Page 18 of Grump Hard
He lets out a long, low groan that seems to ask why he’s been cursed to suffer so.
“I know,” I agree. “It’s inhumane.”
He rests a paw on the back of my hand and groans again, a sound of such prolonged anguish, it makes me wince.
I’m about to suggest we refund his owner’s money and set the poor creature free when Holly sweeps him into her arms, whispering against his furry head, “Don’t be afraid, Tam Tam. I’ve got you, buddy. Just like last year. I’ve got you, and you’re going to be so handsome, just wait and see.”
She soothes the traumatized Tam Tam the way she’s soothed every animal before him, proving she’s more than an artist who excels at her craft. She’s some kind of pet-whisperer.
Or a witch.
I’m certainly falling under her spell.
No matter how hard I try to fight it…
“I saw you talking to Tam Tam while you were getting him dressed,” she says, once the cat and his owner have gone. “Good work. You kept him so much calmer than last year.”
I shake my head. “I did nothing. You’re the one with the magic.”
“It’s not magic,” she says. “It’s just love. And patience. Love and patience go a long way. Don’t you think?”
I’m about to confess that I honestly don’t know—I don’t think I’ve ever loved or “patienced” the way she does—when barking erupts nearby.
Holly and I turn to see a beagle straining on his leash not far from the gazebo, menacing a woman in a long purple coat with silver hair down to the middle of her back. She shifts away, lifting her mittened hands slowly in surrender. The beagle’s owner, a heavyset man with a beard, seems to be apologizing profusely, but it’s hard to hear over the frantic barking, and he’s clearly struggling to maintain his grip on the dog’s leash.
I’m about to head over to intervene when something small and brown leaps from the woman’s shoulder.
For a moment, my brain tries to convince me that her ear decided to detach itself from her body and flee into the snow.
But that isn’t an ear.
That’s a?—
“A chipmunk?” I ask.
Before Holly can answer, the creature changes course, darting straight for us, moving with astonishing speed. There isn’t time to shift out of the way before it’s on me, its tiny claws shockingly sharp as it scrambles up my pants.
I expel a strangled sound of surprise as my hands fly into the air.
The rodent takes advantage of my newly emptied pockets to dive into the one on my right side, squirming deep. Soon, he’s coiled in the base like a doomsday prepper taking refuge in a bunker, and my pulse is pounding hard enough to feel it leaping at the base of my throat.
I stand frozen for a long, dizzying moment before reality fully sets in.
When it does, I glance down at Holly. “There’s a chipmunk in my coat.”
“There sure is,” she says, a startled laugh bursting from her lips.
“It’s not funny,” I insist.
“It’s kind of funny.”
“It could have rabies!”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still giggling when she says, “It doesn’t have rabies.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” She motions to our right, where the woman in the purple coat is drifting our way. “That’s Cheeks. Well, Thelonius P. Cheeks but Cheeks for short. He belongs to Willow. She keeps him up to date on all his shots.” She lifts a hand in welcome. “Hey, Will. Don’t worry, we’ve got him. He’s safe.”
