Best Friends (25 page)

C
yrus led the party to the grizzled veteran snoozing in the April sunshine. “This is Victor the Dogfather, capo among canines.” The shepherd opened one eye and promptly slipped back to dreamland. Cyrus smiled. “Victor guards the heart of Dogtown. He's sleeping on an invisible line in the sand that no dog dare cross unless accompanied by a person.”

A brown-haired young woman squatted to stroke the patchy fur on the shepherd's head. “He looks so old and feeble. Why don't the others just ignore him?”

“Ah,” Cyrus said. “It's all in the image. You see, when Victor first arrived . . .”

Michael listened to their ambassador expound on the legend of the Dogfather. Cyrus had a big group this afternoon, but then Michael had never seen so many people as were coming this summer of 1996.

Cyrus conducted two tours a day now. This year, too, Best Friends was seeing volunteers trek in from every state in the nation, as well as from Canada and Europe, to spend a weekend, a month, an entire summer vacation. Others came for the weeklong seminars on all things animal. And thanks to Nathania's programs, students could now earn college credit by spending hands-on time at the sanctuary.

The word around town was that the local merchants were most pleased. This sudden influx of visitors brought a whole new breed of customer to the shops and motels of Kanab. That place in the canyon might have merit after all.

Michael strolled toward the clinic. Behind him he heard the growl of a mini-van's engine halting in front of Octagon Three. He turned and watched Nathania Gartman open the doors for a group of high-school boys. Michael was happy for Nathania. The dream she had envisioned fourteen years earlier was at last taking shape: the children were coming.

Of all of them, Nathania was the one who invariably attracted the inquisitiveness of the youngsters when she went tabling. After Chris Smith's positive article, she began receiving invitations to speak at schools around the state. As always, when Nathania chose to surprise everyone as Daffydil the Clown, her reception was rapturous. It was inevitable that the children would clamor to visit the sanctuary.

It wasn't long before kids from kindergarten through high school trooped through Best Friends. They petted the cats, walked the dogs, played with the rabbits in Chandra's new Bunny House, fed the horses, and ogled the birds as Sharon explained their care and habits. Michael had gotten used to seeing the eager upturned young faces crowded around an ebullient Nathania.

However, that didn't look like the scenario unfolding this afternoon. The adolescents slouched out of the van sulky and defiant. Their teacher scrambled out behind them, distress pinching her face. Nathania just looked sad.

A big boy with bad acne, affecting the bored indifference of an indulged child, leaned against the hood. His buddies fanned a half circle around him. “This is stupid,” the kid said loudly.

Michael walked quickly toward them. At that moment Faith came out of Octagon Three. She caught his eye and shook her head.
I can handle this.
Michael paused, waiting.

“Tyson,” she called. Alpha Man, ominous dark shades and breeze hat hiding his eyes, was immediately at her side. Michael smiled. Faith and Tyson were well able to handle the situation. Still, he wondered what was going on with the youngsters.

Nathania filled them in that night. “I had quite a day with those children,” she rolled her eyes. Nathania went on to tell that the same teacher had brought a class last spring and everybody had a great time. This year she had arranged for her fifteen-year-olds to camp out for three days at nearby Coral Pink Sands north of Kanab to study stream biology and archaeology, and to work with the animals at Best Friends.

“The boys right off copped an attitude,” Nathania said. “The ringleader—you saw him, Michael—swaggering kid, made these belligerent remarks everywhere we went. First words out of his mouth as he got off the bus were, ‘what a bunch of losers, taking care of animals.' ”

Nathania refused to let the youth rile her. At Feathered Friends, Sharon similarly ignored the rude comments about her birds. “Pigeons!” the juvenile hooted. “We've come all this way to hear about pigeons.”

Things didn't improve at the Bunny House. Chandra was relating the story of how Tony, the dwarf rabbit, used to live in a bucket. “When he came here, Tony only knew how to protect himself by biting all the other bunnies, so he had to live alone.”

The ringleader kicked the nearest stall impatiently. “Stop that right now,” the teacher warned. The boy made a rude face behind her back, to the smirking approval of his mates.

Chandra continued unperturbed. “Until Tiger Lily,” she said, leading the way to the end of the building, where an enormous, twenty-pound orange-and-white rabbit nibbled cheek to jowl with her lilliputian friend. “Tiger Lily and Tony hit it off right away. We have a lot of creatures who've bonded for life in the sanctuary, so don't let anyone ever tell you animals don't have feelings.”

“Oh look,” a boy exclaimed excitedly. “She's cleaning him.” He caught a scowl from his bigger buddy and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his low-slung jeans. “Big deal.”

Judah Nasr would have none of it at Benton's House. The young man was giving Tomato his medicine when Nathania brought in the teenagers. The kid was smart enough to mutter, but Judah still heard the cruel remarks about the ugly white cats that should be put out of their misery. He put Tomato on his desk and, deadly calm, stood toe to toe with the adolescent. The boy quickly backed off. Judah didn't raise his voice. “Don't you ever denigrate an animal on this property again.”

“What does denigrate mean?” the bully tried to brazen.

Nathania had never encountered such an insensitive group. Where was the usual happy enthusiasm? She wondered if it was a big joke to these kids to see how miserable they could make the trip. She was glad Dogtown was the last stop.

“Faith was great,” Nathania giggled. “She sized up the scene without me saying a word.” Faith, she said, disarmingly complained that she needed to go on a feeding-bowl hunt. Amra, the Sheriff, had developed a little quirk of stealing any container not picked up within the hour. “Would you help me search for Amra's stash?” she asked.

Stony silence. “Then we need to put you to work, don't we? Okay, you, you, you, and you,” Faith separated half the group. “You'll walk dogs with Tyson. I suggest you pay attention because Tyson only likes the difficult ones. Don't you, Tyson?”

“I like them best if they're biters,” Tyson snarled, getting into Faith's game. The teacher would escort another group, which left the ringleader sulking by himself.

Nathania knew exactly why Faith had separated the troublemaker from his buddies. With no one around to impress with his toughness, the boy might allow a kinder side of himself to show.

Faith gave the cocky adolescent a once-over. She winked at Nathania and led the boy to the sprawling mass of ancient canines snoozing in the sun. “I have just the dog for you.”

Maddie immediately awoke as they came near and rushed to her Big Mama. “Not today, sweetheart,” Faith soothed. She bent to scratch the ear of a big white Samoyed. “Sam will do nicely.”

“He's old,” the boy objected.

“So will you be one day,” Nathania retorted.

Faith smiled. “Seems to me you need to chill, kid. You're walking Sam. And Nathania and I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“Perfect,” Nathania murmured as the kid shuffled off behind an arthritic Sam. The rheumy-eyed Samoyed might make his way with the speed of a giant turtle, but his courage and determination to enjoy his walks in spite of his ailments could give even the most belligerent delinquent pause to think.

The teacher and her charges returned within the hour, Tyson and his group soon after. But there was no sight of the bully. Tyson loped off to return with the report that the kid was merely taking his time. Nathania decreed that everyone should go to The Village, where cold drinks were waiting.

Another hour passed before the troublemaker and the Samoyed ambled back into Dogtown. “Can I feed Sam?” the boy surprised them.

His whole demeanor had changed. He stood respectfully straight, no slouching. Nathania could detect no derision in the eyes.

“Follow me,” Faith said.

“Thank you,” the youth said politely. “That dog's way cool.”

The teacher called Nathania later that evening, first to apologize, then to relate how the kids had described their tour.

“The child who walked the white Samoyed,” she said. “He's always given me trouble, and I was ready to wring his neck this time, but he surprised me. When I asked the boys how they felt about the day, as usual nobody wanted to say anything in front of their ringleader.

“Then he stood up and very thoughtfully, not in his usual bellicose manner, said he'd thought working with animals was stupid and unimportant . . . until he walked Sam this afternoon. Then he sat down and glared at everybody as if daring them to make fun of his confession. And that was it. He wasn't about to give any explanation.”

The teacher laughed. “There was dead silence for a moment. You should seen the look of shock on those kids' faces. Then one of the other boys tentatively offered that he'd really liked the rabbits and birds.” The woman paused. “They all asked how soon they could come back.”

Nathania smiled. Neither she nor anyone listening needed to probe for reasons. They had seen the healing effects of the animals and the canyon many times before.

They would see it again.

S
pring came early in 1997, with a warmer-than-usual March promising an endless summer. For Best Friends, the flow of visitors from home and abroad had already begun. Word of the sanctuary had spread far beyond the confines of the United States, and now they welcomed company from Norway to India, from Japan to Peru. So for someone to come from Saudi Arabia would not be out of the question. But for a couple to want to ship a cat from Dhahran to Best Friends was a little out of the ordinary.

Estelle took the call and immediately paged Diana at Catland. “A Bonnie Heginbotham is on the phone from Saudi Arabia to see if we can take her cat, Oscar. I gather it's an unusual situation.”

“Put her through,” Diana urged. She waited a second for the familiar click that told her the transatlantic caller was on her extension. “Hello, Bonnie. I'm Diana Asher, in charge of cats. What can I do for you?”

“I don't know quite where to start,” Bonnie answered.

“From the beginning if you like,” Diana said.

“It's rather a long story.”

“I have time.”

The relief in Bonnie's voice was palpable. “Thank you,” she said. “It will be good to talk to somebody about this. Would you mind if I give you a little background? I'm a Delta Airlines flight attendant, but I took a five-year leave of absence to be with my husband in Dharhan—Ron is with Saudi-Aramco, Arabian American Oil Company.” As Diana listened, Bonnie wove a tale about a cat named Oscar, as poignant as any told by Scheherezade.

 

Ron Heginbotham had gone on ahead of his wife to the Middle East. Bonnie would be bringing Walter, their beloved sheltie, and Ron wanted to find a house with a fenced yard on a quiet street for their pet.

Dhahran, the oil company's headquarters, was a beautiful gated compound, a world unto itself that enclosed an area about the size of a small resort town. Inside its ten-mile perimeter, Saudi-Aramco employees could enjoy restaurants, a commissary, library, movie theater, swimming pool, and children's play areas—all the comforts of home.

Within the compound, Saudi-Aramco also provided its people with accommodations of every style and size, from palatial sand-colored villas to apartments for the single staff.

Ron found a cozy two-bedroom duplex on Lemon Lane that had stood empty since its former tenants, an Englishwoman and her American husband, had moved out six months before. The minute he saw it, Ron knew Bonnie would love the place. His wife's passion was gardening, and the backyard was a riot of vegetation, redolent with the scents of frangipani, jasmine, and lilies, and bright with hibiscus and bougainvillea. He arranged to rent furniture until the Heginbothams' own household goods were shipped from America, and by December of 1994 everything was ready for Bonnie's arrival.

Bonnie Heginbotham's welcome, however, was not quite what she expected. “Oh, I love it, Ron. I just love it,” she exclaimed as she wandered through the big, airy rooms, mentally deciding where their French country furniture would fit. “But a coat of paint would really make it homey. Something butterscotch I think.”

Ron smiled, but before he could respond to his wife's enthusiasm the phone rang. “It's for you,” he said, puzzled, and handed her the receiver.

“I know you only got here a few hours ago, but do you have a minute?” the frightfully British voice asked. “I'm Jackie, your next-door neighbor, and I noticed you brought your dog over.”

“Yes,” said Bonnie carefully.

“Oh, no problem. It's about Oscar, you see. Oh dear, I should explain myself.” Jackie paused as if Bonnie should understand. “Oscar is Amanda's cat. She used to live in your house.”

“Yes,” Bonnie repeated.

“When they moved she took him with them, but he keeps running back here. Amanda and Jim, that's her husband, must have fetched him at least a dozen times, but Oscar won't stay in their new place.

“Jim has about had it. He says they have two babies to take care of, and he's not catching Oscar one more time. Amanda's to get the cat tonight and have him put down in the morning. I've been feeding him, but he won't come to me.” Jackie rushed on. “I know it's a bit much, but I've gotten fond of the little devil. I wonder if you wouldn't mind dreadfully . . . keeping him?”

“I've never had a cat.”

“Oh,” Jackie's voice dropped in defeat.

“I didn't say I wouldn't.” Bonnie looked at Ron for help. Her husband shook his head. He was listening to a woman who, as a child, would pick up injured sparrows and take them to her mother crying, “Please do something.”

“I mean I can't see putting down a perfectly healthy animal. Where is Oscar now?” Bonnie asked.

“In your garden. He's somewhat wild, being outside the last six months,” Jackie warned, “but he waits for the food I leave.”

“I see. I guess I'd better go put some out, then.”

Evening shadows were just shrouding the frangipani tree when Bonnie and Ron caught their first sight of Oscar. The cat appeared suddenly, prowling openly on their lawn—a large, sleek black panther of a feline whose golden eyes glowed in the dusk.

“A veritable prince of a cat,” Ron declared and went to open a can of people tuna.

Every night Oscar would come to eat, eyes ever wary, ready to scoot at the slightest approach. As the evenings got colder—it could get down to fifty degrees at night—Bonnie provided a cardboard box and blankets for the cat to snuggle into.

As the weeks turned into months, Bonnie got closer to Oscar. Once he even allowed her to pet him, then turned and growled a warning. Walter always kept a respectful distance, perhaps in deference to the arched back and loud hiss if he should come within a foot of the intruder. When Walter slunk away dejected Ron would cradle his sheltie in his arms. “There, there,” he comforted. “You pay no mind to that bully.”

In spite of all that, the couple liked the cat, and Bonnie worried about his nocturnal wanderings. She tried to coax him inside, calling night after night without success. Meanwhile, she got quite friendly with her neighbor, Jackie.

“Amanda used to stand at the back door and hit his bowl with a spoon then call Oscarh! Oscarh! Dinnertime.”

“Really,” Bonnie said.

The next time Bonnie performed Amanda's ritual. In passing imitation of Jackie's proper Brit accent she called, “Oscarh! Oscarh! Dinnertime.” Something flashed by her legs, and the big black cat was inside her house before she could turn around.

“So that's it,” she said, following him into the kitchen.

In short order Oscar was an inside/outside cat, courtesy of Walter's doggie door, bestowing his greatest honor on his new persons by sleeping at the foot of their bed. During the day he would often rub against Bonnie's ankles or curl up beside her on the couch. Soon the cat purred contentedly in her arms and she felt an extraordinary comfort in this foreign land from the heavy warmth of his body against hers.

Oscar was now indisputably part of the family. He even deigned to walk between Walter's front legs from time to time, affectionately butting the sheltie's chin with his head as if to tell him he was all right—even though he was a dog.

Bonnie was not prepared for the night Oscar came in matted and torn from what looked like a cat fight, and jumped on her bed. “Hi, Oscar,” she greeted, looking up from her book. “What's the matter, baby?”

Like black lightning, Oscar pounced on the hand that fed him, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger. In a second he had torn flesh from the bone. Bonnie screamed; Ron bolted awake from a light slumber. Oscar hissed at both of them, then was gone.

The wound was bad. Ron called an ambulance and Bonnie was rushed to the emergency room at the company's hospital. “You have your choice,” the couple were told after she was shot with antibiotics and the gash dressed. “You can put the cat to sleep and we'll take brain tissue to determine if he's rabid. Or, you can quarantine him for ten days but we'll still have to put him down.”

Oscar strolled into the duplex the next morning as if nothing had happened. A half-hour later he was in Saudi-Aramco's veterinary clinic.

Dennis Perkins was a Baton Rouge, Louisiana man with small, delicate hands and brown hair cut in straight bangs across his forehead. The veterinarian knew how attached the Heginbothams were to their cat, but there was only one thing he could say to the distraught couple. “Mizz Bonnie, I don't have to tell you, Oscar's time here is over.”

“He's had his shots. He's not rabid. He was just disoriented, that's all,” Bonnie protested.

Dr. Perkins shook his head. “There's been a report filed. Oscar bit you,” he said gently.

Bonnie was inconsolable. Every day she'd go to jail, as she called quarantine, and cuddle Oscar. “Why did you do that?” she asked repeatedly.

One afternoon she walked in to hear Ron on the phone with Dennis Perkins. “He's asking permission to put Oscar to sleep now, isn't he?”

Ron looked miserable. “I said yes. We both don't want you to go through this pain anymore,” her husband told her. Bonnie sank down on the couch and couldn't stop crying. Ron sat beside his wife, at a loss how to comfort her. “Honey, let's just make believe Oscar is still alive. There's nothing you could do.”

Bonnie lifted her head. “I'd send him to Best Friends.” Her eyes widened with disbelief at her own words. “Why didn't I think of that before?” she wailed.

Man and wife stared at each other, both thinking the same thing. Ron scooted to the end of the couch and reached for the phone. “Tell Dr. Perkins to wait. Don't do anything to Oscar. We'll be right over,” Bonnie said as she jumped up and ran to the kitchen for the car keys.

Dennis Perkins regarded the anxious couple before him. “I want to help,” he drawled soft and slow. “However, the only way I'll sign a health certificate is if this Best Friends will promise me in writing that Oscar will be confined and never adopted out. Is that the kind of life you really want for him?”

Bonnie and Ron nodded in unison. “He doesn't deserve to be killed. Something happened, that's all,” Bonnie said.

The silence stretched across the miles as Mrs. Heginbotham finished her tale. Diana had heard similar stories before, but she was touched that this couple were willing to go to all the trouble and expense it would take to save the life of this cat.

Bonnie mistook the quiet. “If you'll take him, we'll pay for any expenses and his upkeep.”

“That is very much appreciated, but I'm curious about something. Why did you call Best Friends?”

For the first time in their conversation Bonnie laughed. It was a light, bubbly sound that made Diana smile. “I told you I'm a Delta Airlines flight attendant. My base was Salt Lake. I came off a flight in 1992 and one of your people was sitting at a table at the top of the escalator. He asked if I were an animal lover.” She laughed again. “I gave a donation and took the literature. Ron's from back East, and before he went to Dhahran he wanted to see the Grand Canyon. We stopped to see your sanctuary on the way, but I don't expect you to remember us.”

“I knew I'd heard your voice somewhere!” Diana exclaimed. She had a sudden vision of a smiling woman who looked to be in her late thirties sporting a chic Liza Minnelli cap of short brown hair shot with gray. She had liked Bonnie's husband too: a solid, kind man with sailor blue eyes like John Fripp's. “I remember you wore a wide-brimmed hat that totally shaded your face. I thought I should get myself one.” She paused, then continued briskly. “So what do we need to do to get your prince of a cat out of there?”

 

Diana Asher had no illusions about what she would find when she picked up Oscar. The cat had been flown from Dhahran to Amsterdam, then transferred to a Delta Airlines flight for Los Angeles, where Bonnie's friends would see him safely through American customs before his final journey to Salt Lake.

The morning of April 12, she loaded her Subaru with a clean carrier for the cat, thick padded gloves to protect her when handling Oscar, and sodas for the road. By 6:00
A.M.
she was on the highway to Salt Lake City.

Diana was not surprised by the malodorous smell that emanated from the cat's airline crate, or the coiled tension ready to explode from the animal that had been forcefully caged for so many hours. “Hang loose just a bit longer, and we'll make this all better,” she assured as she took possession of the feline. Oscar's answer was to fling his body against his prison with a bloodcurdling yowl.

Even after being moved to the relative comfort of a clean carrier with fresh water, he was in no mood to be placated. Oscar howled the entire journey home. Diana simply turned up the music and sped toward Best Friends as fast as the law allowed.

 

Diana had filled the shaded area next to the bunkhouse—where so many years before she and Faith had kept the cats from the old Arizona ranch—with toys, treats, and a kitty house for Oscar.

The first couple of days she watched the cat pace his new quarters in obvious agitation. Oscar resisted any overtures of friendship, snarling defiance when she talked to him. Every time she left, Diana could feel those accusing golden eyes at her back—no animal liked being in solitary. She was still fretting two weeks later when a tiny long-haired tabby was brought into the sanctuary.

A member had been feeding some other strays in a park near her house in Salt Lake City, but Heidi was too terrified of her fellow felines to get her share. “I don't know how she survived,” the member said after she managed to trap the little scaredy-cat.

Judah saw that Heidi wouldn't eat around the mellow kitties in Catland either, and he had no choice but to keep the scaredy-cat in a crate at feeding time. Even then she ate hardly enough for sustenance, staying hidden the rest of the time.