THE CAT'S MAW

CHAPTER XII

XII:  OF STEALTH AND SANDWICHES

Billy had waited three days to meet with Mrs. Thomas. She was busy in town on Sunday, and his mother didn't feel like helping him cross the road while his father was at work during the week. 

"I'm not really in the mood to socialize," she had said. "Besides, didn't you have enough of people at the party? If you're not careful, you'll become an extrovert before you know it."

Billy's mother was an expert at turning the tables like this. With a quip and a sigh she could quickly deflect his requests, leaving him feeling selfish and flawed for having asked in the first place. She was a tough nut.

But now, he had a plan to crack her defenses.

He'd ask for snacks while she was ensconced in a crossword puzzle. He'd hide the batteries in the remote, and ask her to change the television channel by hand between commercials. He'd call out to the garden when she had just started to dig up the onions and cucumbers, and ask for 'assistance' in the bathroom. Not to mention the countless times he'd plead with her to look for the cat, which had shown little of itself since the party.

So it was on Wednesday morning — after three days of tactical strikes, and with his father honking as he rolled off to work — that his mother presented her terms for surrender.

"I gave Enid a call," she said. "She'd love to have you over for a late lunch."

Billy spent the rest of the morning washing up, packing his knapsack, and preparing. This visit was important. The boy was going to make doubly sure, no matter what happened, that he was ready for it.

"Did you bring the walkie-talkie?" his mother asked, taking his arm as they looked in both ways down the empty highway. "I want you to check in, and give me some notice of when you plan to come back."

"Yes, Mom," Billy said.

The boy's gaze lingered on the road, and the shimmers of heat distorting it in the distance. He imagined the horizon transforming into a thunderous wave, crashing across the countryside. He pictured the northern mountain, lone and grey against the cloudless sky, exploding with forks of white-hot lightning. He heard a howling, a hissing, and a buzzing clamour over the fields, and nest in the weeping willows around him. 

"Stop daydreaming!" His mother gave him a shake. "This is why you can't be trusted to do these things on your own. I swear...if your head wasn't screwed on tight enough, you'd let it fall right off." 

She guided him across the road, which only took four long steps with the crutches. It took another five to her driveway, and eight more to the side of her house. Then he reached up, as he always did, and gave three sharp knocks on the screen door.

Soon enough, Elizabeth Brahm was helping Mrs. Thomas bring out the feast. Crusty-roll ham and cheese sandwiches. Carrot and celery sticks with creamy garlic dip. Sweet and spicy pickles and onions. Red potato salad with mustard and dill. Watermelon iced tea with fresh mint leaves. And homemade chocolate chunk cookies, the size of flattened softballs.

There wasn't a bare spot left atop the cracked stone table in the garden. This was probably the crafty old woman's plan from the beginning — all the more difficult for her 'children' to poach from.

"I'm going to leave you two to it," Billy's mother said, arms tight by her side, nervous with the feline parade around her feet. 

"Please, Elizabeth," Mrs. Thomas scattered handfuls of kibble on the ground away from the table. "There's more than enough."

"No, no, I simply couldn't," his mother replied, inching back through the throng of cats and nearly tripping on a portly brown tabby. "I'm on track with my diet — half a grapefruit and a hard-boiled egg."