They could hear voices from inside the house as they lugged their bags to the stain glassed front door. There were three of them, a man, a woman, and a child. The adults were talking in lower tones so the exact words couldn’t be made out, but the kid was yelping, “Mommy, Daddy! There are two cats scratching on the door!”
“Perhaps they want out,” murmured Stuart.
Mel set down one of her bags on the doorstep and twisted the knob. The door swung inside revealing an old fashioned foyer trimmed in dark wood. A thin brunette in a yellow sweater dress and a stout balding man in a burgundy vest stood near the stairs that disappeared toward the second floor. A little tow-headed boy, perhaps four or five years old, in a green shirt and blue corduroy pants was tugging on his mother’s dress and pointing toward the door. Mel and Stuart found two short-haired cats, one black and one orange, staring up at them from the welcome mat.
“I don’t think these kind of cats want out,” said Mel.
“Mommy, Daddy!” said the little boy again.
His mother made a shooing motion. “Not now, Peter. Your imaginary cats can fend for themselves. Why don’t you go to the living room and watch some television? Mommy and Daddy are busy at the moment.”
The boy stopped tugging on his mother’s clothes and instead of going to the living room, cautiously approached the two strangers who were busy hauling the bags into the foyer. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he called out. The two cats took one look at the boy and skittered into a hiding position behind Stuart’s legs.
“Whoa.” Stuart nearly fell over backward. “What’s wrong with you guys? That’s just a kid.”
“Maybe they’re just afraid he’ll pull their tails,” said Mel, amused. She squatted to the eye level of the little boy. “One word of advice, uh, what’s your name, kid?”
“Peter.”
“I’m Mel. That’s Stuart.”
He grinned. “I’d wave hello, but my hands are full at the moment.”
“One word of advice, Peter. Never call a cat-spirit a ‘kitty’. They hate that word.”
“Mommy and Daddy just call them imaginary cats. And they tell me to stop making stuff up.”
“Well, they’re not exactly imaginary,” replied Mel. “Not everyone can see them, though, because, well, you can just tell that they’re not regular cats, you know what I mean?”
“I guess so.”
“So best keep that fact to yourself.” She furtively glanced up and relieved that Peter’s parents were taking no notice of them, she continued, “They understand you and me when we talk, you know.”
“Oh,” said the kid, wide-eyed.
“And if they want to be petted, they’ll definitely let you know.” She straightened up. “So you know where we check in?”
Peter pointed through an open doorway. “Mommy and Daddy checked in with Mr. Townsend in the parlor.”
Mel nodded. “Thanks.”
“Thanks, Peter,” Stuart winked as he made to follow his partner. “And another little hint about the cat-spirit. They’re total gluttons for sweets. At least most of them are. But never give them bubble gum. It gives them tummy aches.”
“Peter,” called out the boy’s mother as Stuart stepped towards the parlor. “What did I tell you about speaking to strangers?”
“But they wanted to know where to check in!” her son replied.
The two cats tagged along the heels of the new guests at the bed and breakfast to the converted parlor which had been converted into a sort of receiving room. Tall windows decorated by white lace curtains overlooked the front yard. Mahogany chairs and tables stacked with magazines took up most of the space in the tan painted room. A bored teenaged girl in a gray sweatshirt stood at the check in counter that had been installed at the end of the room flipping through a dog-eared romance novel. A black and white spotted cat-spirit sat next to her elbow reading along.
“Hello?” said Mel.
The girl put down the book. Her companion cat-spirit meowed in protest. “Hello. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. It’s under Ang. Mel Ang.”
The girl flipped through an appointment book. “Ah yes. Here you are. I have you down for one person though.”
Stuart cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m actually on a separate reservation. It’s under Roubere.”
“Oh. Okay. Separate rooms, huh?” The girl scribbled diligently into the appointment book. “It says here that you already have the rooms booked and paid for till the end of the week. Guess you’re visiting for the Harvest Festival, hm? Well, you’re lucky you did all of this in advance. The rooms are always booked up at this time of year. Last minute vacations, I guess.”
“Sorry, but we’re not exactly on vacation,” said Mel. “We’re reporting on the festival.”
“So you’re from the Callas Post?” said the girl brightening. “One of the reporters got here yesterday. He had a tape recorder and everything.”
Mel shook her head. “Nope. We’re from Hot Tread.”
“Really?” The girl leaned forward excitedly, nearly pushing the romance novel she had been reading off the counter. The black and white cat-spirit pounced on the book before it went flying off the edge and meowed disapprovingly at the girl. She ignored the cat-spirit. “I read the latest issue at the library. They’re the only ones who subscribe to it, really. Most of the people around here think it’s too frivolous and ‘hoity-toity’.”
“That’s too bad,” Mel replied. “Maybe they’ll change their minds once they find out we’re doing a story on the Harvest Festival.”
“Maybe,” the girl replied doubtfully. She handed them the keys to their rooms and said, “By the way, I’m Rebecca. My uncle and aunt actually own this place. I just work here after school and on the weekends.” She walked around the corner. “Let me take some of the bags and I’ll show you where some of the rooms are. And you,” she said to the black and white cat-spirit. “You’re in charge of the desk until I get back.”
The cat-spirit gave a dutiful mewl. But when the three humans exited the parlor, the two other cat-spirits that had been following the journalists leaped onto the counter and helped the black and white cat-spirit turn over the abandoned romance novel. The three of them swished their tails in amusement as they read about heaving bosoms and turgid kisses.
