—Kristen Darling
Stray
Coming back to Dundas has been a dreamlike experience, from seeing familiar place names to having a chance encounter with Isabel in The Thirsty Cactus.
It's weird how comfortable I feel with her. I've actually gotten to the point of giving her the key to my house and inviting her to stay as long as she wants.
I've never really considered myself spontaneous—reckless maybe, and it's always gotten me into trouble—so why should I expect things will be different now with this girl?
I have no answer except to say she's a road I want to take and when I'm with her, I like the way I feel.
Isabel has been quiet and I know she's been hesitant about speaking up but finally decides to speak her mind.
"You may be suspicious of Alfred but he's put a lot of thought into stocking your fridge and cupboards. Did you know there's a cord of freshly chopped wood piled up outside near the back door?'
"No, actually I didn't."
She doesn't say more and gently changes the subject.
"You feel like pasta?"
"Sure, I'm good with anything," I say sheepishly, feeling a little guilty about judging Alfred.
She sets to work in the kitchen and I slink out into the yard and gather an armful of logs to keep the fire going.
I think having her around is beneficial for me. I need someone to keep me focussed.
I said returning to Dundas was dreamlike, but it's also an opportunity for me to confront my demons. I think Isabel will play a part in keeping me grounded and sober..
But that doesn't mean I can't savour a glass of Alfred's fine cab sav with my meal.
A half hour later we're dining wth candlelight and wine enjoying the repast she made.
"I could get used to this, " I smile.
"I don't mind. I like to cook—it relaxes me."
She stops and listens intently."What's that noise?"
I shrug. "Can't hear a thing."
"Maybe it's the storm," I suggest, "I see rain trails down the window."
She shakes her head, gets up, opens the kitchen door and bends down and scoops something into her arms.
"Oh, poor thing! It's a kitten and it's soaking wet."
I retrieve a towel and hand it to her and she wraps the furry bundle in it.
"Like I said, you always seem to adopt strays."
"Are you complaining?" she smirks.
I shake my head and wisely say nothing.
"It does seem abandoned," she says, and I can see its ribs—it must be starving."
"I'll check the cupboard," I tell her. "There's a can of tuna—I'll spoon some onto a saucer."
I put it on the floor and the little creature happily begins devouring it.
Within seconds the room is filled with loud purring.
"How can she eat and purr at the same time?" she laughs.
"Oh, is it a girl?" I ask, surprised.
She nods, "Her little mews were what I heard. They were so plaintive—they just melted me—well, that and her fuzzy fur. I wonder what we should call her?"
"Are you saying you want to adopt her?"
"I can't leave her alone, especially in a storm."
"In that case, call her Frizzy—it suits her."
"Frizzy, she smiles, "that's perfect—how did you think of it?"
"Simple, she reminds me of you. When I first saw you, your frizzy hair melted me too. Figures you'd rescue a cat that's just like you."
"Maybe, but you're nothing like me and I rescued you."
"Maybe we both rescued each other," I said soberly, reaching down to nuzzle Frizzy's soft little head as she explored the contents of my coffee mug.
"Or, maybe we're all strays and need each other," she said, staring into my eyes.
I felt my stomach flip and realized, I don't just like her—this is a woman I could love.