The Astonishing Thing

by Sandi Ward

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

A housecat attempts to make sense of the world when her human family experiences a crisis in this bittersweet, uplifting debut novel.

Pet owners know that a cat’s loyalty is not easily earned. Boo, a resourceful young feline with a keen eye and inquiring mind, has nonetheless grown intensely devoted to her human companion, Carrie. Several days ago, Carrie—or Mother, as Boo calls her—suddenly went away, leaving her family, including Boo, in disarray. Carrie’s husband, Tommy, is distant and distracted even as he does his best to care for Boo’s human siblings, especially baby Finn.

Boo worries about who will fill her food dish and provide a warm lap to nestle into. More pressing still, she’s trying to uncover the complicated truth about why Carrie left. Though frequently mystified by human behavior, Boo is sure that Carrie once cared passionately for Tommy and adores her children, even the non-feline ones. But she also sees it may not be enough to make things right. Perhaps only a cat—a wise, observant, very determined cat—can do that . . .

Wonderfully tender and insightful, The Astonishing Thing explores the intricacies of marriage and family through an unforgettable perspective at the center of it all.

Praise for The Astonishing Thing

“A beautiful and touching look into the intricacies of marriage and family life, all seen through the loving and unique perspective of the family pet.” —Modern Cat 

“A unique and poignant tale of a family’s struggle as witnessed by someone who sees everything. A heartfelt homage to the four-legged companions who accompany us through life’s toughest times, this is a triumphant debut for Sandi Ward.” —Helen Brown, New York Times–bestselling author of Cleo

 “The

Release date: October 31, 2017

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Let me tell you about my mother.

Mother is soft curves and encouraging coos. She gives careful scratches to my head and is cautious with my whiskers and ears. Mother holds me calmly and never yells. Her hair is long and dark and curly, and I love to chew on strands when I can get close enough.

Mother has many names for me: Sweetie, Cutie, Pretty Girl, Fat Fat, and Lovey. When she calls, “Here, Boo!” I run for her, because that means food.

Mother is my life, my constant companion, my soul mate. But she has not said my name in several days. Mother went out, and I am waiting for her to come back.

I don’t have clear memories of the day she picked me out, but I have a recollection of being one among hundreds of cats in dark cages along a very long wall. When Mother lifted me out of my cage, I hung limp in her hands and felt secure as she pressed me gently against her chest. Her scent was instantly pleasing to me, like fresh milk. She was so confident that I was the right one that she passed me around, first to Girl, and then to Boy, who would become my sister and brother. I was a perfect fit, not just for Mother’s shoulder but also for this family.

Mother is kind. She feeds me the food I like, on time, morning and night. Mother is home all day, and I sit in her warm lap if she is watching the television. If I choose to lie right in the middle of the kitchen floor, my long, cream-colored fur sticking up with static and my tummy fat spread out over the tiles, she carefully and considerately steps over me.

Best of all, I nestle with her at night, first right by her head for a good purr and then down by her feet. In the morning, I push the comforter aside with my head and extend my claws to gently scratch her hand so she will get up and feed me. And she always gets up. Always!

Of course, we are not alone in this house.

My brother, the oldest child, is tall and lanky. He is friendly to me but sometimes trips over his own feet, so I watch out when he comes running. Brother spends a lot of time at his desk in front of a big machine, pressing buttons and occasionally giving a cheer or cursing his head off. Sometimes I sit and paw at the little things moving on the screen. He always laughs and doesn’t seem to mind.

My sister is good with me, and I will sit in her lap if she is reading. She stays in her room a lot, where it is warm and the light is welcoming. She has a poster tacked onto her wall that she touches or kisses when she enters or leaves the room. There are boys on this poster, and she seems to worship them. Sister also taps and talks into a small phone, mostly about things that sound very, very exciting and dramatic.

Sister has a child, a strange fluffy brown creature who is Not a Cat. He sleeps with her, like I sleep with Mother.

Not a Cat will try to get me to chase him, but I have no interest. He chirps and barks, spinning in circles. I just sit and watch, occasionally doling out a scratch with my meaty paw, which sends him running. I am bigger than him, and outweigh him by quite a bit. I am also smarter.

Then there’s the man. He has silky hair on his head and a face the color of tarnished gold, and he is the biggest of all. When I was a kitten, I thought of him as the Man-Lion. He is not my father, and he does not cuddle or feed me, but he is Mother’s mate. He lies down with Mother at night, and I avoid his side of the bed. I know he is strong, because I have seen him lift things. He tromps around, and I hustle to get out of his way. Not that I am afraid of him. I am just smart enough to move when I see a bull charging at me. We have a mutual dislike. But I reluctantly see why Mother likes him; he is handsome in his way, and proud, and speaks with a low tone that commands respect.

Still, I’m not sure why Mother needs him. She is the hunter and feeder of this family.

I have a nice home. This house is in a cold place. Summers are short. During most of the year, when the humans come in from the outside they are surrounded by a cloud of chilly air. Not a Cat comes in with ice and snow caked onto his paws. I know what snow is, even though I am never allowed outside, because the humans track it in and down the hall. I’ll bat it with my paw and lick any ice until my tongue turns numb.

I don’t mind being kept inside. This house is more than enough for me. And when Man gets the fire going, it is very cozy.

I don’t know what Man does most days when he leaves the house, but I have heard the children say that he fights with fire. Occasionally he gets up in the middle of the night when a loud horn is sounding from somewhere outside. He comes back smelling like the fireplace, but much stronger, so acrid that it makes my eyes water, and I realize he must have walked through fire. It puzzles me, because I know that fire gets very hot and I cannot sit too close to the fireplace before it starts to feel uncomfortable. I wonder how he can stand it.

The family avoids him until he has washed off the black dust and bitter scent, and they know to stay away if he broods after that. Sometimes he seems sad or exhausted, and he avoids my siblings, finding a seat away from them for a while.

He acts no differently toward me, because to me he is neither kind nor unkind. It is just as if I am invisible, as if I do not exist.

Man calls Mother “Carrie” when he is being serious. Maybe because she carries this family with all of the work she does. He calls her “Care” when he is pleading or he wants something. It seems he always wants something.

She calls him “Tom” or “Tommy.” Or “Stupid,” when she is mad at him.

Mother has the right touch, and I am her constant companion. She gently caresses the space between my ears and very carefully tickles my nose. At night, things get busy, but she doesn’t forget about me. Late at night when my brother and sister are in bed, I have her to myself.

If Mother stops petting me and decides to touch the man, I don’t get upset. I sit on the back of the couch above their heads waiting my turn. He likes a scratch behind his ears too, and she’ll run her fingers through his hair like she does to my fur. We all must share Mother. I understand.

Sometimes at night when Man gets into bed I have to jump down for a little while, because he moves around too much. But I always return. Sometimes I catch him staring at me, only for a second. I cannot interpret his intentions. I ignore humans that I don’t understand. As I said, we don’t like each other, but we are stuck with each other.

And now I have lost all happiness, because Mother has gone out and not returned. Days and nights have passed. And yet the rest of the family is here. They are unusually quiet, and only mention Mother’s name in whispers.

This has never happened before.

I think the baby is the source of our problems.

I have not mentioned the baby yet. He is the newest member of our family. We had a good life before the baby came.

This is a big, old, drafty house. When I sit by a window, I feel a cold wind leaking right through the wall. I like playing in the dusty corners and padding up the creaky stairs. At night, there is often a blazing fire in the fireplace, and there is nothing I love more than sitting on a pillow placed near the hearth.

Before that baby arrived, we often enjoyed quiet evenings in the living room, with the TV playing. I found it amusing to watch Man sneak in and tickle my siblings from behind, reaching over the couch. Even though they are older children, as tall as he is, they would laugh and shriek.

“Nooooo, cut it out,” my sister begged, doubling over while giggling. “Daddy, stop!”

“You scared the crap out of me,” my brother would yelp, jumping away with a grin. “I’ll get you for this. I’m too fast for you, Pops. You’d better watch your back.”

When she was here, Mother liked to sit apart from the others, and as much as I loved the warmth of the fire, I often joined her. I could see how she valued me above the rest of the family, but they pretended not to notice. I was always Mother’s favorite. She preferred being with me to being with the humans.

I realized something was different about Mother when I noticed how slowly she waddled around the kitchen. I thought perhaps she was putting on weight due to the fact that she rarely left the house. I have put on extra pounds over time myself. So that alone wasn’t a cause for concern.

I cuddled with her at night as she grew, and her expanding belly gave me a nice pocket of warmth to snuggle into, right by her chest. I didn’t think about it too much, until one night something in her stomach jabbed me in the ribs. It hit me all at once.

Of course, a baby! She was pregnant. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out earlier.

Mother has always taken comfort in my purring, but she began hugging me in bed tighter than ever. I was happy to help out.

At the same time, I was a little confused, because my brother and sister are much older. I guess I just wasn’t expecting another sibling. I thought I would always be the baby of the family.

Around the time I recognized Mother was pregnant, Man began acting erratically. He seemed excited and eager to make preparations for the baby. While sprawled out on the wood floor, taking an afternoon catnap, I watched him pull down the attic door. He made many trips up the ladder, sweat coating his face. He worked hard carrying down all sorts of strange things, including a giant, ridiculous baby cage. Man was up half the night, banging and cursing and putting the thing together. But his energy was interesting to watch.

Mother, on the other hand, grew very still. She stayed in bed, even during the day. It seemed difficult for her to get up or roll over. Brother and Sister came to her with all sorts of complaints. I scowled at them, and hissed when they flew at her too quickly. I didn’t like them bothering Mother when she was tired.

Most worrisome, sometimes Mother didn’t even have the energy to lift her head. I was so worried about her. As much as I loved to lie with her, I started to wonder if something was seriously wrong.

In fact, the only thing that consistently got Mother out of bed was my dinnertime. She padded her way downstairs and filled my bowls. Once in a while she would feed the other children, but not always. I was flattered and grateful, but also puzzled.

I could see sorrow and disappointment in the faces of my siblings as they watched our mother head back upstairs. I felt sorry for them.

But I also thought that perhaps the humans just didn’t understand what Mother was going through. I decided that maybe she was sick, and needed a doctor. I tried to get everyone’s attention, but I am limited in what I can communicate. I wanted to ask, Why aren’t you helping her?

When I meowed, Not a Cat would bark and try to play with me. Sister would talk to me and pet my head. But I was upset and not playful.

When I was desperate, I got right up near my brother’s big machine and pushed my head into his elbow. I licked and groomed his bare arm, tasting the salt on his skin. I yowled as loud as I could. But Brother seemed to think I was looking for attention. “Hey, Boo,” he said to me. “You’re a good girl. You’re a sweetie pie. You’re a big, fat meatball of lovey-dovey fluff.” He scratched my neck and kissed my head, but that wasn’t what I wanted at all.

I wanted him to help Mother.

I grew frantic, and wondered if I could get Mother to help herself. I jumped up to Mother’s bed and pawed at her hand, then pushed the blanket down with my head. She did not get up, but she did eventually stroke my back, and I purred as loud as I could to show her how much I appreciated it.

Man didn’t have much luck with Mother either when he tried to comfort her. He seemed to sense, as I did, that she was in some measure of distress. Man would lie behind her and try to put his arm over her, but she pushed him away. At one point, she began slapping his hand, as if his touch burned her skin.

“But Carrie, I just want—”

“No.” She cursed and railed at him: “Stop. Leave me alone, Tommy.”

I could see she blamed him for the whole situation.

One night, when Mother’s belly was enormous, she had a bad fight with Man. They were on the couch in the living room, with Mother sitting up but slumped over as if she was having trouble staying awake. I lay on the floor, watching.

Man spoke to her very intensely. He grabbed her arms and forced her to look at him. “Carrie,” he begged her. “Please. Listen to me. You can’t lie down all day. It’s not good for you, or the baby. Just try to get up once in a while and eat something.” More talking and more talking. I could see Mother was sick of it, but he just kept on talking. It amazes me what Man does not see and does not understand. I guess he is proud and strong and thinks he knows best. He kept it up even when she winced and hung her head in exhaustion. Man kissed her cheeks and forehead, and tried to hold her, but she just squirmed and protested and turned her face away. I could see she had had enough. Enough of him, enough of the pregnancy. Mother is my best friend, and I could see how she felt about things.

Eventually Man left the room. Good riddance, I thought. I jumped right up to comfort poor Mother.

Sister was good at distracting Mother in those final weeks. She’d come in and sit on the bed, talking excitedly, filling Mother in on what was clearly very important information. “Ma,” she’d start, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you will never believe what happened to Sarah today at the beach. You know Ted, who works at the snack bar? He’s the cute one, whose older brother is a lifeguard. . . .”

Mother listened patiently, up to a point, but eventually waved her away. “Okay, honey,” she’d say with a sigh. “Let me rest now.”

Sister often carried me to her room during this time, which is no easy task. I am heavy and floppy and quite large, but she’d get one hand under my haunches and squeeze me to her body with her other bony arm.

She held me up to her poster. I came to realize that the boys on the poster must represent a religion, or a cult. Holding me in one arm, she placed my paw up to the face of one of the boys on her poster and made me tap him repeatedly. She chanted, “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry.” I found this boring every time, and eventually meowed to be let go.

But I never scratched my sister. As I mentioned, I am very tolerant of the humans.

My sister is fourteen years old. I know this because she had a big party that she planned and talked about for weeks. It got a little out of hand. Man had expected Mother to help him with the party, but she didn’t feel well that night so she didn’t come downstairs. He had to roar ferociously to get all of those kids out of our house at the end of the evening.

Brother liked to come into the bedroom and put a hand, or his ear, to Mother’s big stomach. He did this for long stretches of time, eager to feel or hear something, his mouth open as if just waiting to be surprised. I was glad he took time away from his machine to visit her. But every visit ended in a plea for Mother to do something—make him food, usually. “Ma. Can you please just get up and make me a grilled cheese? I’m freaking starving.” Even though he is my oldest sibling, my brother seems incapable of fixing his own meals.

As am I. So I am sympathetic.

Once in a while, he brought her the “funnies” from the crinkly newspaper, and Mother would smile. Sometimes my brother carried me away with him to his own room, calling me “Big Fat Crookshanks” or “Minerva McGonagall,” and Mother would even laugh.

I don’t know what’s so funny about that.

When the weather grew warmer and the days were long, it was finally time for the baby to be born. The day came when Mother began to moan and breathe heavily, and two strange women came to the house to help deliver the baby. I hid away from the noise and bustle. When it was done, these women left. And Man put the crying baby into the crib.

Mother did not always respond to that baby. I snuggled up to Mother to make her feel better. She was very, very tired. Man urged her to get up. Sometimes she did, sometimes she did not. Even during the day when Man was out, there were times when the baby screamed and Mother didn’t get up from the bed.

It was the height of our short summer, that brief time of year when the children come in and out of the house with bare feet and it gets humid during the day. The humans were sweaty and cranky most of the time. The baby seemed uncomfortable too, even when Man turned on the big floor fan that he placed in the nursery.

Mother still caressed my head and smoothed out my fur and held me tight against her. I never loved her more than in those times when she needed me so much.

One day I thought I’d try to help out. I jumped into the baby’s cage from a high dresser. I snuggled down near the baby and purred. The baby shook spastically from screaming, but eventually slept.

When the sun went down, Man came home. I could hear him downstairs tromping around. After a few minutes, he came into the baby’s room. I was half-asleep but sensed him sneaking in, and then saw him looking down at us in the darkness. I was right up against the baby, my fur covering his little head and face. I was doing my best, trying to keep the baby quiet so he wouldn’t bother Mother. But Man’s eyes grew very hard. I did not understand what I was doing wrong, but I could see he was very angry.

I did not expect it: Man grabbed me up with his big hands, as if I were a pile of trash, and threw me down onto the rug. It was the only time Man was purposely violent against me, and he is very lucky I am both so nimble and so fat! I came away with just a few sore spots.

I might have fared worse. But for all he was mad at me, he was more angry at her.

“Care, Care, Care,” he raged against Mother. “Goddamnit. You have to pay more attention.” The baby screamed, but still, Mother didn’t get up. Sister was upset and ran into her room with Not a Cat. I heard her start to cry. Brother slunk away and stayed out of sight. I hid under the bed most of the night.

I will tell you this. I don’t know anything about babies, but something I could sense—even before I got into his crib—was that something was wrong with the baby boy. He cried too much and his reactions were not right.

And I came to see that even though the pregnancy was over, something was still troubling Mother, and getting worse.

Whereas the pregnancy slowed Mother down, the baby seemed to drain her energy completely. He is a helpless creature and demands attention.

Stupid, stupid, stupid baby.

Those first few months with the newborn after Man threw me out of the crib, the baby continued to cry and cry, all through those long, hot days. Everyone took turns getting up and making formula. Sometimes Mother got up, but just as often she sank back down on the bed and rubbed her feet. Some nights Man hollered for my sister, and sometimes he silently got up and comforted the baby himself. I’d watch Man cradle that baby and stare at him in the darkness of the nursery. He’d had two babies already, of course, but that was a long time ago, so maybe it all felt new to him again.

If the baby wouldn’t stop screaming, Man would wince like it was painful to him. And it was painful, believe me. This baby screeched with the strength of one twice his size.

Sometimes if the baby just wouldn’t settle down, my brother got up and took the baby from whoever was holding him. He seemed to have the right touch and eventually got the thing quiet. Brother has a confidence about him in these situations that I find comforting.

I wish I could ha. . .