Scratch the Surface

lodged a formal objection to the presence of a cat in Felicity’s house. “Don’t worry about the cat!” Loretta said in her little-girl voice. “No one else minds! Just come to the meeting!”
    Felicity had just finished listening to Loretta’s message when she got a call from Ursula Novack, Edith and Brigitte’s breeder. “I mainly wanted to hear how the girls are doing,” she said.
    “Fine. Splendidly, in fact,” said Felicity, who hadn’t seen either cat since returning home from her mother’s.
    “Excellent. Any news about Quin?”
    “Nothing. Not that I’ve heard.”
    “Too bad. Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you. Two things. First of all, Quin used Angell, so all the vet records are there. You know Angell?”
    Boston’s Angell Memorial Animal Hospital was so famous that even Felicity had heard of it. “Of course.”
    “And the other thing is that Edith is a blood donor there. You don’t have to keep that up if you don’t want to, but it’s a good thing to do. There’s always a great need for blood, and Edith is so suitable.”
    It had never before occurred to Felicity that cats had blood, never mind donated it or needed transfusions. “Suitable,” she repeated.
    “Because of her size. They have to be over ten pounds. Brigitte is too small. Also, Edith is so mellow. And she’s young and healthy. You’d just have to drop her off there and pick her up every so often, and you get free exams and shots. But it’s up to you.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Felicity promised.
    True to her word, as she sautéed chicken breasts and steamed fresh asparagus for her dinner, she mulled over the possible consequences to a cat that received Edith’s blood. Would the animal vanish under a bed and remain there forever? But Edith was shy, she reminded herself. Cats could be shy. Edith was. As if to prove that she was anything but shy, Brigitte ran into the kitchen, jumped up onto the counter, and strolled along it. Instead of shooing her off, Felicity dared to run her hand all the way from Brigitte’s head to the base of her tail. In response, the silky little cat rubbed her head against Felicity’s hand. In gratitude, Felicity cut off a small piece of chicken breast, minced it, placed it in a saucer, and offered it to Brigitte, but after a sniff of curiosity, Brigitte darted to the bowl of dry cat food and ate hungrily. Instead of reading or listening to the radio over dinner, Felicity watched the cat, who brazenly jumped onto the table, but didn’t try to eat off Felicity’s plate. Felicity pondered the possibility of speaking to Brigitte but decided that in real life, conversing with cats was a sign of serious eccentricity if not outright madness. Still, despite the lack of conversation, Brigitte hung around, and although Felicity did not admit it to herself, she enjoyed the companionship.
    Indeed, many a sensible person would have preferred the company of the cat to the company afforded by the residents of Newton Park present at the condo association meeting. The first time Felicity had attended one of the meetings, she had made the mistake of assuming that it would be a social occasion or one that would combine the business of condo affairs with the pleasures of socializing. Expecting to meet her new neighbors over coffee and dessert, Felicity had turned up at Loretta’s with a contribution: a box of pastries from Rosie’s Bakery. Neither food nor drink had been offered at the meeting, and Felicity had tried to pretend that the pastries were a hostess gift for Loretta. Tonight, she walked empty-handed to Loretta’s, which was at the far end of Newton Park, near the Brighton entrance. Six or eight large cars were parked in the street. Had the murder made her neighbors afraid to go out at night? It was only seven o’clock. Felicity hadn’t considered driving.
    Although Thanksgiving was three weeks away, next to the front door of Loretta’s house sat a large basket in the form of a cornucopia. Artfully arranged as if spilling from the cornucopia were gourds, Indian corn, pots of purple mums, and other inedible objects symbolic of a bounteous harvest. Felicity rang the bell. Before the door opened, she heard the clicking of several locks.
    “Felicia, isn’t it?” Loretta greeted her. “Come in. Half the people aren’t here yet.” Loretta had masses of dark curls and wore heavy eye makeup.
    “Felicity, actually.”
    “Felicity. Sorry. Felicity. I’ll remember next time.