reason to be alarmed, of course. Winky is no gentleman. But instead of making mayhem, Winky decided to greet him. “Hello, Big Boy…awk…” Then Winky let out a wolf whistle that would put a construction worker to shame and the bird winked at the startled man.
That’s how he got his name, from a lady who had grown rescued him from some bad owners. She had grown too ill to care for him and had made me promise I’d find Winky another good home. I’ve been trying, but Winky has a smart mouth and ribald sense of humor, so he’s been a challenge to place. The trouble with parrots is that their life span may be longer than that of their human. I’ve suggested to more than one customer that when they write their will that they include custody instructions for their birds. That’s a great way to separate the serious customer from the casual looker.
“May I help you?” I asked, realizing someone other than Winky should be working the store.
“I…ah…no…well…yes, I suppose you can.” He didn’t really look comfortable in the pet store in those sure-to-pick-up-fur navy trousers of his. “I just wanted to greet the owner of this establishment. Is he in?”
Ohhhh. No points for that one.
“I’m Norah Kent, owner of Norah’s Ark. May I help you?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Excuse me. I thought it was Noah’s…I assumed…”
Assume nothing, I thought to myself. Especially not on Pond Street.
He shook himself free of that and extended a hand. “I’m Connor Trevain. I own the Zachary Zephyr and the other cruise boats on the lake. My current administrator is retiring and I’ve decided to be ‘hands on’ for a while. I wanted to meet the merchants up and down Pond Street and introduce myself.” He flushed a little. “I already blew it with you, didn’t I?”
I do not have the crusty shell of M&M’s. I melt everywhere. “Of course not. Welcome to Shoreside.”
He relaxed and smiled. It changed his entire demeanor. At once it made him less intimidating and more approachable. It also made him more handsome than the stern, businesslike expression he’d worn earlier. Oh, boy, was Lilly going to be excited about this.
“Have you been to all the other shops?”
“I met Joe at the coffee shop. And Barney at the station.”
“Isn’t he a gas?” I asked, testing his sense of humor.
That seemed to fly right over his head.
“I’ve also been to the Corner Market to meet Chuck and Betty.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Chuck’s name is really Olaf and that he’d been dubbed Chuck because of all the ways he could tell you to cook a pot roast. If the Barney joke went by him, he’d never get that one.
“And I’ve been at Auntie Lou’s Antiques.” A frown flitted across his features. “It’s very…crowded…in there. And she’s very…quaint.”
I could tell he was trying to be polite. Auntie Lou’s is sensory overload for the uninitiated.
“So you do have a few places left to visit.” I wondered if I could get to the phone and call Lilly before he got there so she could put on fresh lipstick.
“Yes.” He sounded so put-upon that I stared at him.
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“It’s not that. This is just quite a change from my former life. It will take some getting used to.”
“We’re worth the effort,” I assured him. “Pond Street and its merchants will grow on you.”
“Yes, some of them already have. It was nice meeting you, Norah,” he said in parting.
So that was Connor Trevain. Lilly was right about one thing. He was definitely going to improve the scenery down at the dock.
“Are you sure this is the right one for me?” Auntie Lou asked as she held a fat calico cat with a purr like a 747 rumbling in her ear.
“Are you sure? That’s the question.”
“He’s pretty cute.”
“A perfect calico.”
“And he seems to like me.”
“No kidding.” The cat blissfully kneaded Auntie Lou’s shoulder with his declawed paws. “He adores you.” I crossed my arms and looked intently at her. “Then what’s the problem?”
She flushed under the bright patches of blusher—or rouge, as she called it—on her cheeks. “I haven’t lived with anyone or anything for thirty years. I don’t want to make another mistake.”
I blinked. “A mistake?”
“That’s what my husband was,” Auntie Lou admitted cheerfully. “A rascal, that fellow. It’s a wonder that he didn’t put me in the grave with him.”
This was all news to me.
“He couldn’t keep a job or didn’t care to. Lazy as the day is long.” Her expression softened. “But so charming. He treated me like a queen, you know. Made me forget that I had to support us most of the time. Then he got sick and I nearly lost my mind tending to him and trying to keep food on the table….” Her voice drifted with her memories, into the past. “I didn’t regret a moment I spent caring for him but after he was gone, I realized that sometimes it can be just too hard to love someone who hasn’t the same ability to love back.” She eyeballed the cat. “Do you think this guy is up to it?”
My heart ached for Auntie Lou. She’d loved and lost and, even with a pet cat, was afraid to love again.
“I’m sure of it. And he’ll earn his keep. The lady at the desk said his former owner told her he was ‘an affectionate animal and a great mouser.’”
“Then why did they give him up?” Auntie Lou asked suspiciously.
I checked the card from the front of the cage that held the cat’s history. “Looks like she went into a hospice program, Auntie Lou.”
The old woman’s expression softened. “So you got left behind, too, did you?” she whispered into the cat’s soft fur. The roaring purr intensified. “I suppose we belong together then, two old rejects.”
Deal closed.
Then she looked up, her eyes twinkling. “Now don’t you go lecturing me about calling myself a reject. I couldn’t be one or you wouldn’t spend time with me, you sweet girl. Now go get me some papers to sign or swear us in or whatever it is you do in your shop. I want to get this guy home before I change my mind.”
Leaving the pair looking lovingly into each other’s eyes, I went to the shelter’s desk to tell them a pet had found its home.
“Did you see him yesterday?” Lilly accosted me in front of the Java Jockey on Tuesday morning looking wild-eyed and beautiful in a lavender chiffon top and shocking purple leggings.
