Preda's Voice (Guardians of Vaka Book 1) (2 page)

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A
s she was brought back to reality and the reason she had returned to this house, Preda looked over at the overturned lamp and the books that had fallen off her desk. They were responsible for the crashing noise that had distracted her would-be-killer. Deep down she knew with certainty that not only had Fiver caused the crash, but the cat had done it on purpose. He had saved her life.

Fiver was a black alley cat from the streets of Atlanta. She had met him three homes before. She and her father had been living in an apartment complex on the fifth floor in the city at the time. Her bedroom window had let out onto a fire escape, and Preda had kept a tomato plant outside under the windowsill.

She had gotten the seed from the school’s gardening club earlier that year and carefully waited until the weather was just right for planting. It was the first living thing she had cared for, and she marveled at how it flourished under her attention.

Every day after school, Preda would come home, water the plant, and talk to it about her day. It felt strange speaking to a plant so candidly about her feelings, but it was also safe. Just before summer came, the plant was thriving so well that Preda received a tomato from it almost daily.

Her upstairs neighbor, Mr. Scott, would often call a greeting down from his window while she was watering the plant. His fire escape balcony was above and diagonal to hers, and she would balance on the tips of her toes and reach up then with her fingertips to roll a red tomato onto the ledge. Mr. Scott would eagerly take it inside with an exclamation of delight. He was a retired gentleman who lived alone.

He would always call down to her in a muffled voice chewing around a mouthful of tomato and ask, “How do you get that plant to produce so many tomatoes? They’re so delicious!”

Preda would just smile under his praise and continue to talk so softly that only the plant could hear her voice. The pot she had used to grow it in was an unwanted treasure from a woman living down the street. Preda would walk by her on the way to and from school and admire her beautiful front porch garden. One day an old ceramic pot with a crack down the side was sitting in the trash, waiting to be collected. She had quickly grabbed it when no one was looking. Preda took it back to her room before her father came home from work. Safely behind the closed door to her room, she carefully glued the defect until she was confident it would hold.

That night Preda brought the pot down to the empty lot next to her building and dug deep with her hands until the soil no longer felt sandy and rocky. As she hit the right type of dirt, she gingerly scooped it into the pot with her bare hands. She hardly noticed her fingers were bleeding into the soil from all the rocks she had dug through.

Preda carefully placed the seed in the center and hid the pot close to her window on the side of her building. Preda had known nothing about gardening, but she was a keen observer and had watched how the woman with the porch garden diligently watered the soil until the plants grew.

As the vines of Preda’s plant started to sprout and venture up, she would redirect them and sometimes gently tie them in such a way that they grew outward and weren’t easily visible from her window. Her father never saw how beautiful it became. As the tomatoes were produced, Preda would crouch down next to her window and eat them with two hands as though they were apples. There was nothing that made her feel as joyous as sun-warmed tomato juice dripping down her chin.

As she was watering her treasured friend one day, Preda had heard a rustling in the garbage cans below the stairs that ran down into the alley. She tried to peer through the metal slats and make out who or what was so ferociously trying to get at the trash. As she looked out over the edge, a black tail could be seen wagging from the side of the trash barrel. As she stared, the cat’s head came up, and he looked straight at her. He was a malnourished black cat with a missing right ear. His eyes were in direct contrast with the rest of him and a striking emerald green.

As she looked down on him standing on the edge of the trash can, Preda’s hand came up to her face involuntarily. The cat’s eyes and fur were the exact same shade of green and black as her own eyes and hair. Preda suddenly felt silly comparing herself to the stray alley cat with one ear, and she crouched back in through the window. She was about to shut it when she heard his claws scraping on the metal fire escape.

She leaned out the window again and gasped in astonishment. He had jumped from the trash can all the way up to the second-floor balcony—even with its stairs retracted. The feisty cat was grasping onto the edge, and his back end was swinging in the air with his tail turning like a propeller for balance.

Preda held her breath and watched as he hoisted himself the rest of the way and started to traverse his way up to her own fire escape balcony. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched the determined look on his face as he carefully placed his paws so they wouldn’t slip through the metal slats.

When he finally made his way to her window, Preda didn’t know what to do. She had never been this physically close to a cat before. Her father had never allowed her to even consider a pet. By that age she was forbidden to even talk to other kids at school—never mind own an animal.

“You want me to be forced to leave my job again?” Phillip would ask her as though he actually wanted an answer. “You know you can’t do anything to bring attention to yourself or me. Ever.”

By now the cat had placed both front paws on her windowsill while standing on his hind paws. He was lazily waving his tail and looking at her expectantly. Preda looked behind her to ensure the door was closed all the way. She didn’t hear her father walking around. He had long ago removed the option of locking her door, so Preda would place a coin on the door handle that would fall whenever it started to open.

She tentatively placed her hand on the windowsill. The cat seemed unperturbed by her odd behavior and proceeded to lean his head into her hand as though he could teach her how to pet him. His fur was warm, and Preda would never forget the way his purring first felt on her fingertips as she proceeded to shyly rub his chin. The cat took this contact for complete acceptance, and he proceeded to jump past her into her room. Preda gasped and made toward the cat to pick him up and put him outside before her father discovered him. As she neared him, though, she realized she didn’t know how to pick up a cat.
What if I break him?

The cat seemed to sense her discomfort and continued to lazily explore her room. He was jumping all over her books piled on the floor, sniffing the clothes in her laundry basket with disdain, and inspecting all her belongings in general. Preda carefully followed him with arms outstretched. She had no idea what to do with him and felt better just keeping her hands out toward him in case she had to think fast. The cat finally seemed bored with this game and jumped up onto her bed. He then proceeded to groom himself on her pillow.

Preda sat down next to him and tentatively reached out and stroked his fur again. He closed his eyes and seemed to revel in her attention. This was new for her.
This,
she thought,
must be what making a friend feels like. At least one that’s not a plant.
As the cat continued to purr and roll slightly toward her, Preda cleared her throat. She had no idea how a cat, or any animal for that matter, would react to her voice, but she wanted to try.

Before she could say anything, though, she heard footsteps and jerked upright. Panic flooded her as the coin on her door handle clattered to the floor. She couldn’t do anything fast enough to hide the cat, so she stood at an angle between him and the door. As her father entered, he barely seemed to notice Preda standing as stiff as a board in front of her bed. He took a few unbalanced steps toward her. “How was school?” he said. “You keep your head down, Preda-Tor?”

Preda nodded quietly.

“Good. I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.” He gave her a quick appraising look, and with a tinge of sympathy in his voice, he added, “I’m sorry your clothes aren’t pretty. I know your mother would have made sure you didn’t dress this way.”

With that he abruptly turned. He left the door open behind him. Preda stood completely still. She did not even dare to breathe until she heard the front door close. When she was sure he was gone, she sagged in relief and turned around to take care of her new cat problem once and for all. The cat, however, was no longer there. Preda ran to the window just in time to see his tail disappear around the corner of the alley.

She sighed and lamented the loss of a new friend and certainly never expected to see him again.
It’s for the best
, she thought. Preda would never be able to hide a cat from her father for long.

The next day she was surprised to see that the cat was back on the fire escape waiting for her. He was right outside the window when she came home from school. Preda couldn’t believe he had climbed all five stories again just to see her. Fearing she might lose her chance, she reached out toward him. In a squeaky voice, she said, “Hello.”

The cat looked thoroughly unimpressed. Preda thought this might be too good to be true, and she continued, “Do you have a home, alley cat?”

No reaction. She thought she might try to press her luck and tell him to do something. “Eat that tomato.”

The cat looked at her and then walked over to the tomato plant. He sniffed the juicy red one Preda had indicated, and then he looked back at her. After a long pause, he reached out and batted the ripened tomato with his paw. He watched as it fell from its vine, rolled off the fire escape, and smashed into the alley. He then sauntered back over to Preda to obtain more chin scratches. Preda could hardly contain her glee. This was a living, breathing thing she could actually talk
to. He didn’t seem affected by her voice. He actually acted as though he could not care less!

After that the black alley cat with one ear paid Preda a visit every day after school and all day on weekends. Mr. Scott would often call down from his upstairs window and tell her she had found herself quite a handsome cat. Preda figured she imagined it, but whenever the cat was complimented, he seemed to perk up and gain a swagger to his step.

One day Preda returned home from school and found a note on the top of her window. It was from Mr. Scott.

“I’m sorry, Preda. I had to do what was best for that stray cat, and I took him to the local veterinarian for shots and flea medication. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll have him back by tonight for you.

—Mr. Scott”

Preda’s heart was racing. He would certainly bring the cat back when her father was home.

Her fears had been unfounded, though. Mr. Scott seemed to have an uncanny knowledge about Preda’s predicament, and he left the cat in a new pastel blue plastic carrier on her fire escape for her to find later that evening. Next to the carrier was a food dish and a bag of cat food. Gratitude for this man’s consideration overcame her. No one had ever done something out of sheer kindness for Preda, and she wished there was some way she could pay him back.

Preda knew nothing about Mr. Scott except for his love of tomatoes and Audrey Hepburn. She would often leave her window open at night to hear the sweet sounds and melodies of a time long past coming from his apartment. Listening to music like “Moon River” and the soothing cadence of Ms. Hepburn’s voice was almost like having someone sing Preda to sleep. Having Mr. Scott and that cat was almost like having a family.

Preda named the cat Fiver in honor of his five-story feats of strength and daring. Fiver also happened to be the name of a character in one of her favorite books—
Watership Down
.

Fiver became Preda’s best friend. It wasn’t long before he was regularly sleeping on her pillow at night. His favorite place to nest was in her hair, and Preda would wake in instant discomfort and struggle to unknot her hair from around the sleeping feline. For some reason, even though he had purposefully entangled himself in her hair, she would always feel guilty disturbing him. It was absurd.

Then Preda’s newfound comfort in Georgia came crashing to a halt. The fateful day arrived, and her father came home in a drunken stupor. He was yelling about how they had to move. The school had called him about “Preda’s antisocial behavior and refusal to speak in class.” This never made sense to Preda. Why couldn’t he tell them she had some sort of disability that prevented her from speaking? There was no arguing with Phillip Torrance.

Preda fretted about moving the cat and cried herself to sleep that night with her face buried in his soft fur. She cried amid all the boxes piled up around her room. She knew what she had to do and carefully wrote a note to Mr. Scott. She left it taped to the pot of her tomato plant on his fire escape porch.

Dear Mr. Scott,

You will never know how much your kindness meant to me. I will always cherish “Moon River” and the memory of Fiver. Please take care of him. I don’t know what my new address will be, but I will try to write to you.

Sincerely,

Preda Torrance

Next to the plant, Preda left Fiver in his carrier with a water dish inside. He didn’t protest when she placed him in the carrier and seemed OK with being left in there. That is, until Preda climbed over the railing and he realized he was not going with her.

Preda shut the window painfully, and the glass muffled Fiver’s cries. She had to cover her mouth to hold back her own sobs. She quickly composed herself, grabbed the last box, and made her way down to her father’s brown station wagon.

Preda sat in the car’s backseat. (Her father never allowed her in the front seat.) She waited to leave, and then she saw Mr. Scott come down with a box of his own. Her father approached him next to the car. He suspiciously eyed the box in the older man’s arms.

“Just some food for the road and a farewell gift for being such nice neighbors,” Al Scott said soothingly.

Phil Torrance curtly grabbed it and mumbled about how he didn’t know if they had room in the car. Preda jumped out and held her arms out to take it from him. She silently indicated it would sit on her lap. Her father shrugged and handed it to her before they both got back in the car.