Chapter 2

A group of people passed through the entrance doors as if they were one, forcing everyone in their path to step aside. In their midst was Karen Talassee, the governor’s wife. She was an average sized woman, with well-groomed dark hair, dressed in a stylish blouse and skirt. She wore sensible shoes. The only thing she carried was the soft cat carrier that contained her show cat. Her entourage carried the rest of her gear. She seemed oblivious of her effect on the room as she walked with her head as high as she could stretch it without looking straight up. Her group guided her to her tables.

“Morning, Mrs. Talassee,” a woman said, passing by.

Mrs. Talassee ignored her, fussing with her cat.

Five tables in the row one over from Paxine had the name Talassee written on them, even though she was only showing one cat. Her entourage spread themselves down the tables, leaving her in the middle.

One of Mrs. Talassee’s people whispered in her ear as a show judge walked by.

“Morning, Tracy,” Mrs. Talassee said with a big smile to the judge.

“Oh, morning Karen. Good luck,” the judge said, moving on.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Talassee said with a big smile.

The noise of the show hall resumed. Paxine pretended to be a bored child left at a table to watch the cat. She tried hard not to stare or look like she was staring as Mrs. Talassee settled her cat into his deluxe show cage.

More and more people filled the hall and soon the tables were all full with cages and cats. Paxine felt like the show should start any moment, but it didn’t. She wondered if she could steal away to check out the vendor tables. There was one that had the most interesting…

A young dark haired girl blocked her view of the vendor’s table. The girl walked with a slow methodical pace, pretending to check out the vendor tables against the wall. To the adults hurrying about, she was invisible. To Paxine, she stood out like a beacon. She was Mrs. Talassee’s nine year old daughter.

“Target sighted,” Paxine said to Tache. He whacked the cage, frustrated that he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

“My eyes see just fine. And yes, she is moving pretty slow. Dawdling, I think is the word,” Paxine said, fussing with the hood on Tache’s cage, aware that she stood between Mrs. Talassee and her daughter. Her daughter kept glancing over making Paxine feel as if she was the one being watched and not the other way around, but the girl was just keeping an eye on her mother.

“She’s zigzagging up and down the rows and looking at every single cat. This is going to take forever,” Paxine said, informing Tache as she ducked down onto the chair.

“Mew,” Tache said, telling her to be patient.

“Since when are you patient? Trying to outdo Shaloonya again?” Paxine said, mentioning Garon’s Tail who’d trained Tache, teaching him to focus at the risk of losing his tail.

EJ stretched her paw through the bars to play pawpaw with Tache.

“We’re working. Mind your own business,” JayLee said, tapping her paw away.

“Shhhh. She’s coming,” Paxine said, trying to look like she wasn’t waiting for the girl to reach them.

Talassee’s daughter paced down the aisle as if she was a train losing steam, looking gloomier and gloomier with every step. When she was one pace away, Tache whacked his cage hard with his tail.

“Oh,” the girl said, startled.

“Sorry, he doesn’t like cages,” Paxine said, trying to sound sweet and apologetic.

“Oh, yeah. Most don’t,” the girl said, muttering.

“Would you like to pet him? He likes being petted and he behaves better,” Paxine said, acting excited to have someone to talk to.

The girl’s eyes opened wide. “Can I?”

“Sure. Have a seat,” Paxine said, stealing JayLee’s chair.

Tache stepped right out of the cage, when Paxine opened the door, and into the girl’s lap

“This is Tache. His name means spot in French. It should be pronounced Tash but he likes it pronounced Tack,” Paxine said.

The girl seemed awed with Tache in her lap. She stroked his coat as if she’d never touched a cat before.

“Oh, gosh. He is so soft,” the girl said in amazement.

Tache yelped, pushing his head into her hand. The girl giggled.

“He likes that,” Paxine said, holding in her own giggle as Tache stuck his butt up into the air as the girl scratched his back.

“He’s so neat. Are you showing him?” the girl said, keeping her eyes on Tache.

Paxine rubbed her nose, controlling herself from rolling her eyes, as was her habit (according to her mother) whenever she heard something she thought stupid. She was at a cat show with a cat; of course she was showing him.

“Yes. It’s our first show. I’m Paxine,” she said, pleased that she’d controlled herself.

“My name’s Beth. My mom’s over there,” Beth said, pointing toward Mrs. Talassee.

“What kind of cat do you have?” Paxine said, already knowing the answer.

“My mom shows Abyssinians. Yours is a Bengal. Right?” Beth said, sounding very sure.

“Yes, he’s a Bengal,” Paxine said.

“I know all the breeds of cats. We go to a lot of shows,” Beth said, sounding proud about know all the cats, but not too happy about all the shows.

“I’m just starting to learn. My grandma’s helping me,” Paxine said.

“Elizabeth,” a female voice said, screeching over the table.

Beth rose out of her chair as if the voice had pushed her out. Tache escaped back into his cage.

“Don’t touch that cat. Come over here and clean your hands,” Mrs. Talassee said in a strict voice.

“Bye,” Beth said, turning red with embarrassment. She hurried over to her mother.

Paxine stayed seated, peeking through the gap between cages. Mrs. Talassee squirted stuff into Beth’s hands and handed her a towel.

“Don’t you know better to touch a cat? You can spread germs. Don’t you go near Arthur,” Mrs. Talassee said, pointing toward her own cat. “That’s all I need is a rash of fleas. You don’t know where that cat’s been.” Mrs. Talassee spoke so close to Beth’s ear that her voice sounded like a growl. Beth looked miserable.

The noise of the show hall changed again. This time, however, there was a powerful hint of excitement rippling through the room. Paxine stood to wave as her grandma’s lean figure walked through the door.

Her grandma waved back. A dozen other women waved as if they thought her grandmother had waved at them. It seemed as if every woman in the room was watching her grandma, just like when Mrs. Talassee entered, but with one big difference. Her grandmother’s nose wasn’t in the air and she greeted everyone she passed.

“Sara,” a short heavyset woman said, stepping right into her grandma’s path. It was Francina, whose husband owned one of her grandma’s favorite restaurants. Sometimes Francina helped in the kitchen, always coming out to chat.

“Why, Francina. What a surprise? How nice to see you. What are you showing today?” her grandma said in a clear voice in the now quiet show hall.

“I’ve three of my household cats. Nothing special,” Francina said, being modest. “And you?”

“My granddaughter, Paxine is trying her hand showing her cat. The tall blonde girl over there. This is our first show,” her grandma said, pointing out Paxine.

“What kind of cat?” Francina said, waving at Paxine.

“Bengal,” her grandma said.

“Wonderful…” Francina said, about to continue…

“Let me get her settled in and I’ll come back for a chat,” her grandma said.

Francina smiled with pleasure, stepping out of the way. However, Paxine’s grandmother was able to walk only a few more steps.

“Mrs. Pondoulee.” It was Sandy, the spice shop owner, where Tache acquired a spoon one day. It was both Paxine’s and her grandma’s favorite shop.

“Well, good morning. What spices do we have today?” her grandma said, checking out the two cats that Sandy carried.

Sandy laughed. “This is Cinnamon and Curry. My Siamese and Exotic shorthair.”

“Let me get my granddaughter settled and I’ll come take a look,” her grandma said, trying to make it to Paxine.

“Mrs. Pondoulee.”

Her grandmother turned. “Mrs. Sampling.” She was the wife of Judge Sampling. “What a surprise.”

“I hear your granddaughter is showing,” Mrs. Sampling said.

“Why yes, she is. Let me get her settled and I’ll come over to see your lovely cats,” Paxine’s grandma said, still walking.

“Of course,” Mrs. Sampling said, nodding with understanding.

Her grandma stepped into Paxine’s aisle, greeting people as she went.

“Goodness. Everyone has cats,” her grandma said.

Paxine caught her grandma’s eyes do a little jerk, and she understood. They both turned as if to look at Tache. Mrs. Talassee was staring at them.

“Why, Karen. What a pleasant surprise,” her grandma said, sounding as if she meant it.

Mrs. Talassee gave a closed lip nod to acknowledge the greeting. “Mrs. Pondoulee,” she said in a flat voice. “I knew you had cats, but I didn’t think you showed them.”

“My granddaughter is showing her cat. This is my granddaughter, Paxine Cushing,” her grandma said.

Mrs. Talassee’s lips echoed the name Cushing before she said, “Not Doug Cushing’s daughter?”

“Why yes,” her grandma said.

Mrs. Talassee’s whole manner changed. “How wonderful,” she said, but her words and the twisted smile on her face didn’t match.

Her grandma led Paxine over to Mrs. Talassee, although, if Paxine had a choice, she’d have rather stayed by Tache. She already didn’t like Mrs. Talassee. Even Beth, now that her mother wasn’t paying her any attention, was edging away as if trying to escape.

“What breed of cat do you have?” her grandma asked as if that was the most important question of the day.

“Abyssinian. I’m just showing one of my boys,” Mrs. Talassee said with pride and fake humility. She wasn’t aware of her daughter creeping away. One of Mrs. Talassess’ entourage put a hand on Beth’s shoulder to stop her, but Beth slapped it away, disappearing into the crowd.

“How beautiful,” her grandma said, cooing through the cat’s show cage. The cat pawed at the cage in a silent greeting, quivering with excitement.

“Good morning, the show will be starting shortly,” an announcer said, broadcasting out the speakers. “We will start with introducing our judges…”

“Excuse me. The show is starting,” Mrs. Talassee said, dismissing them by turning to her cat as if he needed her immediate attention.

Paxine felt sorry for the cat as he watched them with a mournful stare as they left. He wasn’t happy in the cage. Paxine knew his name was Arthur, noting that Mrs. Talassee never referred to him by name, never introduced her daughter, and never asked them what type of cat they had.

“How is Tache today?” her grandma said as she gave JayLee the barest of nods to acknowledge her.

“The usual. Tail whacking bundle of trouble.” Paxine said with a frown, but her words were spoken with fondness. Tache’s tail smacked against the cage in response. “He doesn’t like the cage.”

“It’s good for him. It builds character,” her grandma said.

“He’s already a character,” Paxine said with a laugh.

Her grandma pointed toward the show catalog. “What’s the schedule for the day?”

“We’re up in ring three to start, and then four. What’s a ring?” Paxine said, realizing she didn’t even know what she was pretending to do here.

“See that table surrounded by cages on three sides? There are five tables setup like that along the wall. Those are called rings. The table is where the judge examines the cat. When you hear a ring called for shorthaired cats…” her grandma said.

“Kittens,” Paxine said in correction.

“Kittens?” her grandma said, looking confused.

JayLee held back a laugh. Paxine rolled her eyes.

“I’ve already been corrected,” Paxine said. “Kittens are under eight months. Cats are eight months and over. Someone isn’t eight months yet.”

“He’s not?” her grandma said, looking at Tache as if to make sure they were talking about the same cat.

“Nope,” Paxine said. “Look in the catalog.” She pointed out his entry.

“He certainly is acting like a cat,” her grandma said with a twinkle in her eye.

Tache smacked the cage again, not liking the pun.

“Okay, back to show stuff. If you hear short-haired kittens called for a particular ring, put Tache in that ring in the cage with his number. What is our number?” her grandma said.

“We are sixty-three. Wow, there are sixty-three kittens?” Paxine said.

“No, no. Short-haired kitten numbers start at fifty-one,” her grandma said with a laugh.

“I don’t see EJ,” Paxine said in a whisper.

“She’s a cat,” her grandma whispered back. “She will be up in the same rings as Mrs. Talassee.”

Paxine flipped through the catalog. “Oh, here,” she said, still whispering and pointing to Mrs. Talassee’s entry which was two-o-one. EJ was two-ten.

“I’ve already met and spoke with Beth,” Paxine said, not moving her lips as she spoke.

“Good. Excellent,” her grandma said, as if appraising the catalog. “Now you know what you need to do. This is a two day show and you have two days to accomplish what you need to accomplish,” her grandma said, meaning Paxine’s mission.

The noise level of the room increased and so did the activity. A clerk by one of the judging tables announced that Ring 1 was judging long-haired kittens, numbers one through twelve. As soon as she finished her announcement another clerk announced short-haired cats in ring five, numbers two-o-one through two-twelve.

Mrs. Talassee pulled out her cat, fussing and wiping him down with a cloth before heading up to the ring. JayLee was close behind her with EJ.

Tache banged his cage.

“You’re not a cat,” Paxine said, laughing at how funny that sounded.

Her grandma chuckled. “I’m off to work. Make sure you listen for your rings,” she said, slipping into the crowd.

Paxine knew her grandma was off to talk to everyone.

Tache thumped the cage.

“We wait. And, yes, I know you could wait better outside the cage, but we have to conform to the rules,” Paxine said.

Tache thumped the cage again

“Yes, I know you would like to rewrite the rules, but…” Paxine said, dropping her voice as two women cruised by oohing and aahing every cat.

Mrs. Talassee, holding her cat, stomped past with eyes glaring. Paxine wondered why, looking to JayLee for an explanation, but she was still up in the ring.

“Yowl.”

Paxine knew that voice. The judge held EJ on the judging table and she didn’t like it, making sure the entire show hall knew it.

“Ring 4. Short-haired kittens,” a clerk said, calling out on the microphone.

Paxine felt a moment of panic. The catalog showed that Ring 3 was first for short-haired kittens, but Ring 4 was calling for them. Was this right? Did she already miss the call for Ring 3? No, she thought. The show just started. There was no one up in Ring 3. Late judge, she thought as she opened Tache’s cage.?

“Time to go, Tache,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness.

Tache stepped out, looking a little too cocky for Paxine’s taste.

“Now, just let the judge handle you. That’s all you have to do,” she said, hoping he would cooperate, as she put him into the designated cage.

There were two rows of chairs in front of the judge’s table, but they were full so she stood at the back, glaring at Tache to behave himself.

Tache ignored her, glancing around the cage. It was small, covered on each side and the back with the top and front uncovered. A wooden slot holder, containing his number, sat on top of the cage.

Smack.

The holder flew off the cage.

Paxine groaned. Everyone around her laughed. She felt her cheeks grow warm and that everyone was staring at her. The judge muttered, but she couldn’t catch what he said, and everyone laughed again.

The clerk assisting the judge put the holder back.

Tache, Paxine moaned to herself, mentally ordering him to leave the holder alone. He seemed to obey her silent command as the judge plucked an American shorthaired kitten out of the cage next to him, distracting him. The judge turned to his table, leaving only his back for Tache to watch. Paxine moaned again. She recognized his bored look.

Whack.

The wooden holder flew off the cage, this time hitting the judge’s side. The judge didn’t seem to notice, but everyone else saw it, roaring with laughter.

Paxine wanted to hide. Maybe she could get JayLee to get Tache once the judging was done. No one would remember she put him up there. She felt so embarrassed.

The clerk put the holder back on top of Tache’s cage as the judge finished judging the American shorthaired, putting the kitten back into its cage. The judge then sprayed cleaner onto the table and his hands, wiping them off with a paper towel.

“So…” the judge said, putting his hands on his hips, spinning to face Tache. “You’re the trouble maker.”

“Yelp,” Tache said, telling the judge that he was the best cat around.

“I see,” said the judge as he took Tache out of the cage. “Was that you messing with the number on your cage?”

“Yeowlp,” Tache said, saying that he’d do it again if he was kept in the cage too long.

“Be careful with your language now. I speak Bengal,” the judge said as he stretched Tache, looking at his body, feeling his tail.

“Yelp,” Tache said, saying he was the best Tail around.

Everyone laughed.

“This is a male Bengal…almost full grown…big boy…” the judge said, talking to the crowd.

Tache slipped through the judge’s hands, pouncing on a toy mouse.

Tache, no, Paxine thought, cringing as everyone laughed again. This wasn’t what he was supposed to do, he wasn’t being serious…he was going to ruin…