly.”
Sean notices the cat’s leg for the first time and his eyes fill with pity. “Jesus.”
“Nobody wants him. He’s not perfect. He’s not cute and little.” Elijah stares into Tom’s eyes, sees again that weary resignation and the tiny spark of hope that won’t die: somewhere, that spark says, there’s a forever home for me. “I know I said it could be worse, but I fucking hate to think of him stuck here, Sean. I wish…” He stops, biting back the words he had been about to say. This visit to the shelter isn’t about him and his wishes. It’s about the girls, who are playing with the smoke-gray kitten under Nancy’s careful supervision, and giggling as it pounces on a feather toy that Lizzy drags along the ground.
“What do you wish, Elijah?” Sean moves his hand to Elijah’s shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” For the first time ever, Elijah can almost feel angry with Sean, who has to know what he’d been about to say: I wish we could take him home with us.
“I can’t agree. If we’re going to adopt Tom, I need to know you’re in favor of the idea, too.”
Elijah stiffens and looks at him incredulously. “What? But the kitten… the girls will be heartbroken…”
“There’s no reason we can’t take them both, Elijah.” Sean is smiling at him, the sweet smile that goes straight into his heart and chases away the shadows that memory has left behind. “They’ll be company for each other. Although I imagine a rambunctious kitten might get on Tom’s nerves sometimes. We’ll have to take care that that doesn’t happen – so it’ll make sense for him to bunk with you.”
Elijah isn’t even aware that his mouth is hanging open as he stares at Sean in total disbelief.
“You’re going to catch flies,” Sean teases, as if he were one of the girls.
“But - but we didn’t come here planning to get two cats, just one.” Yet already he’s imagining Tom curled up on his bed, or napping on the windowsill in the sun. He’ll borrow Sean’s camera and take a photo of Tom to go on the bulletin board with all the other cats and dogs that had found their forever homes…
“No, we didn’t come here planning to get two cats, but when life presents you with the opportunity to lend a fellow creature a helping hand, you take it.” Sean isn’t teasing now. “I was given that opportunity last December, and I’ve never for one second regretted it. Now you have a chance to pay it forward, and, I hope, lay some ghosts to rest at the same time.”
Tears are sliding down Elijah’s cheeks, one after the other, as if a faucet has been turned on.
Sean wipes them away with his thumb. “Don’t cry,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but it’s more the tender gesture that stops the flow of tears than Sean’s actual words; Elijah’s skin tingles with residual sensations, tiny aftershocks that mirror the deeper cataclysm Sean wakens inside him.
“So we’re in agreement about adopting Tom?”
“Yes, if you’re really sure.” His voice rises on the last word into a question.
“I’m sure, Elijah. Now I better go tell Nancy what we’ve decided and see about borrowing a second cat carrier.” Sean huffs a laugh. “And give the girls our news. They’ll be all over you and Tom in a minute, so be prepared.”
“You’ll like the girls,” Elijah says to Tom after Sean leaves, “and I hope you’ll like me, too. I don’t have to worry about your liking Sean. You can already tell that he’s the most amazing person ever, I’ll bet.”
He boosts Tom up in his arms a little, so that he can support him against his chest while he pets him. He thinks about what Sean said. Although he might never be able to lay the ghost of that kitten completely to rest, he can pay forward the helping hand that Sean had given to him and maybe, just maybe, in the doing find a measure of peace with the past.
He hugs Tom closer. “You ready to go home?” he asks.
Maybe he’s projecting again, but to Elijah it looks as if Tom is having trouble believing in his good luck. He understands exactly how the cat feels.
Because it can be hard to believe when, against all odds, you’ve found your forever home at last.
~end~