Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 18

I spent the week shuffling through boxes of financial records in Catsby's office while Catsby supervised the teardown of the fair. I couldn't make heads or tails of all the numbers, which were little more than illegible scrawls on napkins. Catsby needed a real financial advisor, not an ex-publishing intern. If anyone in publishing knew dick about finances, they wouldn't be working in publishing. But Catsby reassured me there was no one he'd rather have working for him, because he could trust me. He was big on trust. But did I trust him?

Thursday arrived with a thunderous boom. It was pouring rain, which meant we wouldn't be having Long Island iced teas on his back porch overlooking the sea. Local businesses hated rainy summer days, because they killed tourism. However, a good rain every once in a while cleaned the sidewalks of all the tanning lotion and vomit.

Around eleven, I realized I hadn't seen Catsby all morning. I searched the house for the proprietor to no avail. He'd just up and disappeared.

"Have you seen your boss?" I asked the butler, who I caught playing Wii in the main living room. One of the main living rooms, at least.

"You're not likely to, on a day like this. Master Catsby is deathly afraid of thunderstorms."

"For what reason?"

He looked at me cockeyed. "Why, he's a cat of course."

"Of course," I said deliberately. Sure, I'd gotten a few glimpses into his distinctly feline behavior, such as eating cat food. But cat food is delicious. (At least the wet stuff. I've never had any of that dry crap.) Being spooked by thunderstorms put Catsby on a whole other level. Was he so far "in character" that he'd forgotten Dandelion was visiting today?

"You look worried," the butler said. "I can assure you Master Catsby will be fine."

"I just hope this storm passes soon. My cousin's coming over for lunch, and I think he'd be interested in meeting her."

"Of course. He told me all about it. I'm having the kitchen prepare lunch as we speak. P.B. and J sandwiches with the crust cut off, and Long Island iced tea."

Before I could thank him, the front door swung open with blusterous force. We raced down the stairs and found Catsby standing in the doorway. His standard three-piece suit was dripping wet, soaked like a plush chair at a Josh Groban concert.

"I thought I'd go for a walk," he said glumly.

"Dandelion should be here within the hour," I said. "We need to get you toweled off. She's not going to be too impressed by you if you're looking like a wet dog."

The butler rushed off to find a towel. "Who says she's going to be impressed by me anyway?" Catsby complained. "It was a stupid idea. I doubt she'll want to see me."

"Don't say that."

"Has she ever mentioned me, Old Spice? Be honest, now."

"I can't say that she has," I said. "But that doesn't mean she doesn't still care about you. Stop being such a pussy."

"But that's what I am: a pussy cat."

"You're so much more, and you know it. Going out into a storm like this was a brave thing to do."

"I thought I'd get hit by lightning. I wouldn't be such a nervous wreck if I were dead."

"You aren't getting off that easy. If what they say is true, you have nine lives."

"That's just an old wives' tale. Cats are like everyone else in this world: We have one life to life."

"Let's get you out of your clothes. And take that wet fursuit off—"

"The fursuit stays on," he snapped.

"Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

The doorbell rang. His panicked eyes met mine, and in them I saw the depths of his fear.

"Go dry off," I said. "I'll take Dandelion to the dining room and stall for time. You can do this, Catsby. I believe in you."

Catsby crawled up the stairs on all fours. The sight of him running around like an ordinary house cat worried me. He seemed to be falling apart. If he'd truly bought his mansion here just to be close to Dandelion, then how sad it would be to be so close to the goal line and fumble.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Dandelion stood on the porch, umbrella in hand. She looked as dazzling as ever. I had half a mind to ask her out myself.

"Are you going to let me in, Dick?"

"Sorry," I muttered, ushering her inside. I stowed her umbrella in a solid-gold umbrella stand. It had probably cost Catsby more than most men made in their lifetimes.

"So this is your place?"

"A friend's, actually. I'm just staying here temporarily."

"Friends are so wonderful, aren't they? If you don't mind me asking, what's your friend's name?"

"His name? His name...is Catsby."

There was a long pause as she tried to suppress her shock. Before she could compose herself, Catsby emerged into the entryway. He'd thrown a clean suit on over his fursuit. He still looked haggardly, but was at least walking on two legs again. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase. For several minutes, nobody said anything. You could feel the awkwardness in the air, like when your mother catches you tugging one out under the covers.

Dandelion let loose a little laugh. "I'm awfully certain to see you glad again."

"Excuse me?" Catsby asked, confused.

"I mean, I'm glad to see you're certainly awful."

The words were there, but not in the right order.

"You know what I mean," she said finally.

Catsby shrugged. "I guess."

"It's been forever since I've seen you."

"Nearly four years to the day," he said. "And you look as beautiful as ever."

At this, Dandelion blushed. "You're such a liar."

"There are two things you should know about me," he said, slinking toward her. Catsby seemed to have suddenly regained some of his lost confidence. "I like big butts...and I cannot lie."

Dandelion blushed. She had some curves on her, that girl.

"I'll just let you two catch up," I said, backing out of the room. They didn't appear to notice me leaving, even after I purposefully knocked over a flower vase and half-heartedly kicked the spilled dirt around for a few minutes. I sulked away, my heart heavy with the distinct feeling like I'd just become a secondary character in my own narrative.