Page 69 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“I’m not sure…half an hour, maybe more?”
“Come. Get in my car.”
“But please, I can’t, I have to find her—”
“I’ll help you, George. I’ll look for her. But you can’t be outside in the middle of winter like this. We need to get you inside, get you warm.”
“I suppose you’re right,” George says as he reluctantly gets in the car. “But you’ll help me find her?”
“I promise,” Holly says, wishing with all her heart this will be a promise she can keep. She turns her car back on and puts the heat on full blast as she drives toward the old Christmas tree farm and George’s house. They soon pull up out front of the charming old manor. “Why don’t we check and see if she’s come back while you were gone?” Holly says, and follows him inside. George calls out the cat’s name hopefully, but there’s nomewin response, no sound of a bell on a collar as the cat runs to greet him.
“George, does Mrs. Claws have a favorite treat, perhaps?”
“She certainly does. She just loves freeze-dried minnows, and I have a bag in the cupboard. Always makes me thinkI’m feeding her fishing bait, but she can’t seem to get enough of them.”
“Could I get that bag, please? I’ll take it out with me and start looking around the property. May I use your flashlight? Thank you. And here.” There’s a pad and pen on the kitchen counter; Holly writes down her cell phone number. “Put on an extra sweater, light the fire, and leave the door open for her. We’ll put a few of her treats in the doorway, and perhaps she’ll smell them and come back in while I’m out looking for her. And if she does, you call me right away.”
He takes the piece of paper from her hand and nods, his expression still distraught. “Thank you, Holly, for coming to my rescue.”
“Of course, George. I completely understand—Mrs. Claws is important to you. And I’m going to find her, okay? Cats rarely go far—she’s probably just out exploring a little, maybe chased after a mouse.”
“She used to love to do that, when she was younger,” George says. “But she’s too old to be out at night on her own.”
“I’ll find her,” Holly says firmly. “You wait here.”
Holly turns on the flashlight and holds it in one hand while shaking the bag of treats with the other.Shake, shake.“Mrs. Claws, where are you?”
She shines the flashlight’s beam over the snow and eventually sees tiny paw prints leading around the back of the house. She follows them toward the rows and rows ofChristmas trees, but the snow has blown around a bit, and she loses the cat’s tracks. She keeps on walking in the same direction, shining her light in the darkness, shaking the treat bag, calling out in a gentle voice so she doesn’t scare the cat.
After several minutes of fruitless searching, Holly decides to be systematic. She’ll head down one row of trees at a time, checking under some of the bigger ones, with their weighty pine skirts. Mrs. Claws might be hiding there.
An hour passes. Even in her warm winter boots, Holly’s feet are growing numb—but she keeps on searching, row after row. “Mrs. Claws, hello?”Shake, shake.“I have something for you. Come out, pretty girl!”
Holly stops. Was that a faintmew, or was it the wind in the trees? She stands perfectly still, listening, shakes the treat bag again.
Mew.
Shake, shake.
Mew.
Holly checks under one tree, then another, but Mrs. Claws isn’t under any of them. Then she approaches a particularly large tree with heavy branches hanging down to the ground, and as she lifts one up, she catches a glimpse of the little cat, her eyes shining bright blue in the snow her pale coat almost blends into.
“There you are,” Holly says softly. She knows she has to becareful not to scare the cat into running off, especially since Holly is unfamiliar to her. She makes no sudden moves, slowly takes a dried minnow out of the treat bag, kneels down, and holds it out. Mrs. Claws doesn’t hesitate, and steps forward for the treat immediately, then flops down in the snow for a belly rub. Holly laughs softly and gives her one more minnow before gently picking her up and holding her close. Mrs. Claws purrs, pressing herself into the softness of Holly’s parka. “You didn’t mean to run so far, did you? It’s okay, you poor thing. We’ll get you back to George.” Mrs. Claws seems to purr even louder at the mention of her dear owner’s name.
As the house comes into view, Holly can see that the lights inside are all ablaze, and there are cars in the driveway.
“Holly?”
She slows.
“Holly, are you out there? Are you all right?”
It’s Aiden, and when he sees her step out of the Christmas tree forest with the cat in her arms, he gasps with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. You’re okay. And you found Mrs. Claws.”
The rest of Aiden’s family comes tumbling out of the house, all talking at once as usual, calling out to George that Mrs. Claws has been found. There are cries of “Holly found her, Holly found her”—and then Holly is in the warm house again, and Mrs. Claws is rolling happily in front of the fireplace.
“Aiden, my boy, could you check her over and make sure she isn’t hurt in any way? I’m a bit too shaken to stand,” George says, smiling gratefully at Holly, as he has been since she came inside with the cat.
