The Nine Lives of Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

as if she was in one of those police interrogation rooms you saw on TV shows, getting the old good cop–bad cop routine. Except in Mrs. Winnamucker’s case there would never be a good cop. Him she’d have devoured for breakfast right along with a box of donuts.
    “I’m just dumping some garbage,” Merilee stammered. “I’ve been cleaning my refrigerator.”
    Mrs. Winnamucker nodded but now her mouth had turned down. “Velma Tuttle thought she heard a cat the other day.”
    Velma Tuttle, the old bat on the other side of Merilee, couldn’t hear a Rottweiler barking in her ear even with her hearing aid turned up.
    “Have you heard anything, Miss White?” asked Mrs. Winnamucker.
    “No, but we are surrounded by houses and there are several cats in the neighborhood.”
    “Yes, well, I suppose. Have a nice night.” Mrs. Winnamucker heaved her bag over her shoulder, locked her door, and marched toward the parking lot.
    Merilee watched her go with a frown. The woman didn’t need to bother with a car. She could probably manage fine with a broom.
    *   *   *
    Ambrose was still vague on the specifics of what he had to do to keep his ninth life, but the reason he was here with this particular human came to him in a blinding flash of clarity when the man was dishing up his food.
    “Hang in there, guy,” he had said while Ambrose brushed against his legs to remind his new human that he was starving to death.
    Hang in there, guy. Hang in there!
    The words hurled Ambrose into the past. It was the Christmas of his second life. Big white trucks with the letters FedEx printed on their side were rushing everywhere. He’d been minding his own business, just getting ready to cross the street when one of them rushed right into him, adding a new word to his vocabulary: splat.
    Out of nowhere a stranger had appeared, picked Ambrose up, laid him on a car seat, and rushed off to the animal hospital. Hang in there, guy. Hang in there!
    So that was where he’d seen this man before. No wonder his face had seemed familiar. It was the same face that had looked at him with such concern in that car all those lives ago. The man had grown older—bigger, too—but he and that noble youth were one in the same. Once upon a life, back when Ambrose was still innocent and trusting, this man had tried to save him.
    Surely it was no coincidence that their paths had crossed. Twice now. It was payback time.
    So how could Ambrose repay him? The man had to need rescuing, but what, exactly, did he need rescuing from? He seemed to be doing fine.
    Ambrose carefully observed his new human, checking him out from many different vantage points: the top of the dresser, the foot of the bed, the fireplace mantel, the floor, and, of course, the man’s lap. Like all the other humans Ambrose had known in his past lives, this one dedicated a great deal of time to sleeping, grooming, and playing with his food—all good uses of one’s time, as any cat could attest. But he also wasted much time and energy ripping out and replacing parts of his house. And talking on his cell phone.
    Ambrose didn’t care for those objects. A female human using one had robbed him of a life.
    She’d been in a car, talking into it and looking the other way, and before Ambrose could scat out of the way it was Thump, thump, good-bye Life Number Six . Those things were dangerous toys, if you asked Ambrose. Didn’t humans talk to each other enough as it was? Why did they have to carry their phones with them everywhere?
    Still, much as he hated them, Ambrose understood that he could learn a lot listening when a human played with one. So he hung around and eaves dropped while the man talked into his, mostly to females.
    One was Mom. Ambrose knew what a mom was. In all his dealings with families he had found that she was most often the person who fed him. She prepared food for the other humans, too, and kept their house clean. (Sometimes the males helped, but usually the females did most