We are almost half way through August. That is hard to believe. Today we celebrate another outstanding #RRBC and #RWISA author, Amy Reece. As with her peers, she has provided some prose so you readers can check out her style. A link is also included below to her #RWISA author page. Please take the time to learn more about her.
WATCH “RWISA” WRITERWISARWISA or RRBC
RWISA Author Page
On to her writing:
CRAZY CAT LADY
by Amy Reece
CAT SITTER NEEDED
$50 CASH—One Night ONLY
Apply in Person
653 Silverwood Ln Apt B
Rita looked from the folded newspaper to the small adobe duplex in front of her. Well, here goes. My chances of getting murdered or sold into a sex trafficking ring are pretty good, but I need the fifty bucks. Need might be overstating it, but she wanted to go to the concert and she didn’t have the money for the tickets. Her meager paycheck from her work-study job didn’t stretch much farther than covering the bare essentials. If she wanted any fun money, she had to find other ways to acquire it. She’d done it all: research studies, selling her plasma, modeling for art studio classes. Answering a jinky ad in the college newspaper was nothing. She had left a note in her dorm room telling her slumbering roommate where she was, so at the very least maybe they’d be able to recover her body. She shook off the dark thoughts and approached the house.
A tall, thin elderly woman answered the door. “Yes? How can I help you?”
Rita held up the ad. “I’m here about the cat sitting job.”
“Oh, my dear, yes. Well, come in.” She opened the screen door and stood back to allow Rita to enter.
The living room smelled musty but looked tidy, with sagging, old-fashioned furniture covered with bright, hand-crocheted afghans and doilies. Several cats raised their heads from where they snoozed on the cushions, then lowered them disinterestedly. A tray with a flowered china teapot and matching cups was set on the coffee table.
“Have a seat and I’ll pour you a cup of nice hot tea. It’s so chilly out this evening, isn’t it?”
Rita sat and accepted the cup of steaming tea while she frowned at the woman. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“Oh, no,” the woman said breezily. “I was expecting you.” She smiled as she sipped her tea. “Or someone like you. I put the ad in the paper and I knew someone would be along presently.” More cats of every color had wandered into the room. There had to be nearly fifteen cats winding their way around her feet, perching on the back of her chair, and leaping into her lap.
“Oh.” Rita nodded dumbly and fumbled with the handle of the delicate cup, spilling tea into the saucer. “So, when exactly do you need the cat sitter?”
“Well, tonight, of course. I need to go visit my sister in Santa Fe. I’ll be back soon after breakfast tomorrow. Now, let me show you where I keep their food.” She reached forward to set her cup on the table.
“But, but,” sputtered Rita, “don’t you want to know about me? About my qualifications?”
The woman laughed lightly. “It’s only feeding a few cats, dear. It’s not rocket science. Come along.” She stood, shooing the cats from her lap, and led the way into the kitchen. “The dishes are here.” She pointed to a row of small ceramic bowls lining a dish drain. “And the food is in this cabinet. They like to eat around nine and then you can wash up.”
“Okay.” Rita nodded and counted the bowls. There were only six. “Do they take turns eating? Should I refill the bowls after the first group eats?”
“I think you’ll find one round is more than enough. Most of these are ghost cats, of course. Poor dears.”
Rita stared at her blankly. “Ghost cats?”
“Yes. They seem to be drawn to me. They just can’t move on quite yet. They’re not like dogs, you know.”
Rita didn’t know. In fact, the only thing she was sure of was that this woman was obviously insane. Ghost cats? What the hell? But fifty bucks was fifty bucks, and if she had to placate a crazy woman to get it, she was glad to. “Great. No problem.”
“Now, feel free to help yourself to anything if you get a little peckish.” She led the way back to the living room, where she picked up a small, old-fashioned train case Rita hadn’t noticed before. “Be sure to lock up after me. Have a good night and I’ll see you early tomorrow.”
Rita stood in the middle of the living room and watched her leave. “Wait! How do I—” she wrenched the door open to ask her final question, but the woman was gone. She stepped onto the porch and looked upon and down the street, noticing red taillights at the stop sign at the far end. She must have had a cab or an Uber waiting. She shrugged and closed the door, locking it as instructed. Then she turned to address the room. “Well, cats and kittens, I guess it’s just us for the rest of the night. At least she keeps this place clean. With this many of you it could really reek.” She’d eaten an early dinner at the cafeteria so she wasn’t hungry. The remote was on a side table, so she grabbed it up and found a cat-free cushion to sit on. The woman didn’t have cable, but Rita managed to find a rerun of a show she enjoyed and sat back to while away the hours until feeding time. The cats, for the most part, minded their own business and left her alone. A few finally crept close enough to sniff her, but then stalked away. She’d never been much of a cat person, so she took no offense. Feeding time went off without a hitch and the woman had been correct: the six bowls were more than enough. Cats came and nibbled, but none cleaned out their bowls. Many of the cats simply came and stared at the food without touching it. Weird. Maybe they are ghost cats.
She got hungry around midnight, but found nothing but a few stale crackers in the cabinet. She took them with her to the couch, pulled one of the crocheted afghans over her legs, and fell asleep watching an infomercial.
The key in the lock woke her the next morning. She sat, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Good morning! I’m sorry I woke you. How did everything go last night?” The woman set her train case by the door as she walked in.
“Um, fine. Yeah, everything went great.”
“Oh, good.” She rummaged in her purse for her checkbook and a pen. “Now, I’ll let you fill in your name. Here you go.” She handed her the check.
Rita glanced down at it, noting the spindly handwriting, but satisfied that it was indeed for fifty dollars. Sweet. Easy money. She sat up and folded the afghan and laid it across the back of the sofa. “Thanks. Well, have a nice day.” She waved awkwardly as she let herself out of the apartment. I’ll just swing by the bank and cash this, then stop to buy the concert tickets on my way home.
“Can I help you?” The voice came from the house next door. “What are you doing?”
“Huh?” Rita turned as the woman marched down her front path to confront her.
“Were you in that apartment? How did you get in? That door is supposed to be locked! Oh, I’m going to kill my husband! He never checks!”
“Excuse me?”
“What were you doing in there?”
“No-nothing! I mean, I was watching that lady’s cats for her.” She realized she’d never asked the woman’s name. “She paid me. See?” She held up the check for the other woman.
The woman glanced at the check and frowned. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you better get out of here before I call the cops!”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything wrong! I answered an ad in the paper to come and watch that lady’s cats for the night. She paid me fifty dollars. See?” She showed the check to the woman again.
The woman snatched the check from her hand. “Nobody lives there! The woman with all the cats died two years ago! We’ve had a heck of a time getting renters to stay because they swear it’s haunted or some nonsense! Now, if you’re not here about renting the place then I’m going to ask you to leave. Now. Before I call the police.” She glanced down at the check, laughed briefly, and handed it back to Rita.
Rita took the check and looked at it to see what could have made the woman laugh. Her eyes widened as she saw it was not a check at all; it was nothing more than a piece of torn newsprint. It fluttered to the ground as she ran, the woman’s laughter echoing behind her.
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Author, Karen Ingalls
My latest series is called the Revolution series, and it is my first venture into the Dystopian or Post-Apocalyptic genre. As far as I know today, there will be four books, two of which have been published, one is ready for publication, and the final book is still undergoing a final reread before editing, and cover design. The original concept came from the last book I wrote before starting this journey, The Old House: An Everlasting Love Story.
These books tell the story of Jack Kennedy, a boy born in 2107. In his world, America is in shambles. Long before he was born, the national debt became unsustainable, causing the currency and economy to collapse. Since the USA is such a large part of the global economy, the world economy collapsed as well. Now, the political and economic elites live in luxury in their domed city-centers, while everyone else lives in squalor. The domes are surrounded by weathered tenements where the workers eek out an existence. Further out, the poor live in miserable slums. The cities are walled to offer some protection, while the countryside is overrun by gangs and terrorists.
We are down to the wire for registration for the 2017 Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference and Book Expo. Registration ends on October 9th, so sign up now!
