Just a Cat

by PeterPanic

A salty breeze blew across the grassy knoll they trudged upon. Long shadows cast by palms fell over the lawn, and the sky hung over them clear and blue. Shawn strolled with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, while Juliet walked beside him, arms crossed over her blouse. On either side of them, they passed small gravestones -- some elaborate, others plain -- all reading names like “Mrs Beasley,” “Singer,” and “Freckles.”

“Can you tell me how on Earth you managed to secure a spot for Boomer at this place?” Juliet finally asked as she studied a bouquet of freshly picked daisies placed near a marker belonging to a long deceased Beagle. “I mean, I know for a fact that there’s a three year waiting list--not to mention the fifteen hundred dollar deposit.”

“Oh Jules,” Shawn answered as he let a small smile betray his solemn expression. “You know I have my ways.”

Juliet kept giving him looks, as if she really wanted to know what these “ways” were. Of course she knew he had plenty of ways. This had probably been child’s play for a charmer like Shawn.

“Actually, I knew the owner of this place from high school. His name is Jerry, and he was in my Algebra 1 ½ class my sophomore year.”

“One and a half?”

Shawn smirked. “I failed Algebra 1 the year before.” Looking serious he then added, “I was traumatized by math as a child.”

Not sure if she truly believed him, Juliet raised a brow. Shawn rarely talked about the high school portion of his life. She remarked at their differences. While Shawn was skipping class and receiving failing marks, she was on the honor roll and receiving scholastic recognition. If she thought about it though, it didn’t seem to even matter now. After all, Shawn had become as “successful” as anybody could have expected. He lived life happily and with little regrets. He was relatively well adjusted. He had made reasonable peace with his parents--his dad in particular. He was loved, and he knew it--not flippantly, but rather it was an earnest knowledge that seemed to chip away at past insecurities. Shawn had grown into life like nobody thought he ever would, and Juliet basked in his joie de vivre.

“True story,” Shawn smiled, breaking into her thoughts. “That guy was probably the reason I finally passed Algebra. If I looked over at his desk just right, I could see all the answers on his paper; he had really good handwriting.”

Juliet punched his arm. “You’re horrible.”

“Yeah,” Shawn continued with enthusiasm, “so the other day I called him up--”

“He must be loaded,” Juliet then interrupted. “Didn’t you read the article saying that somebody paid fifty grand to bury their pet parakeet here?” she paused, “Oh god, don’t tell me you blew your savings on a pet cemetery plot for my dead cat!” She suddenly turned to stand in front of Shawn, stopping him with two outstretched arms and bopping him on the chest with one palm.

“Savings? Don’t be silly, Jules. If I was to blow anybody’s savings on a five by five parcel of land in which to bury a very special cat, it would be Gus’s.”

Juliet’s eyes widened a bit.

“Do you really think I would do that?” Shawn then asked in disbelief. “Come on, we both know it would be me in need of a burial plot after Gus found out.”

“You wouldn’t fit,” Juliet pointed out.

“True. You--Gus couldn’t; he’d be in jail--would have to pay for an upgrade. Great Dane sized, maybe. Or llama sized. But that’s beside the point.”

“Llama? I forgot what the point was.”

“Oh yeah, so I called him up, we got to talking -- not about Algebra fortunately, and I mentioned a very special someone who had just lost a cat. He is actually a pretty weird guy. Nice, but weird. He has a collection of Furbies. It’s like a Furby commune.”

“He gave you a plot?” Juliet pushed, trying to keep Shawn on track. Any thought of Furbies was too creepy to dwell upon.

“We were big buds,” Shawn shrugged.

Juliet snorted. Shawn could be “buds” with a brick if he tried, but this seemed like too much.

“Well, I told him I would give him a free psychic ‘reading.’ And I agreed to give him my Furby.”

“You have a Furby?”

“Yeah, weird right? I’m happy to get rid of it. I was gonna to give it to Gus for his birthday, but I figured that would just be cruel, even for me.”

“I don’t know, Shawn. I think you’re capable of a lot worse,” Juliet mentioned as she looked across the lawn to where a small group of people had gathered. She started to walk a little bit slower, lagging behind Shawn. He hadn’t said anything about inviting other people. She spotted the grave, a pile of dirt heaped next to it, and a shovel laying in wait. Juliet looked again at the crowd whose members were becoming a lot more familiar the closer they got. She looked briefly at Shawn who was waving like a fool. Then she spotted Gus wearing a black suit and a tie. Realization dawned and she almost choked on a disbelieving laugh that caught suddenly in her throat. Everybody was here. The Chief, her husband, and Iris. Carlton. Buzz and Francie (complete with their cat dressed in a tiny bowtie). Even her landlady was here. And Gus of course. He was currently pointing at his watch and glaring at Shawn as if the whole event was on some sort of a schedule. Of course Gus was co-coordinator, and he seemed to be taking it to heart.

Juliet turned to Shawn. “Tell me you didn’t invite everybody from work to a funeral for my cat,” she hissed in disbelief. Looking back briefly at the ‘guests,’ her face flushed pink, and she smiled in embarrassment. To their credit, they were all wearing matching looks of sympathy and concern, except for Carlton, who had sought solace in the shade of a tree and wore an expression of supreme discomfiture. Juliet’s eyes rested on him for a moment, noting the awkward way in which he leaned against the tree, unsure of what to do with his arms. It was funny, his social ineptitude; he would have never willingly put himself in this sort of situation. Shawn had followed her gaze, and he reacted with a bright look of prideful delight. He was about to open his mouth, perhaps with the intent of calling out to the detective and effectively dragging him into the very center of attention, but Juliet swiftly interrupted his attempt, “Shawn, how--“

“That’s a secret, Jules,” Shawn cut in, as if he had been reading her thoughts. It was one of his endearing qualities. (It was also annoying, depending on the circumstance.) “Just a secret between me and Lassie-face. Oh and Gus, too.”

“And Marcie?” Juliet shifted the subject, staring now at the short, aging woman with mousy brown hair that draped limply--still wet--on her shoulders. Juliet’s landlady appeared to be proudly donning an outfit that looked suspiciously like a bathrobe, complete with slippers but minus the curlers--thank God. Juliet knew her landlady’s eccentricities, and she also knew that Shawn had befriended the odd little woman during the course of his stays at her place. It had taken awhile, given Marcie’s shy and reclusive tendencies, but this was Shawn and he had the odd ability--a gift, really--to befriend anybody and everybody. Juliet also knew that Marcie was Shawn’s key to her apartment. If Shawn was any other boyfriend of hers, then she might have been uncomfortable with that, but Shawn was somehow different (he was her best friend) and she trusted him with everything. She had refused to give him a key before, only because of her wish to keep things slow between them, but she was relieved that he had 24/7 access. “Why is she here?” Juliet finally managed.

“What can I say?” Shawn smiled, catching Marcie’s eyes and waving. “She really likes cats, and she likes you too.”

“Okay then. Fair enough. Tell me why we’re having a funeral for my dead cat?”

She felt Shawn’s arm pull her closer as he spoke into her ear, “Jules, Boomer wasn’t just a cat. Not to you.”

Juliet smiled, but she squirmed out of his embrace all the same. “That’s sweet Shawn, but you do realize I kind of look like a crazy cat lady right now?”

He cocked his head. “What’s wrong with that?”

She looked at him closely. Shawn had actually gone through all this trouble just to bury her damn cat, and for that she desperately wanted to kiss him. She would have done just that if it weren’t for the fact that practically the whole police department was standing right there in front of them. She settled with brushing her hand against his and briefly squeezing his palm. But as quickly as they’d come together, they broke apart, settling on a one-foot buffer between their bodies. Shawn accepted it without any protest, for he was busy smiling at Buzz, Francie, and the little boy (girl) cat… and at Karen and her rarely seen husband, plus one small daughter wearing bows in her auburn pigtails.

“Spencer,” Carlton’s voice suddenly came from under the oak tree. The detective took two massive strides forward, but he restrained his hand from zeroing in on Shawn’s shirt. Shawn looked at him immediately and, strangely enough, offered him an appeasing, guilty smile that could have belonged on a Golden Retriever. “I swear to God--“

But Shawn was quick to interrupt, all grins and easy-going manners (or lack there of), “Lassie.“ He held up both hands in surrender, offering Carlton a subtle glance, turning it then to Juliet who was now gazing at the hole in the grass and the small wicker basket resting in it.

Carlton glowered in reply, but he said nothing else. He would seek retribution later--at least after the cat was buried.

“You all didn’t have to come,” Juliet was then saying. She suddenly found her throat tightening in a very unwelcome way, but she willed herself to keep her composure. Boomer was a cat. He wasn’t a person. However, if she thought about it, he had filled a role usually belonging to a person. Even though he was just a cat, he was always the one to greet her after a long, hard day at work. Or after being kidnapped, tied to a clock tower by a sociopath, and later saved by her partner and the friend of the man she desperately wanted to love. Boomer was always the one who comforted her with cat-like silent wisdom after she’d just spent hours staring at photos of grisly murder scenes. They all involved people: once-breathing vibrant human beings she felt compassion for but never really mourned over. Was it then in bad taste that she was close to breaking down in front of her co-workers over just a cat? Was it even fair that Shawn was subjecting her to this sort of situation?

That question was stupid. Shawn had given her a gift today, something special she never knew she wanted, but here it was all the same.

            She could tell he was watching her, gauging her mood and planning an appropriate response. Shawn was good at that; he connected with her in ways others miserably failed. And slowly, the more Juliet let him into her personal life, the more he had begun--in a way--to replace Boomer’s role. Of course Shawn was a person and Boomer was a cat, but Juliet knew she was fortunate to have had two very special individuals in her life. Boomer was unlike her other cat, whose cold indifference could satisfy most definitions of a domestic shorthair. No, Boomer had been a special cat, just like Shawn had claimed, and Juliet now realized that she hadn’t lost just a cat, she’d lost a friend of many years. She loved that damn cat, and he had been a part of her life for sixteen solid years, through thick and thin, breakups and makeups, prom night, college, academy, and a three-day odyssey that brought her to Santa Barbara.

            And Shawn. He had grown to love that cat as well, and he had spoiled him with toys that squeaked like mice, pots of cat grass, treats, expensive cat food Juliet herself couldn’t bring herself to buy, and love. Lots of love and attention. Late nights on the couch, falling asleep together, and lazy afternoons when the only entertainment was a peacock feather. And then, when Boomer’s health took a sudden turn for the worst, Shawn had been with him until the end.

            “You all really didn’t have to come,” Juliet then repeated, as the small gathering seemed to offer patient condolences as a whole. She casually ran a hand over her eyes, feigning discomfort from seasonal allergies.

            “Having a pet of our own,” Francie then said as she glanced at the pissed-off cat her husband was wrangling into a more comfortable position, “we can understand how hard it would be to lose one.”

            The Chief, holding her daughter on her hip as her husband looked around in confusion, was a bit more straightforward. “Oh believe me, O’Hara, this wasn’t exactly our intention, but a certain someone is very convincing. And I’m sorry about your cat.”

            “Actually, he flat out lied to get me here,” Carlton then blurted. The emotion of the moment was completely lost on him. He had known the cat, of course, having scooped litter more than once while Juliet and Shawn were “coincidentally” and simultaneously on vacation.

            “Technically, Gus lied to you,” Shawn broke in while Gus glared daggers in his best friend’s general direction. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

            “Oh believe me. It’s entirely here,” Gus commented.

But Lassiter had a reply of his own. “I know damn well where it was coming from, Spencer.”

            “Okay, Sassy Lassie,” Shawn countered skillfully, “let’s keep the swearing to a minimum. We’re in the company of a man of God.”

            Collectively, the group looked over as if they had forgotten. A priest clad in formal robes was standing adjacent to the grave, patiently waiting for the moment when the small gathering would focus their attentions onto the matter at hand.

            “Oh my god, Shawn, you brought a priest here?” Juliet hissed into Shawn’s ear.

“Shall I begin?” the priest asked as he swept a regal gaze over the odd assortment.

Shawn gave him a nod.

“We gather here today--“ the man then began, obviously anxious to get the show on the road.

“I can’t believe you brought a priest to the pet cemetery.”

“--to honor a very special kitty--” the priest rattled on.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I know a lot of people, Jules,” Shawn whispered at her, “And I have a lot of random things to offer them.”

“--a cat who was not just a cat--“

“I just realized how awkward that sounded,” Shawn then appended his previous statement.

“--but a friend and a loyal confidant, brimming with dignity and grace--“

“Confidant?” Juliet questioned skeptically.

Shawn snorted. “Come on, admit it. How many times have you told him that you’re pissed at me?”

Juliet couldn’t deny that; she dug her knuckle playfully into his side. He shifted away from her and smiled, barely holding back a laugh. The two of them somehow felt rather than saw Gus’s glare shooting their way like a laser beam. Juliet then glanced up to see Chief Vick staring at them. It was enough to draw her hand away from Shawn’s.

As the eulogium of her cat washed over her, she almost forgot she had others surrounding her. She stared at the grave… stared at the closed basket that contained the closest thing she’d had to a best friend in years (not counting Shawn, or even Gus). Juliet had almost forgotten the loneliness that plagued her first years in Santa Barbara. She hadn’t known anybody, and when she had first met Shawn, she had no idea (and no intention whatsoever) to let him be her friend. She had Boomer and her other cat, and she loved them. She even kept photos of them in her wallet, right next to the photos of her parents and of her brothers. Boomer was family. What he had given her was so simple and pure. It was something that even human companions seemed unable to give. And it was definitely something people who never had a pet couldn’t understand. She almost didn’t notice that she was dangerously close to shedding more than one tear. She almost didn’t notice that Shawn’s hand had surreptitiously moved to press into the small of her back. However, she definitely noticed when Carlton managed to eke out a few believable words of esteem for a damn fine cat.