LITTLE PIECES Kitty
T
he next week is filled with emergencies, which means I don’t see Miles or Kat. Every time I think I’m about to get in time with either of them, I’m called away to another catastrophe. It also means all the effort I’ve put into upping my makeup game has been a complete waste.
It’s mid-afternoon on Thursday, and Miles’s mother is moving into the home this weekend. Miles has been here the past few days packing up things. I was supposed to stop by last night, but Mr. O’Toole called very upset because Bumbles had gotten stuck in the wall again. I was certain he was just trapped in the food cupboard and that it would only take ten minutes and I’d be on my way to Miles’s mother’s place, but when I arrived, I was shocked to discover this time he really
had
gotten stuck in the wall. How he got there remains a mystery, but we cut a hole in the drywall to get him out.
It was one of many emergency situations over the past few
days. I attribute it to the full moon. They always make cats and their humans a little squirrely.
Today I arrive at Miles’s mother’s house ready to spend quality time with Prince Francis. Now that he seems to have calmed down, I’ve been rotating nights, spending one at home and one with Prince Francis. He’s stopped knocking things off shelves and dressers, so I’m considering it a win. Once Miles’s mother is settled in the home, I’m crossing my fingers they’ll allow him to live with her.
I expect Prince Francis to greet me as soon as I walk through the door, but he doesn’t. I assume he’s either mad at me for not staying over last night, or he’s in nap mode.
I leave my purse on the table at the front entrance and toe off my shoes, no longer worried about broken trinkets since most have been packed or disposed of at this point. I’m on my way to the kitchen to grab his treats when I hear a female voice.
“Prince Francis! Come out from under the bed!”
I halt and listen, my heart suddenly in my throat. Miles’s car isn’t in the driveway, and I’m sure he would have let me know if someone was supposed to stop by.
“Come out, Prince Francis! I have treats for you!”
Maybe it’s a neighbor? I consider leaving and coming back later, but what if it’s not? I follow the voice up the stairs. I don’t want to scare anyone, but if there’s a catnapper in the house, I also don’t want to alert them to my presence. I pick up a ceramic figurine on my way down the hall and cringe at the squeak in the floorboards.
The first door on the second floor is wide open. Toby’s room. I peek in and find a woman crouched on all fours, with her cheek pressed to the floor. Her back is to me. Her long hair is pulled up in a ponytail and threaded through with gray. She makes a tutting sound and pleads with Prince Francis. “You know you’re not allowed in Toby’s room when he’s at school. Come on out, Prince Francis, and I’ll give you a big treat. I have cans of tuna in the cupboard. If you’re a good boy, I’ll share it with you.”
My heart skips another beat; this must be Miles’s mother. I have no idea how she managed to get here if Miles isn’t with her.
I clear my throat and knock on the door, addressing her formally. “Excuse me, Ms. Thorn?”
She startles and pushes up onto her knees, twisting to face me. Her brows pull together in a furrow. I can see pieces of Miles in her face. They have the same eyes and nose, and the same lanky, lean build. “Hello. Are you Toby’s tutor? He isn’t home from school yet.”
I give her a small smile, unsure how to proceed. “I’m a friend of Miles. I’ve been taking care of Prince Francis while you’ve been away.”
That earns me another looks of confusion. “A friend of Miles?”
“My name is Kitty Hart. I’m a professional cat sitter.” I figure facts are the best way to go. If she still thinks Toby is alive, Miles would only be eleven and not likely to have women friends in their midtwenties.
“Kitty Hart? Professional cat sitter?” She tips her head. Her
mouth opens in an
O
, and her hands flutter around in the air. “Oh! Oh! Kitty Hart! I know you! I follow you on Instagram and TikTok! I love your posts!” She pushes up off the floor and wipes her hands on her hips. She takes one of my hands in both of hers and pumps it vigorously. “I told my son about you. I had to go away for a while.” Her eyebrows try to touch each other. “I don’t know why.” Her expression shifts again, eyes suddenly murky and distant. “My youngest boy should be home from school soon. I should make him a snack.”
I swallow down a pang of sadness as she pats me on the shoulder and heads for the door. “Come along, sweetheart, I’ll make you a snack, too. Kitty Hart in my house. What a day.”
I follow her to the kitchen, leaving Prince Francis in Toby’s bedroom. He’ll come down when he hears the treat bag being opened. I make a stop at the front door and grab my phone from my purse so I can message Miles. I have a feeling his mother showing up here isn’t a surprise to only me.
She stops when she reaches the living room. “Oh my goodness! My knickknacks! Did someone steal them?”
“Prince Francis was knocking them off the shelves, so we boxed them up,” I explain.
I quickly fire off a message to Miles to let him know that his mother is here, at her house, and that I’m trying to find out information but I’m not sure how successful I’ll be, and that he should probably call the care facility and let them know.
He messages back right away to tell me he just got a call from the night nurse and that he’s relieved that she’s with me and not
wandering the streets. He asks me to keep her talking and says that he’ll be here as soon as he can.
Miles’s mother—Tabitha—stands in front of the open fridge peering at the contents. “I can’t remember what I’m looking for.”
“You were going to make a snack,” I remind her.
“Oh yes. A snack is a good idea. We can have tea and cookies.”
“That sounds perfect.” I open the cupboard where Prince Francis’s treats are stored and shake the container. He comes trotting into the kitchen a few seconds later, meowing loudly.
“Oh! There’s my boy! I missed you, Prince Francis!” Tabitha crouches and I pass her the treats so she can feed him. He rubs himself on her legs and purrs.
“He missed you too, very much.”
“I feel like I’ve been away for a long time, but I’m not sure why.” She gives me a small smile. “That happens a lot. I forget things.”
“Do you know how you got here today?” I ask.
She purses her lips and rubs under Prince Francis’s chin. “I must have walked?” She blinks a few times, as if she’s searching her memory. “I came from the hospital, maybe?”
Based on what Miles has told me, the wing where she’s staying is a bit less secure than the rest of the hospital. “Do you remember why you were there?”
She shakes her head and picks Prince Francis up, holding him like a baby. “Do you know?”
“Why don’t you sit down and cuddle with Prince Francis. I can
explain what I know and see if it helps jog your memory at all.” Hearing about Miles’s mother is a lot different from witnessing it firsthand.
She nods and sinks into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. I put the kettle on and drop teabags into mugs, then set the milk and sugar on the table and take a seat across from her. “You remember being in the hospital?” I’m not sure how quickly her memories surface and fade, and I have no experience with dementia. I’ve worked with other clients who have parents who suffer the same affliction, but I’ve never met or talked to someone whose memory has started to fail them in the way it seems Tabitha’s has.
“Yes. But I don’t feel sick.”
I smile gently. “You’re not sick physically. When Miles called me to ask if I could help him look after Prince Francis, it was because you’d left the house in the middle of the night and ended up downtown, unsure how you got there or why you were there. You’d forgotten.”
She nods slowly. “I forget things.” Prince Francis settles in her lap, and she strokes along his back, gaze drifting across the room. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m living in the past or the present. This house does that to me.”
My heart clenches, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You have a lot of memories here.”
She hums her agreement. “Not all of them good, though.” She drops her head. “I lost my youngest son when he was just a boy.”
It must be heartbreaking to live inside a mind that tricks you constantly, making you believe the things you’ve lost are still there one minute, and then taking them away again the next. “Miles’s younger brother, Toby. Miles told me you lost him when he was only eight.”
“It was such a tragedy. I couldn’t get over the loss. And then I lost Miles and his father because I couldn’t let go of Toby.” She lifts her shaking fingers to her lips.
“That must have broken your heart.” Losing my father, and feeling the weight of responsibility, was crushing, but to lose a child and then have your family fall apart, too, that would be soul shattering. Maybe mind breaking.
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left Miles in charge of Toby. He’d just gotten a brand-new two-wheeler. I should have left the gardens alone and gone out with him for half an hour, but I was too caught up in picking the tomatoes before the squirrels got to them. Toby came outside and asked if he could ride his bike, and I told him to ask Miles to watch him. Miles was playing his video game—he had half an hour after school to play, and he was so good about sticking to that timeline. But it was a new game, and hockey, which he’s very fond of.” She smiles faintly, but it dissolves into sadness once again. “I guess he took too long to finish his level, and Toby went outside without him and we lost him.”
Hearing the story from Tabitha sheds a different light on it. And I can see that Miles isn’t the only one who feels culpability. “I’m so sorry. What a terrible tragedy for you and your family.”
“Toby and Miles were so close, even though Miles was a few years older. They still did everything together. And then he was just gone. I wasn’t a good mother for Miles after that, and I think he blamed himself for what happened to Toby, even though it was my fault.”
The pieces of the puzzle fall into place, and I appreciate even more how difficult this must be for Miles. To be back in this house where his family fell apart. To see his mother’s mind failing her, to have her slipping in and out of the present and back into the past from one moment to the next, with no understanding of what triggers it or how and when it got so bad.
I want to offer comfort, to give her some peace. I empathize with her on so many levels. And for Tabitha, she not only lost her son, but her entire family. And now she only remembers them in short blips of time. It seems as though there hasn’t been closure for anyone in this family. They’ve been suspended in their grief, holding on to it, letting it grow. And the weeds of sorrow have spread out and blanketed them. Covered over the good memories, leaving behind only choking vines of pain.
I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve unwittingly done the same.
I cover her hand with mine and squeeze. But before I can say anything else, the front door opens. “Kitty? Mom?” Miles calls out.
“We’re in the kitchen,” I reply.
Tabitha’s head lifts, and the clarity I saw in her eyes a moment ago is no longer there. Instead, it’s replaced with a fog, as if those vines of memories have choked out reality again and
replaced it with the past. “Oh! Toby’s home from school! I’m so glad you get to meet him.” She smiles as Miles appears in the doorway.
He looks frazzled, and his usually neatly styled hair is in disarray, as if his fingers have been in it. Or he got caught in a freak tornado that was only big enough to tousle his hair.
His gaze bounces between his mother, me, and the cups of tea on the table. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“It’s so good that you’re home. And just in time to meet Miles’s friend. Her name is Kitty. Is your brother with you, or does he have after-school activities today?”
Miles’s smile falters fractionally, and his throat bobs with a heavy swallow. His voice is unsteady when he says, “I’m Miles, Mom.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. You always look so much alike.” Her brow furrows. “Where’s Toby?”
“He’s not here.”
“Did he go to a friend’s house?”
Miles bites the inside of his lip, maybe debating whether he should be honest. “Yeah, he did.”
“Oh, okay. I don’t remember him telling me that before he went to school.” She strokes Prince Francis, her lips pursed.
Eventually, Miles convinces her that they need to go for a drive. I can tell he’s struggling with the lies, but that the truth could upset her.
“I can come along if you’d like,” I offer quietly as Tabitha gets ready to leave.
He hesitates and clears his throat before he says, “You don’t need to do that.”
I put a hand on his arm. “I’d like to, if you’d like me to.”
His jaw works for a few seconds before he nods once. “Yeah. Please. That would be great.”