Leonard (My Life as a Cat) by Carlie Sorosiak (best memoirs of all time .txt) 📗

“You better sit down,” she told Olive.

“What is it?” Olive said, voice quivering. “Is it bad? Did someone die?”

“No!” Norma said quickly. “No, no, nothing like that. Just sit down, will ya?” So we all did—even Stanley, snuffling through sand and crumbs under the picnic table. Norma inhaled a gusty breath. “That was your mom. She wanted to talk to you, but I said it was better to break the news in person. So here it is. Frank’s been offered a new life-coaching job with an agency in Sacramento. It pays a lot more than his old gig, and your mom’s got some leads on a new job, too. What I’m trying to say is . . . you’re moving to California. And they’re picking you up tomorrow night.”

I stiffened.

Olive twitched with panic. “What? That’s not— Wait. Tomorrow? My mom said she wasn’t coming to get me until August.”

Norma didn’t look pleased, either. She kept loosening the bandanna around her neck, as if it were strangling her. “That was the plan. But things seem like they’re moving quickly, and your mom misses you. She said this’ll give you more time to get a fresh start in a new place, get you adjusted before school begins.”

“But that’s . . .” Olive said, beginning to tremble. “That’s not fair. She promised!”

“We had a good run, didn’t we?” Norma asked, words softer than usual. “A darn good run. Maybe you’ll even come back next summer.”

Olive stood. “I don’t want next summer! I’m not done with this summer. What about the turtles? What about the tr—”

She paused, biting her lip. Because she almost said it: What about the train? I knew that Olive leaving for California had disastrous consequences for me. Would I go with her, not to Yellowstone? What about our ticket to Salt Lake City? But right then, all I could focus on was the pain sliding across Olive’s face: how it was swallowing everything about her.

On the walk back to the car, Olive announced that she “needed a minute.” The stars were beginning to pop into view, and I was wondering if I’d ever see them on my home planet again.

“We can wait right here,” Q said, stopping by the seashell stand, “if you want.”

“Go on,” Norma said, bobbing her head at Olive. “It’s okay.”

Somberly, Q and Norma both dug their hands into their pockets, and I believe that Stanley would have done this, too—if he had pockets or hands. There was something rather sullen in the black curve of his lips, as he watched us disappear into the glittering darkness of the arcade. All around us were whirring noises, electric bells, shrill pops. And the lasers! Don’t even get me started on the lasers. Thin beams of light, racing everywhere. Nothing about the arcade helped my heart rate—and I don’t believe it was doing much for Olive, either. She darted to the back corner, near the pinball machines, and started to pace, hands on her head. Her breath came unsteadily, matching my own.

The place was mostly deserted, except for a couple shooting a bouncy ball into hoops, so no one noticed when Olive blurted, “This is a total disaster.”

I couldn’t agree more. There was a numbness near my claws, as if the stress had traveled right to the tips of me.

“They couldn’t have waited a few more days?” Olive asked. “Why’d it have to be tomorrow? I gave you my word, Leonard. I promised that I’d get you to Yellowstone—and the train was going to be really special. You know they have skylights and everything? We were going to eat in the club car and play I Spy out the window and—ugghhh.” She let out a guttural sound, which rattled through me. I was trying hard to look at her, but the lasers were crossing my eyes.

“Now we can’t do any of that,” she said, voice cracking a little. “Now you might have to use a litter box forever and get stuck on Earth forever, and it’ll all be my fault—because I promised you, I promised you.” Her last words were so strained, I could barely hear them.

But none of this was her fault. None of it. It was mine.

Mine, I told her, pawing at my chest.

She didn’t hear, didn’t see.

Her hands tugged at the roots of her hair. “What are we going to do?”

And that, perhaps, was the most frightening thing of all. I had absolutely no idea.

It is my experience on Earth that events come in twos or threes. Try not to quote me on this—I’m still learning—but on the drive back to the house, as we were all reeling from the blow, a second phone call arrived.

At first, Norma seemed hesitant to pick it up.

She ignored it.

The phone rang again.

This time, it was Q—calling from his car. Norma put it on speakerphone, and his voice filled the space: “The sea turtles! They’re hatching.”

Norma gasped, then grunted. “I’ve still got Stanley and Leonard with me. Should I drop them off back at the house?”

“No time,” Q said. “They’re just going to have to watch from the sidelines. Turtle hatching is, without a doubt, the world’s greatest spectator sport.”

Olive piped up from the back seat. “What do I do?”

The smile in Q’s voice was clear. “You, my friend, are going to help save some turtles.”

And so we drove on, a coal-black sky gleaming above us. In terms of Earth towns, Turtle Beach isn’t too large—just a few ice cream shops, a marsh, a library with a South Carolina flag shivering in the breeze. It took us very little time before we were swinging into another parking lot, a crowd already forming. Humans with red flashlights lit the way to the shore.

Olive led both me and Stanley along the boardwalk, a sense of anxious excitement all around us. In the distance, I could already see them in the moonlight: a dotted line, moving slowly across the sand. Q met us on the