Chapter Twenty-four
Maisy sits impatiently on the couch. She’s learned the routine. She knows when to expect Ellie. Every few minutes, she grunts and points at the door.
“Soon,” I sign.
I think she understands, but she’s four. Any four-year-old would be restless waiting for something they’re looking forward to.
There’s no use in trying to distract her with a game. I’ve done that enough times that she’s caught on and it simply irritates her more. It seems my daughter is a force of nature, and when she has her mind set on something happening, she’s not about to accept anything less.
Which is why I’m concerned that Ellie is ten minutes late.
Thank goodness Maisy can’t tell time or she’d likely throw a tantrum.
I stand behind her, watching as she holds her stuffed cat, eyes glued to the front door. And it occurs to me that she hasn’t thrown a tantrum in days. Or has it been a week? Ellie said they would abate as she became more able to communicate her needs. But there’s still so much she doesn’t understand, and sometimes I feel I walk on eggshells waiting for the next time she’ll lash out. At just forty inches tall and a mere thirty-eight pounds, my kid can have an outburst like a two-hundred-pound drunken sailor.
There’s a knock on the door.
I touch Maisy’s shoulder. When she turns, I smile and point to the door. “Ellie.”
Maisy’s entire face lights up. She drops her stuffed cat like a hot potato and runs to the door. I’d already unlocked the deadbolt so Maisy could open it. When she sees Ellie, she barrels into her, almost knocking her over, and the two embrace.
Ellie looks at me, guilt on her face.
I can’t help being jealous every time my daughter doles out hugs. Because she still hasn’t given one to me. She’ll never know how I dream of the day her face lights up when I walk into a room. That every day, I wake up hoping today will be the day she decides she likes me as much as Ellie. Allie. My mom. That one day she might even love me as fiercely as I’ve grown to love her.
That one day we become the family I never knew I wanted.
Thoughts of becoming a family send my gaze right back to Ellie. I remember what it felt like to lie next to her. To hold her. To be inside her. And—knock me over with a feather—I know I want her to be a part of it.
As usual, Maisy drags Ellie to the dining room table to show off her latest drawings. And as usual, Ellie gushes over them. If there is something Maisy has drawn that she hasn’t yet learned the sign for, Ellie always takes the opportunity to teach her. Today, she learns ‘sidewalk.’
When Ellie goes to pull materials from her bag, I wave an arm, getting her attention. “Did you forget?”
She scrunches her eyes.
I motion to Maisy and sign, “Cat.”
Her expression tells me she had forgotten. We had planned to take Maisy to the pet adoption center today.
“We can go,” she signs.
Maisy picks up on it. She knows what ‘go’ means. She looks between us, excited to go on another excursion. Over the past few weeks she’s been introduced to quite a few new places. In addition to going back to the winery a few times—allowing me to get more work done as Mom is always around to occupy Maisy when we show up—we’ve taken her to the park, a restaurant, and the supermarket.
With the exception of the winery, Ellie has been with us every time, there to teach both of us the signs for everything we encounter. Our vocabularies are growing by the day.
Taking Maisy to Truman’s Grocery was surreal. Her eyes went buggy at the aisles and aisles of food. When we went down the snack aisle, she stood staring at the rows of snacks as if she’d never been to a grocery store before. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. I was excited to provide her with a new experience, but saddened at the thought that it was possibly the first time she’d ever been. Thoughts of what Lucinda had done kept popping into my mind. Did she leave her home alone when she did her shopping? Did she hire an ignorant babysitter who may have mistreated her? Was Maisy watched by the awful grandparents who would rather sail the world than be there for their grandchild?
I shake away a frightening thought—one of Maisy hiding alone in a closet when her mom would leave—and re-focus on the things I have control over. Things like getting Maisy a cat.
I haven’t told her. I’m not sure I’d even know how. Maisy draws herself with a cat all the time. Her stuffed cat. I doubt she’d understand if I tried to explain we were getting a real one. And it’s probably best I didn’t, just in case it doesn’t happen. I’ve never been to an adoption shelter before. I’m not exactly sure of the process.
Me: I haven’t told Maisy a thing. There is a large box in my garage full of stuff I picked up at the pet store just in case.
Ellie reads my text and nods. I thought she’d be more excited about this.
Me: We don’t have to go. Is everything okay?
Ellie: Everything is fine. And of course we’re going.
~ ~ ~
The animal shelter is just outside the town limits. Not as far as the winery, but farther than the park or grocery store. People turn and stare when we pull up. I laugh and switch off the blaring music, cursing myself for getting the upgraded stereo system when I bought the car. It’s all Maisy wants to do when we go for rides. In fact, I keep a pair of earplugs in the cup holder.
It makes me think of the dancing date Ellie and I will go on in four days.
Since when have I ever counted down the days until a date? I turn and gaze at Ellie, wondering—not for the first time—what sort of spell she’s cast on me.
I pat Ellie’s hand. Normally, when I do things like that, there is a spark in her eyes. Not this time, however. And it’s now that I realize we drove the whole way here without our usual heated glances. Our typical fleeting touches.
What happened over the weekend? Sierra’s still staying with her as far as I know. Did they go out? Did Ellie… meet someone?
The way my chest squeezes like my heart is in a vise lets me know I’m in over my head much farther than I recognized.
She looks over and cracks a smile, but it doesn’t go all the way to her eyes like it usually does.
I get Maisy from the back. When we go up the walk, there’s a large sign with the shelter name, and under the name is a carving of several animals: dog, cat, duck, even a raccoon.
Maisy signs something.
Ellie stops walking, looking at her in surprise.
I tap her. “What did she say?”
“She said farm,” she fingerspells the word farm, then she shows me the sign for it. She turns to Maisy and signs, “No farm.”
Ellie: Damn. I wish we were at a farm so I didn’t have to tell her it was wrong. She wouldn’t understand what an animal shelter is. But I’m impressed at how she’s putting things together. You should be proud.
I nod, because I totally am.
“Come on,” I say and sign.
Maisy still seems excited.
Inside, I introduce myself to the worker behind the counter. “I’m Blake Montana. This is my daughter, Maisy, and this is Ellie. They’re both deaf. We’d like to adopt a cat for Maisy.”
“Awesome,” the teen worker says. He shoves a clipboard my way. “Fill these out then I’ll take you back. All the cats have been fixed and vaccinated. You’ll just pay an adoption fee, and, if you want, you can also leave a donation.” He looks embarrassed to have said it. Then he adds, “Sorry, my boss makes us say that.”
“Not a problem. And I’d be happy to make a donation.”
I hastily fill out the paperwork knowing Maisy is restless and wondering what we’re doing here.
Once done, the teen motions to a side door. “Come through there.”
As soon as we’re through the door, I hear barking. Instinctively, I look to Maisy to see her reaction, then I scold myself for it.
“The dogs are all out there,” he says, pointing to another door. “Cats are this way.”
We follow him past a row of offices. Then, as we pass some half-height walls that enclose individual pens, Maisy catches a glimpse of a family sitting inside one, where a young boy is playing with a large fluffy cat. She stops in her tracks and rests her chin atop the wall, staring. I don’t know if she’s ever seen a live cat before. We saw some dogs in the park. She even got to pet one. But she didn’t seem half as excited as she is now.
I look at the size of the cat and ask the worker, “Do you have any kittens?”
“Not really. By the time people decide they don’t want them, they’re usually grown.”
“Okay, well, let’s go see what you’ve got.”
He opens a door. Inside is wire cage after wire cage, each small enclosure housing an individual cat. There must be at least thirty of them. He gestures to the laminated sign attached to the front of the first one. “You can see how old they are and what breed. If our vets could tell, that is. Sometimes it’s just an estimate. If there’s a red mark on the sign it means the animal is aggressive.” He looks at Maisy. “Best not let her near those.”
The guy tends to mumble and is making zero attempts at facing Ellie as he speaks, so I text her what we’re talking about to keep her in the loop.
I point to a date on the sign. “Is this the birth date?”
“That’s the date we acquired them. It lets us know how long each has been here so we can, you know, keep track.”
He shifts uncomfortably. I did my research. There are very few no-kill shelters anymore. There are just too many abandoned animals.
“How long can you keep them, before… you know.”
“As long as we have space.” He shrugs and looks behind him like he’s not supposed to talk about it. “But we run out of space a lot. Over seventy percent of cats that enter shelters are never adopted.”
Ah, shit. I glance around at the eclectic array of cats. Fat and thin. Fluffy and hairless. Skittish and friendly. And most of them will probably be euthanized in a matter of weeks.
I want to look at all the acquisition dates and try to steer Maisy to the next one on the bubble, but I don’t. I want her to pick the one she wants.
Maisy is stunned. She blinks, mouth agape, and looks from side to side at all the different cats. She leans over and sticks a finger through a cage to touch one. Thankfully, it’s not one with a red mark on the sign. She looks up at me. I motion around to all the cages, not knowing if she has any idea I’m asking her which one she wants.
Ellie and I keep a close eye as Maisy goes to each cage, assesses the cat inside, leaning occasionally to put her fingers in. Some of the cats come close, wanting the attention, while some shy away and head for the far corner.
When we come upon one of the aggressive cats, I point to the red mark and shake my head, guiding Maisy to the next cat. She understands and skips the next cage she sees with the red mark.
Some cats get more attention from her than others. I make a mental note of which ones.
The worker follows behind. “If you want to take one out and see how they get along, I can put you in a playroom.”
“Sure,” I say. “Just give her a few minutes to look at all of them.”
At the end of the first row, Maisy falls to her knees in front of a cage with a kitten. I turn to the worker. “I thought you said you didn’t have kittens.”
“Yeah. I forgot about this one. You won’t want him, though. He has a, gen, uh, genital defect.”
I furrow a brow. “A genital defect.”
“You know, something that was there when he was born.”
I laugh. “You mean congenital defect.”
“Yeah.”
I watch intently as the kitten wakes, sees Maisy, then rises and hobbles over to her. I look at the kitten’s details on the laminated sign. He’s been here almost a month. Longer than most of the others. It says he’s four months old and a ‘mixed breed.’ The kitten is almost fully yellow with one white streak along his left side, as if a painter dipped a brush in white paint, went to paint a stripe, then got distracted and messed it up. It looks almost like one of those heart monitor stripes, a horizontal line that then goes haphazardly up and down along its side. I’ve never seen one like it. Apparently neither has Maisy. Either that, or she prefers a kitten.
The teen doesn’t miss Maisy’s reaction either. He gestures across the way. “If she’s interested in smaller cats, we have a six-month old over there that might suit her.”
I get Maisy’s attention and point to the other cat, who still looks a bit kitten-ish, seems to have a perfect gait, and is standing at the edge of the cage as if anticipating Maisy’s arrival after having seen her greet all the others.
Maisy ignores my gesture and goes back to the yellow kitten. Ellie elbows me. “She wants this one,” she signs.
Unsure, I ask the worker, “Can we get this one out?”
He cocks his head. “Really?”
I can almost hear the thought in his head: you want this damaged one?
“Yes, really,” I say, maybe a bit too harshly. “She wants to see this one. Is that a problem?”
“Uh, no.” He opens the cage, retrieves the kitten, who looks more than happy to be getting sprung from captivity, then asks us to follow him.
Maisy doesn’t give any of the other cats a glance. She skips along next to the teenage worker, keeping an eye on the kitten, watching over him protectively as the worker leads us back through the door and into a playroom.
I’m not sure Maisy knows what’s happening. I point to the floor. “Sit down,” I sign. “You hold.”
Her eyes bulge. She bounces up and down then plops down cross-legged on the floor. Excitement flows out of her as the teen places the kitten in her lap. I’m a little scared for the furball when Maisy pulls him tightly against her chest, but the cat purrs, seeming to love the attention. Maisy must feel the vibration. She looks surprised and then her hands run up and down the kitten’s body.
Ellie and I look at each other and smile.
A vet comes and talks to us while Maisy plays with the kitten.
“I’m pleased to see someone interested in this one,” she says.
“Maisy is already in love,” I tell her. “Can you tell me about his leg?”
“He has an angular limb deformity. Present at birth most likely, but as it became more pronounced, I suppose the previous owners didn’t want to deal with it.”
“Will he be okay?”
“He’s a happy, well-adjusted kitten. It hasn’t hampered his ability to walk and play, but as he ages he’ll most likely be more sedentary and he may develop arthritis. Other than that, he’s like any other kitten.” She turns to Maisy. “You like this one, young lady? I can tell he really likes you.”
When Maisy doesn’t look up, I tell the vet, “My daughter is deaf.”
Surprise crosses her face for an instant before it’s replaced with a smile. “A match made in heaven then.”
I regard Maisy and the cat. Is it? Is that why she chose this one? Because he’s ‘different’ like her?
“We’re getting this one,” I tell Ellie.
She nods. She understands. No more words are needed.
The teen brings me more paperwork to sign, and a half hour later, we’re ready to go.
“Let’s go,” I sign after tapping Maisy to get her attention.
She looks down at the kitten, her face morphing into a deep frown. A tear sits in the inner corner of her eye as she holds the cat out to the teen worker.
I face Ellie. “She doesn’t know we’re here to take him home. She thinks this was just to play. Like a petting zoo.”
I sit down next to her and put the cat back in her lap. I sign, “We take.”
I thought she knew ‘take,’ but she seems confused.
Ellie pulls a drawing pad from her purse, quickly does a sketch, and hands it to Maisy. It’s the typical drawing of my house, Maisy and me inside, with Maisy holding her stuffed cat. But Ellie drew another cat, a small yellow one, down by Maisy’s feet. She even made one leg slightly shorter than the others. She points to the yellow cat in the drawing and then to the kitten. “You take,” she signs.
Maisy’s eyes dart from the drawing to the kitten then back to the drawing then up to me. She raises a brow. She does that a lot now. I guess it’s her way of asking my permission.
“Yes,” I sign. “We take him home.”
I’m not sure if she still doesn’t understand, or if she’s in shock, but she goes completely still. Then, my entire world changes because she puts the kitten on the floor and climbs into my lap, her little arms snaking around me.
I try to hold it together as I get the very first hug from my daughter, but emotion overcomes me. I bury myself in her curls and let the tears roll down my cheek. I must look like a certified pussy. Thank God Lucas and my friends aren’t here to witness my ridiculous display.
When I look up, Ellie is crying too.
After Maisy gets off my lap, I pull out my phone.
Me: I swear to God, I’m going to give that girl the world.
Ellie sniffs back more tears, then she smiles as I hand over my credit card and make a very fat donation.