The Wolf Came on Christmas (Johanna and Alexander) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

After all, Toby was his dog, he had always been.

And despite everything, I missed taking care of that flea bag, so without further ado ! told the pet

store clerk to put the little cat in a box, that I was going to take him with me. I had no intention of paying the three hundred dollars he cost, but in the long run that price ended up seeming far too low for the silent support Walter represented in my life. No life should have a price, to begin with.

Now, how pathetic is that? Taking refuge in an animal to mask the pain.

Well, it was the best idea I could come up with to break the monotony. Walter brought variety to my days, and his antics made me laugh.

And why am I being so tedious with the story of an adopted cat?

Perhaps because what seeing that little animal alone in a corner of a glass cage stirred in me was

the same thing I felt when I saw Andre crying on my porch the other night. I stopped in the act of

dropping a handful of food into Walter’s bowl when accepted that-accepted that my heart was soft and that, regardless of the danger or the fear, I had decided to go after Andre without considering my options. Out of pity and pain. Because seeing him cry was too much for me. I might not have been the best of Samaritans, but I wasn’t a brute, insensitive person either.

1 put plenty of food in the bowl, enough so that Walter wouldn’t be hungry in case I didn’t have another chance to feed him soon (one never knows what will happen, and my three guests were

more than tangible proof of that), and I left the house.

Siamese cats have short hair; I was afraid Walter might be cold.

Fortunately, my cat was very well hidden in the woodpile, and it took effort to make him come out, when he usually always came when I called him by name. That was something very unusual in a feline-to respond to its name. I figured he was scared by the presence of Alexander and his children; and that also explained the joke he had laughed at earlier. How hadn’t I thought of it? A wolf is almost a dog, and cats don’t like dogs. That was why we were in this situation, ironic as it was, to begin with. Cats are like that: they’re a bit skittish, and they have so much self-regard that they’re capable of sitting on their favorite cushion and watching a group of thieves ransack your house without stopping licking their paws as if nothing were happening.

Perhaps that was what Alexander meant when he said they were selfish by nature. Cats are self-sufficient. They don’t need their owners for anything other than food and a comfortable place. to sleep; they don’t seek love, because they’re enough on their own. Big cats in captivity are tame, but not harmless. Not even a domestic cat is harmless.

I think I understood quite well what I was dealing with, based on that.

A big cat, who had a problem with a wolf.

O

Chapter 23

Who might or might not be very close to my house.

I would have liked to smile to myself once more at that idea, but it was no longer so easy.

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I tried not to let it affect me too much; that was going to be for the best. I moved Walter’s cushion

to the garage, to a hiding place behind the gardening tools I never use (so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the logs), and I left him some food and water. In there he would be fine, and he wouldn’t

have to see anyone. He didn’t like strangers very much, as if that weren’t enough. I left the garage

door ajar and started back toward the house.

I stopped dead when I saw that there was someone on the path, by the gate.

My house in Wyoming had a wide front that looked out over the valley (more or less to the east)

Claim

“Excuse me?” I know I said, disoriented.

He slipped the wallet back into an inner pocket of s coat and advanced In my direction, cautiously. He took out something else in the same movement, but I didn’t foar it was a weapon because, besides the fact that he surely carried one under his clothes, what ho showed mo next

was

“I rang the bell, but no one answered, I need to ask you a few questions. Could you tell me if you’ve seen this man lately?”

He came up to me and handed me a piece of paper

And when I saw the image in the photograph, I realized there was no reason to start screaming. It was a photo of Alexander, at least ten years younger. He looked more cheerful and happy, with longer hair and a rounder face, somewhat gawky. A very good-looking young man; he even struck me as “adorable,” but not because he was to me-rather because that’s what any girl would have thought of a boy like that. Very little resemblance, really, to the mature man I knew, but regardless of my musings, I nodded and handed the paper back.

At first, I didn’t know whether to trust this guy; but he was a federal agent, so-

“Yes, actually, he’s in my house. He may not have answered the bell because he’s upstairs, changing the baby…

The agent took off his glasses and looked at me with hazel eyes, or brownish amber-I couldn’t quite tell. Something about those eyes gave me chills, and rejection took hold of me again for no reason. He seemed genuinely confused by my answer.

“…What baby?” he asked me, in a dangerous tone.

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