2019-11-11 - The Cat Concerto

When one owns an indoor/outdoor cat, one usually has to take some things on trust and faith - that the cat can take care of itself, that the cat will make it home safely, and in the kindness of neighbors and trust in their driving skills. However, if you lack more than a few of these, your second best option is to trust in the power of technology, and have your cats chipped and their collar tags discreetly enhanced with a GPS tracker. Gina believes in the latter, but there's only so much one can see as it grows dark so quickly in the evenings now. And so, in her heavy woolen maxi coat that looks a liiiiittle too much like a rob, especially with the hood up, Gina steps quietly along the streets, checking her phone once in a while and peering at houses, trying to follow the signal before the storm arises, the hand not holding her phone occasionally reaching to touch one of the charms along the chain -- did we mention the coat has a chain from the pocket to the lowest button, on which hang various slender chains and little charms, some clearly carved of ivory or bone, and at least two human teeth capped in silver and gold? Yeah, Gina's not creepy at /all/. But she's also a townie, and occasionally nods to those who greet her along the way to trying to find that damn white cat.

The GPS does eventually steer Gina to one particular house. Maybe the backyard of said particular house? Look, it's in that general direction. It's a small bungalow with mint green siding, opening nearly right onto the street. The backyard is fenced in, however, tall enough that one would have to get up on one's toes and squint through the wooden latticework along the upper end of the fence. Not that this is likely to stop a cat. And there's definitely a cat. Or cats. One cat is yowling, at least. This one is behind a screen door, inside the house, making noise at whatever's out in the back yard. "What is it, Chickpea?" There's a woman's voice alongside the cat, showing up at the back door to peek outside. Outside, there's a small tree and some patio furniture and some boxes, and plenty of places to clamber up onto the roof of the house. Ample space for another cat to be hiding.

Gina looks up from her home, over at the mint green house, back at her phone, and sighs. But she's not surprised. Instead, she just puts her hands in her pockets and approaches the fence door - she doesn't knock, as might be sensible, but turns /first/. Because these things are only suggestions. As she opens the fence door, she calls out, "Heeeeeey. If you live here, I'm picking up my cat. He's definitely here." It's not cheerful, and it's not a request-- just a raised voice informing that she's there, coming in, and what her intentions are in entering this back yard! There's also, notably, no apology. Not that it seems to bother the girl in the black hooded coat entering the backyard. You know. Like you do.

"Oh, that explains that," Abby calls out in reply, reaching down to give the yowling calico a little rub atop her head. "Were you talking to the other cat?" She's asking her cat, not the person coming in. But she does actually callout, "Sure! Come in. I'm not sure where your cat is, though!" Carefully, she opens the door and squeezes herself outside through a relatively narrow gap, clearly to keep the cat inside from escaping into the yard. She's in a warm plaid flannel and black leggings, with flip-flops on her feet for the pleasantly damp and cool weather, and she has an altogether sunny smile for the back yard intruder. "What's it look like?"

Glancing up at the sky, Gina tugs down her hood - she might be normally be inconsiderate of social mores, but she is invading to find her cat. "White shorthair. Fringy ear from where something probably nearly bit it off. " Gina says, and her tone is... ambiguous? As if she's leaving something unsaid, but she's sounded a bit like that the whole time. "Pretty distinct fucker. He answers to Vee and--" She pulls out her phone, flipping through a few things, "He should be somewhere over-- there." A gesture, before she holds the phone out for Abby to see. Yup, little blinking dot on the map where they are. "He always knows when he's got a vet visit coming up and does this shit." A flash of irritation in her eyes, but it's only a flash, before Gina is back to her difficult-to-read self. "You'd think being white he'd stand out, but he probably rolled in something gross again."

Abby stands there, listening, and once she has the suspect burglar's description she takes another look about the yard. There are only so many places the cat could've vanished into. "Does he climb a lot? There's the tree, or..." she suggests in a friendly helpful tone, bending down to peek under the patio furniture, then squint at the tiny little garden plot. Not that there's much in the way of cover there, other than a decorative rocks and some scraggly greens. Not a green thumb, probably. "The roof?" She starts backing away from the house proper to get a better look. "Chickpea must've seen him. Or heard him. Or smelled him," she remarks. Indeed, the calico is being noisy. "Maybe he'll answer and we can hear where it's coming from." She tilts her head, as if that'll help the sound reach her.

The potential burglar, chock full of hubris, is pretty standard in terms of the Wrong Sort in Gray Harbor: all black coat? Check. Chain accessories? Check. Colorful hair? Hers is deep purple, so check. Tattoos? Too cold to check. But she does start moving-- strolling really-- through the garden, eyes staring at potential spots the cat could be. "He is a climber. Vee." A two-beat whistle, fwee-fwee. No response. So Gina starts also checking around the house and the fence. "Vee's his name. Short for Vice," OF COURSE IT IS, "And when he feels like that, the double whistle is the best way to get his attention." Another fwee-fwee of a whistle, and there's ahissing sound from--- somewhere!

Passing by the backyard, his hands in his back pockets, Everett perks his head up at the first set of whistles and looks around. The second set draws his gaze towards the pair. With pale skin like his, the faint blush that blossoms on his cheeks before he tucks his head down is colorful. Untucking his right hand, he covers his cheek facing them while the gigantic man continues past, certain that he's being cat-called, a thin smirk growing on his lips.

Maybe Abby just doesn't have enough nice things to be worth braving the hunting grounds of the colorful beast currently meowling and rolling around on the kitchen floor. Either way, she doesn't seem terribly concerned about the possibility of being robbed, just going on aggressive friendliness and cheer. "Well, I can always go get a ladder if we need it!" She offers with a smile, listening in at the whistle. There is some clutter in the yard, some boxes and gardening things, but not really prime hiding spots. "I'm terrible at whistling," she admits, but gives it a try anyway. Pffffffeeeee. Pffftpfeeee. Pthhhh. She's trying. And look, a person. And a person in Abby's vicinity means that's a person getting an amiable wave, "Hello!"

Gina is focused on finding her cat! That lovable asshole. So she's making her way towards one of the chairs around to peek behind it. Abby's enthusiastic greeting, however, has her pausing to look up at the ginormous man walking away-- brows rise for a moment, trying to place it-- "Ohhhh, right." A grin-- not a particularly /nice/ grin, but it's gone so fast who can register it? She looks to Abby and tells confides in low voice, "Don't startle him. I've seen him around town. He's sensitive to people, crowds, loud music-- some serious anxiety issues. Always sad when somebody's that introverted." Gina sounds so SERIOUS when she says it, too. Not sympathetic, but just... factual. Is she pulling Abby's leg? Maybe. Or maybe looks are deceiving, and the blushing giant is a gentle one in need of delicate handling.

Oh great. Now they're both paying attention to him. Before he lifts his right hand to return the wave, he uses it to smooth around his mouth, perhaps wiping the smile away, for it's gone when his hand is rose. The hand comes down to twirl the shiny black strands around his pec height, a quick look between the two of them before he pulls an earbud from his left ear with his free hand and leaves it to dangle. His next word is a showcase of his wit when he utters a deeply cadenced, "huh?" at Gina, whose lips flapped the most.

Abby turns from the house for a moment to glance at the tree. Not that there's anywhere good for the cat to hide, what with the branches having gone pretty far into their seasonal striptease. She glances back at Gina, blinking. "Really? Oh, that's rough. I guess you really can't tell by the cover, right?" She pushes up onto her toes, as if that'll give her extra height for a renewed glance at the roof, then stops herself to steal another quick peek in Everett's direction, "I think I saw him at the gym before," she comments, shooting Gina a doubtful look. And look, Everett's taken out his earbud and is looking their way, so he gets an encore. "Hello."

"Maybe he's just afraid of certain environments, then." Gina muses, still maintaining a straight face. Her attention turns towards Everett at his eloquent response. "Hey. You seen a white shorthair cat?" She asks, remaining right where she is. No wave from her! Also no smile. Poor Everett, so underappreciated. "He's got a fringy ear." A hand with red-tipped black nails gestures towards her own right ear, "And he's probably going to try and con somebody out of food--"

Behind her, a once-white, now-dirty-greyish cat with a pale collar slinks from around the side of the house towards the screen door, examining it for weaknesses. Poor Chickpea is probably the victim of bared fangs.

"Uh. Hey," Everett returns the greeting again from the other side of the fence he has no trouble peering over. His green eyes squint a little before turning his attention to Gina when she addresses him and those same eyes lift upwards and slightly to the left. Thinking. His hand comes down from twirling his hair at the same time he purses his lips and shakes his head, "Naw," he pauses, "but," and looks down. Opening his jacket, he pulls out a bag of jerky that's been folded over and stuffed inside his leather jacket.
Approaching the fence, Everett holds out the bag, the President's own choice. Canadian jerky. "Maybe try." Everett pauses to take the jerky bag back, opens it, and extracts a small piece before he makes a cat-call of his own. Two kissy sounds while returning his right arm over the fence, waggling the jerky between his fingers.

Abby lifts her eyebrows into a lightly creased forehead. "Oh, that could be it," she admits the possibility with a small, but that's as far as she's willing to go. Especially now that Everett seems to actually be spontaneously interacting. Look, she's smiling, silently encouraging him in his efforts to be sociable! Good job, she's proud of you, her eyes seem to say.

On the other side of the screen door, Chickpea was still sprawled out lazily, but the other cat's presence makes her stir. First one ear, then her head, then the rest of her in a skittish leap, a brief retreat accompanied by a hiss. Fortunately there's a screen door between them, or else.

Everett's short-burst communication earns him only two raised brows from Gina. But she says nothing aloud-- she doesn't need to. Her skeptical lack of confidence in the giant man outside the fence dangling jerky while making kissy noises oozes out of her, even if her face remains neutral.

And then she gives a small little half-smile hands about to go into her pocket, mouth opening to make a comment-- but then behind her there is a sudden hissing as the greyish cat who could be Vee hisses again and scratches at the screen, only once, before it starts slinking towards the fence. Looking to where the noise was, Gina gives an exasperated sigh. "Vice!" She grumbles, walking towards the cat. It promptly scurries itself beneath a chair near Abby, suspicious.

Everett is a big boy. And he can use big boy words.
Sometimes. When he has to. ... I guess.

He makes an upset noise, a tsk, in the back of his throat before offering, "I think the grey-- white one thinks this is his turf." He takes the piece he was offering the cat into his mouth and rips it off in his mouth, to start chewing. Following it with a shrug of his shoulder, Everett sinks down on the other side of the fence and wedges the remaining jerky in the fence. Bait. The remaining package is folded and as he rises, it put back inside his jacket while he chews slowly with his mouth closed even.

"Oh," Abby turns towards the door to the house, catching sight of the off-white cat. Chickpea only moves forward when the other cat departs, and Abby seems content to watch for now. "Aw, he's cute, isn't he? Is he always skittish?" She asks with a tilt of her head in Gina's direction, though her eyes stay on the cat as he scurries closer. She takes a small step aside, making room for Gina to come nearer, and glances at the path between the cat's hing place and the piece of jerky pushed through the fence. "I hope he doesn't hop over the fence for more of that."

"He's white." Gina clarifies for Everett, frowning at the cat as he prowls beneath the chair. "Probably went somewhere weird. The whole town's his turf, according to him." Stepping forward as Abby steps back, Gina crouches and reaches to try and grab the cat-- but he saunters away as stretches, tail high, at a brisk jog towards Everett. Is he meowing at the same time? Yup. Vocal little guy. He sniffs at the fencing. Licks it a few times. Successful Everett! But oddly enough, the cat squeezes through the opening of the door fence instead of waiting, to meow and rub against Everett's calves. Attention! Attention! Jerky-fingered attention! Be nice to those who feed you, and be fed more!

Meanwhile, the abandoned Gina just flat stares at the cat walking away, her expression conveying 'Really??'-- but with more resignation than malice. "He's not skittish. Iggy's the skittish one - Iggy's my other cat. She never goes out. That one's just smart enough to know where we can't get him. He strategizes." She puts her hands on her knees, pushing herself up from the crouch. "You mind grabbing him, Rapunzel?"

"If he does, there's more of it," replies the thug, afterpushing chewed jerky into the pouch of his left cheek. Everett wiggles his free fingers, "And he'll be caught," he adds at Abby, trying to keep his eyes on the cat. The thug lets the cat pacify itself around his ankles first for a few times, and then reaches down and lets Vice sniff his fingers first before the big man picks up the cat and tucks him into his arm. Vice is rewarded, for as long as he tolerates it, with scritches under the chin and along the cheek where his scent glands are. Maybe it's a small wonder, but Everett knows how to handle cats.
Even going so far as to poke two fingers into his own mouth and pulling out a pinch of the jerky in his mouth to offer it to Vice. "Who's a pretty, dirty kitty?" Everett murmurs to the feline in his arms. He lifts his gaze from the cat to the purple haired woman while still speaking to the cat, "What's that? She doesn't give you nearly enough love and affection? I know, I'm surprised too." A smug Everett pets along Vice's back.

Abby takes another small step over to the side, as if to block the cat's path around the side of the house towards the front yard, but stands contentedly watching him climb out to get caught by Everett. She smiles her approval. "Chickpea doesn't really go out much, but I think she mostly disapproves of weather," she comments as an aside to Gina. And then another, leaning in, eyes traveling back to watch Everett talking to the cat. "His anxiety seems to have cleared up a bit, doesn't it?" She deadpans, and walks towards the fence for a closer look, "That's a really, really good emotional support cat, aren't you? I could've used one of those when I was doing my psychiatric rotation."

Gina just sort of shakes her head at Vee's affections towards his new mark-- err, patient-- err, friendly neighbor. "I'm horrified. Ashamed. The ultimate betrayal. My cat likes the dude who smells like jerky better than me." Gina's response is so dry, she might actually drive away the drizzle. She starts walking forward, in no rush it seems, and looks towards Abby at the conversation, one brow raising, "He's done wonders for me. I used to want to murder every asshole I came across. Now it's more of an apathetic hatred of mankind." Her tone is... light, casual. It could be a continuation of the joke, it could be serious, it could be mocking, even. Her little half-smile at the end does nothing to clarify matters, "But in this case, I think I just misread the guy. Probably just an arkoudaphobic." She says mildly, starting forward once again to open up the fence.

Vee doesn't respond to Gina being close by. He's too busy purring and smelling a little too earthy-- and occasionally tilting his head back in an attempt to catch those fingers and bite them.

The gorilla looks down at the cat in his arm that he's petting, and then up to Abby, brows lightly knotted. Vice is given another gaze and then Gina's turn. The first attempt at his fingers is pulled away, a judge of how Vee bites, but then Everett lets the cat nibble and chew. An occasional back-of-the-mouth chomp makes Everett squint an eye with the discomfort. Of course, Everett wasn't privy to the conversation while he had both earbuds in, so his assumption is, "Oh, I'm sorry." Everett swallows hard on the jerky still inn his mouth before he speaks with his deep voice and apologizes to Gina, "I had no idea you lost your support animal. Here," Everett holds Vice with both hands, stepping towards the fence, and offering him over to Gina, with a soft smirk from the right side of his mouth, offering the animal over to the woman that was wolf-whi--

Everett's humor fades. Oooh, they were calling for the cat, not cat-calling for the me. He clears his throat, and looks away, trying not to blush again, but for another reason altogether. The part about Vee stopping Gina from committing murder, Everett's brows lift, "Quick, fuzzy buddy, your work is a community service," he says, still offering the cat.

Abby stands there, smiling at the cat and happy to watch the scene. "Maybe you could switch to... they don't probably don't make jerky-scented lotions and things like that, do they? Unless it comes in black packaging and is called something like Hard Steel, Man Lotion For Men." Her eyes dart aside for a second, picturing this, before returning to Gina. "Aw. That's sweet. They do bring out the best of us, don't they?" She's just going to soldier on through with positivity regardless of whether Gina's serious or mocking. Her brows rise sharply and she looks over. "Ohh. Arkawhataphobic? I don't know that one," she confesses.

"You're good at that," she points out to Everett still holding the cat, like it's high praise.

Gina pauses a moment to look up at Everett. Flat stare-- not threatening. Just... measuring. Especially as he offers the cat. A second or two too long, before she reaches to accept the cat from him. Vee is squirming a bit, still trying to grab the fingers, but Gina brings him to her chest and arranges him in her arms, big cat though he is, "C'mon Vice. Stop pretending like I don't let you eat enough red meat at home." She chides the cat, though she's also scratching lightly just at the ruff, before she reaches to press something on his collar. A beep, two, and then the phone in her pocket vibrates. Cat quest, complete! She looks back towards Abby, "Doesn't really matter. I usually end up smelling like food anyway most days. I work at a diner in town." She shifts the cat in her arms, looking down at it.

Luckily, neither of these two know Gina. Otherwise, they might be shocked at the way she softens her voice and coaxes at the cat in a clearly not-english language. Russian? Perhaps. Should someone SPEAK Russian, it's the usual endearments about a pretty, dirty little cat in need of a bath, scamming men with more hair than sense, and a promise of treats later. To which the cat responds by trying to twist itself back and up, in order to press its nose against Gina's chin. When she speaks towards the people again, however, her voice is back to its usual apathetic tones. "Thanks for the assist, Rapunzel. And you," To ABby, again, "For letting me in," Not that Gina asked. "I should get Vee back home and head to work soon, though." As if she had a schedule. Or a shift. Or a need to own a diner.

The words 'Man Lotion for Men' cause Everett to pause and slowly turn his head towards Abby and blink. His mouth opens, a small squeak is emitted, the beginning of him about to say something. But then his eyes turn to his left, his mouth close. Nope, ain't gunna say it. "That and reaching things off the top shelf," he volunteers, the two things he's good at, instead of whatever Everett was thinking, spoken when he turns his gaze back to Abby.

Vice's chiding gains a knowing smirk from Everett, but not at the cat, at the cat-holder. Taking his feline spit covered fingers back, Everett tucks his hands into his back pockets, "At least now I know I have good taste." He nods, the other language passing with out comment, "No problem," he cants his head back towards the street, "Would you like an escort, in case he gets free again? It's on my way," he adds, despite not being told which way that actually is.

Abby waves away the thanks with a bright smile. "Sure thing! I wouldn't keep you away from your cat if he was wandering around in my yard. And poor Chickpea was about to have a fit anyway..." she continues with a glance at the back door into the house. The calico has moved away from the screen door, perhaps to peer down at the scene from an attic window or somewhere suitably ominous. "Any time! I mean, hopefully Vee won't get lost and wander here, but if he does," Abby clarifies and makes a sweeping gesture into her yard. The gesture turns into a wave, first for Gina, then for Everett. And for Vice. He gets a wave too, with some added finger wiggles. "Have a nice evening."

There's no farewell for Abby. Gina's just a terrible human like that. Vee stares at the yard (and Abby) so perhaps that was a farewell. But Gina just steps out of the lawn and through the fence door (thug permitting), and pauses to look (up and up) at Everett. Both brows rise at Everett's commentary, before she says mildly, "If you want to hold Vee again, you just need to ask. I'll even set up playdates if you want." Deadpan. So serious.

Then Vee wiggles, and Gina tries to adjust it in her arms again, "Not worried I'm an ax-murderer using cats as my lure? Guess you're not a local." She notes-- and she's already started to walk in the direction of her home. Everett might follow or not - Gina didn't say yes, but she didn't call the cops on him, either. Ginas are confusing and hard.

Taking his right hand out of his back pocket, Everett returns the wave towards Abby, complete with the finger waggles she saved for the cat. Gina's deadpan is missed, willfully or otherwise, "Oh good," Everett makes grabby hands again as both hands come out of his back pockets, willing to accept Vee back again, "During these playdates, is it a catnip-free household, or can me and the little man imbibe?" Deadpan check, and mate. Everett purses his lips and shakes his head, watching Vice more than Gina. "Naw," now it's his turn for deadpan, "you don't look like you've hurt an axe in your life." And follow he does. Look at that, Gina's picked up two strays.