Salvation Armie

Carrie’s heart juddered. One unopened email sat in her inbox, the message she’d been praying for since she sent in her materials. After being downsized from the antiquities department at the museum six months ago, she’d applied for any job remotely related to her field—which, admittedly, weren’t many—and even several entry-level positions requiring no experience at all. Most of the time, she didn’t hear back. Not even a form letter. Being ignored stung more than officially being rejected.

This email, though, would be different. It had to be. She and the art historian position were made for each other. It was as though the ad had been crafted with her in mind. The fact that she’d even seen the listing felt like divine intervention, as she never should have found the post. It wasn’t on the usual boards she checked, but she had fallen down a click-bait rabbit hole only to land on a notice describing her dream job.

It was fate.

Fingers trembling, she opened the email.

Her lungs deflated as she expelled a pent-up breath. Acid roiled in the pit of her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes.

How could they say she wasn’t qualified? They obviously didn’t “regret to inform her” of anything. If they felt so bad doing it, they wouldn’t have done it.

She's been wrong. The rejection hurt worse than not hearing at all.

What was she going to do? Her unemployment was almost up, and even the local grocery store had turned her down.

The day she’d lost her job, she’d come home early, intent on binge-watching The Office with a bag of potato chips and a box of merlot. The box made her sad, but it wasn’t like she could afford bottles anymore. When she entered her kitchen, she saw the shadow of a cat curled up on her window sill. Even through the gauzy shade, she could tell the poor thing was too thin. Instead of pouring wine, she poured water into one bowl, put canned tuna in another, then stepped onto the porch.

Carrie expected the cat to flee when she opened the door and planned on leaving the bowls at the bottom of the steps. To her surprise, the tom didn’t dart away. He assessed her with a long, penetrating stare, his green eyes clear and serious. Then he gracefully leapt to the floor. His ribs protruded through his ginger fur, but he was surprisingly well groomed. She glanced at her flannel pajama bottoms and holey tee—the outfit she’d changed into the second she got home. Apparently her new feline friend had more self-pride than she did.

He pranced to her side then looked up with disdain. Carrie had been too surprised that he hadn’t bolted to put down his meal, so she quickly rectified the situation. After eating every morsel and taking a long drink, he curled up at her feet. He didn’t have a collar, so he wasn’t someone’s missing pet. It was a bad idea to take him into the house without having a vet check him out, but she somehow knew he wasn’t rabid or dangerous. And he was such a sweet thing. How could she not invite him inside?

Carrie reached to scoop him into her arms, but he danced out of reach. Tried a second time, and a third. He didn’t run away but wouldn’t let her touch him either, which is how she became the de facto owner of an outdoor cat. She called him Armie because he kept her at arm’s length.

Over the last six months, she routinely tried—and routinely failed—to bring him into her home. She managed to plump him up to a healthy weight, but he never did trust her enough to let her pet him. Instead of cuddles, she had to settle for purrs. He gave those in abundance.

Oh, no. Who would take care of Armie when she couldn’t?

His soft meow cut through her despair, drawing her attention to the back door. He waited on the porch for his morning meal. She hurried to fill his bowls with food and water then stepped aside. Watching him relish his breakfast was one of the only joys she got these days.

Instead of eating, he brushed past her, paused at the top of the stairs, then jumped to the ground.

“Aren’t you hungry today, sweetness?” Please, God, don’t let him be sick. She’d never get him to the vet, and she couldn’t bear to lose him.

A lump formed in her throat. She might lose him, anyway. If he wouldn’t let her touch him, she’d never be able to put him in a carrier and take him with her when she lost the house.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was about to be more homeless than Armie. Even if he’d let her pick him up, she had nowhere to go. A shelter wouldn’t let her bring a pet. If she ended up under a bridge, he wouldn’t want to be near the water.

Carrie sat on the steps, rested her elbows on her knees, then dropped her head into the crook of her arms. She wallowed in self-pity for seconds, minutes… could have been hours for all she knew. Time lost all meaning as she spiraled into a state of abject misery.

Again, Armie’s meow caught her attention. She lifted her head to meet his gaze then jutted her chin toward his bowls. “Breakfast is served. It’s right there.”

He didn’t exactly roll his eyes, but she sensed his irritation nonetheless.

“What? Dry kibble isn’t good enough for you anymore? You picked the wrong day to become finicky, pal. This bag of food is going to have to last you until I find someone else to—” Her voice broke, and she had to continue in a whisper. “To take care of you.”

Armie climbed the steps then batted her leg.

“I don’t know what you want.”

He padded down the stairs again, took a few steps into the yard, then looked back over his shoulder.

“Are you pretending to be Lassie, now? Did Timmy fall down the well?”

His eyes narrowed.

“It was a joke. Geez.” She pushed slowly to her feet then plodded down to the grass. When she reached the cat, he scampered to the gate. “I was kidding about Lassie. Do you really want me to follow you?”

Armie jumped over the fence. Instead of running away, he waited for her, staring with those vibrant jade eyes.

“Okay, I’m coming.” Before walking through the gate, Carrie looked back at her house. It was a darling little Cape Cod that she’d been lovingly restoring since she purchased it. Hanging pots filled with pansies hung over her banisters, and crocuses and irises took center stage in the plant beds on either side of the stairs. The purple blooms with sunny accents popped against the painted yellow siding. She’d really miss that place.

“Dang it. Hang on, Armie.” Her door was unlocked. She started back up the yard, but the tom let out an angry yowl. “One second!”

Apparently that was too long. The cat hissed.

“Sorry. I need one minute.” She darted back inside, grabbed her keys and wallet, locked the door, then hurried through the yard and out the gate.

Armie was practically vibrating. He deigned to give her an irritated meow.

He’d never been this determined, so it must be dire. Maybe he had a mate, and she was injured. Or maybe their kittens needed help.

Carrie shook her head. Was she insane? She’d just created a family and a nest for a cat who spent most of his time curled on her porch swing.

“This better be important, Arm-Alarm-A-Ding-Dong.”

He wheeled away from her in disgust.

“Yeah. I get that.”

When he was certain she was following, he ran to the corner.

She sighed. “I’ll play along, but I’m not running. Or jogging. Or any kind of rushing. That’s where I draw the line.”

Armie wrinkled his nose as though offended. When she had nearly caught up, he trotted down the street.

“I seriously think I’m losing my mind.” But she’d played along so far. No point in stopping now.

Carrie followed her feisty feline on a labyrinthian path until they reached the main street running through town. Quaint storefronts lined either side of the boulevard, some with colorful awnings, others with benches or planter boxes under their windows. Pedestrians leisurely strolled up and down the sidewalks, popping into coffee shops or bakeries. Others took a more purposeful pace, stepping out of stores with bundles or bags then stowing them in their cars before hurrying into other establishments.

One of the reasons Carrie had settled here instead of in the city was because of the small-town atmosphere. She thought about her Cape Cod. Why have a cramped apartment overlooking a parking lot when she could have a darling house with a tiny yard? Why fight a chronic cough borne of constant exposure to exhaust fumes when she could enjoy the sweet scent of honeysuckle or freshly mowed grass?

She stood in front of Dixon’s Sweets and Treats and inhaled. Aromas of sugar, spice, and yeast tickled her nose and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled, and she considered stepping inside for one of their famous cinnamon rolls.

Armie had other ideas. He hurried back to her, batted her leg, and mewled.

No baked goods for her at the moment. Which was probably for the best, as she shouldn’t waste money on non-essentials. “Fine. Lead the way, you crazy cat.”

He quickly padded down the block, sticking close to the buildings.

Carrie chased after him, dodging people to the left or right as she tried not to lose him. Three buildings down, he darted inside an open door.

Wonderful. How was she going to get him out of a store when she couldn’t touch him?

She passed two more shops then stopped in front of the one he’d entered. This building had been vacant since she’d moved to town. The door shouldn’t be open. She backed up a few steps to read the sign above the door.

Bright white paint spelled out "Leonardo’s" on a deep black background. There was room underneath the name for the type of store, but so far, no letters had been outlined let alone filled in. Maybe the owner had run out of paint.

A loud meow cut her musings short. Before she stepped inside, she heard a deep voice attempt a soft coo.

Sounded as much like a lion’s purr as a male hum of affection. A smile crossed her lips as she imagined a big, burly guy gushing over Armie the way she did. At least the owner wasn’t cross that the cat had entered. She entered, hoping to retrieve him.

An attractive man with dark hair looked up. He turned midnight blue eyes in her direction, and they lit up as he smiled at her. “Sorry. Didn’t know anyone was watching. I have a soft spot for cats. And dogs. Pretty much any animal.” He wiped his hands on his jeans then extended his right one toward her. “Lorenzo Silvestri.”

His grip was warm, firm. Friendly. “Carrie Roberts.”

“Friends call me Enzo, and we have to become friends now that you heard me fawning all over this little guy.”

“I should apologize. He has a mind of his own.”

“No apologies necessary. We’ve become good buddies over the last couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?”

“Yeah. He’s been keeping me company while I get situated. Hope you weren’t worried. I would have brought him back to you, or at least called you, but he doesn’t have a collar. If he’s an escape artist, you might want to make him wear his tags. Or get him chipped.”

“Oh, he’s not mine. I mean, he is. Well, technically, he’s a stray.” She rolled her eyes at her nervous babbling. “Um… I should explain.”

Enzo’s brow furrowed, but he shook his head. “That’s okay. I overstepped. You don’t own me an explanation.”

“No, I know. I just—” She sighed. “I’d love to get him chipped and wrap him in a silly collar with a tiny bell so I could hear him when he scampers about, but he’s not a house cat. He’s not even my cat. He showed up on my porch six months ago. Poor little thing was starving. He’s come every day since for food and water. Naps on my swing. Will even curl up at my feet if I’m outside with him. But so far, he’s never been inside. He won’t even let me pet him or pick him up.”

As if to prove her a liar, Armie jumped into her arms. She was so startled, she nearly dropped him.

“Yeah. He looks like a mistrustful stranger.” Enzo chuckled.

“Armie! Oh, you soft, sweet bundle of fur.” Carrie held him close and rubbed her cheek on the top of his head, reveling in the joy of their first cuddle. When he started to wriggle, she loosened her grip, lifted her head, and stroked under his chin. He closed his eyes and purred. “Do you have a magic wand I don’t know about, Enzo? He’s never let me near him before.”

“No magic. Maybe he just finally feels safe.”

“I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t have felt safe before. He looked like he was on death’s door when I started feeding him.”

“Could be this is his way of paying you back for six months of love.”

“Who knows? I’m just happy to get a cuddle before I say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Where are you going? And why aren’t you taking him with you?

“I didn’t think I could, since he wouldn’t let me touch him. Now… well, it only solves one half of my problem.”

“What’s the other half?” Enzo reached over and rubbed between Armie’s ears, drawing another purr from him.

She wasn’t about to admit what a failure she was, especially to a total stranger. “He really seems to like you. I think you might be the catalyst that made him more affectionate.”

“I like him, too.”

“Don’t suppose you’d want to take him in? I’d feel better leaving knowing he had someone looking out for him.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why can’t you take him with you?”

Carrie chose her words carefully. “I’m looking for a new job and haven’t been able to find one here, so I have to broaden my search to other states. I don’t know where I’m going, and I imagine I’ll be living out of a suitcase for a while…”

“What kind of job are you looking for?”

“Pretty much anything at this point. It’s not like there’s a lot around here in my field.”

“What do you do?”

She’d already said too much. Might as well tell him the whole story, embarrassing as it was. At least she’d never have to see him again after admitting the truth. “I’m an antiquities expert. I worked in the restoration department at the museum, but attendance is down, and so is funding. There have been cutbacks…”

“You were a casualty. Down-sized.”

Carrie nodded.

“I’m sure I can’t match your former salary, but I could use help.”

She glanced around the shop. Everything was still in boxes or covered with tarps. Maybe a week or two of work. It gave her a little more time to find employment. “If the contents aren’t too heavy, I can help you unpack.”

“I appreciate that, but I meant full time.”

“Oh? Um… what is it you do?” As long as it wasn’t sewage-related or X-rated, she was on board.

Enzo uncovered the closest item with a flourish. The tarp whipped away to reveal an exquisite grandfather clock, with a potbellied case and a gilded face.

She gasped. “This is a Comtoise, isn’t it? Turn of the century?”

“Good eye. Early 1890s.”

“Are you a clockmaker?”

“My family deals in antiques.”

What were the odds of that? “You’re kidding?”

He chuckled. “Dead serious. We take individual pieces on commission or bid on estates. Mom’s been wanting to expand our storefronts, so here I am. I planned on hiring help but haven’t had the time to place the ad yet. Figured I’d have to train someone, but with your background, you’ll hit the ground running.”

“I’m definitely interested.”

“Great. We’ll iron out the details later. In the meantime, since you won’t be moving away, we should get this guy a set of bowls for the shop. He seems to like it here, and we can’t have him wasting away again.”

Carrie put Armie on the counter. He curled into a ball and closed his eyes. “Maybe I should get him home. He hasn’t eaten yet today.”

“Let him nap. We’ll feed him when he wakes. I’ll run up to the market. Or I’ll send my new employee.” Enzo grinned.

She ran her hand along the clock’s cabinet. “So, your mother is Leonardo?”

“No, but her grandfather was. I’m fourth generation. Come to think of it, there’s been a cat in every shop we’ve had. Great-granddad started the trend with a black cat named Poe.”

“Oh, I love that!”

Armie cracked open one eye.

“Don’t worry, bud. We won’t rename you.”

Enzo scratched between the cat’s ears, earning him another purr. “I can’t believe the cat whose been keeping me company found me the perfect employee.”

“I can’t believe the cat whose been keeping me company found me the perfect job.”

Armie meowed. It sounded a lot like he was saying he couldn’t believe the people he’d been keeping company would be lost without him.

Carrie smiled. If he was saying that, he was right.