Cats! He hated cats. His cousins had cats, dozens of them. They claimed that it was to keep the rats out of the grain silo, but he was sure it was because they were just too lazy to get them fixed. Whatever the reason, from the moment his mom used to drop him off on the farm in June, to the day the taillights passed the edge of the dirt driveway in September, he was surrounded by cats. Every summer for sixteen years it had been the same. Luckily, for him those summers were are behind him. Now, he had a different kind of summer.
He had come back from a three mile run through the neighborhood, showered and was headed out to the backyard to spend the rest of the afternoon looking over the notes that the team statistician had compiled. His plans were derailed. There it was, a cat, lounging in his hammock. It lay tilted to one side with its front leg sprawled outward while the second paw moved from its tongue to wash behind its ear. The cat looked up and reminded him of those long summers where he had been constantly harassed by six female cousins.
"C'mon cat." He picked up the slender, ash-gray feline with the intent of depositing it in the front yard. "Time for you to go home." The cat gave a low meow, but did nothing else to protest the ride.
He had taken one step onto the porch when the soft tones of a female voice singing reached his ears. The unfamiliar melody came from behind the five-foot masonry wall that separated his two-story house from the neighbors. With cat in hand, he headed to the wall. When he reached it and he peered over to find a woman on her hands and knees, planting marigolds in a small planter along the wall. She wore a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled-up to her shoulders, denim cutoffs and white Keds. Resting on her head and obscuring her face from his view, was a straw hat.
"Miss?" He always used Miss, never Ma'am, no matter what the age. It was something his mother always complained about every time she came back from shopping at the mall. "Michael," his mother would start as she deposited her black leather purse on the kitchen table. "Don't go calling women Ma'am. It makes them feel old. Always use Miss. It will set your conversation off on the right foot because you never know where that discussion is going to lead."
A thirty-something face looked up from beneath a wide brimmed hat. She placed her hands over her brow to block the sun and smiled. "Yes?"
"Is this your animal?" he said extending the cat over the wall.
The women reached up and took the cat from him. She cupped the cat in her hands and put its face to hers so that her nose was touching that of the animals. "Isabelle, did you meet the new neighbor before me?"
"I really don't like cats."
"You know cats are a great judge of character."
"Could you keep it out of my yard?"
"Free spirited, too. They just come and go. Normally, Isabelle stays around the yard for the first week. I am surprised she came over so quickly. You must have a kind heart."
"I don't like cats, Miss" he repeated weakly.
"Annie. Annie Fontaine." She took off her soft, cotton, gardening glove and extended her hand "I moved in last week. You know I saw you running yesterday. You have a good strong stride but your movements aren't very fluid. You should try relaxing your upper body a little. You run tense."
Mike stared at her face and for a second was lost in her jade eyes and full lips. He broke free of her hypnotic facial features then clasp her slender white fingers in his hand. The skin was soft and smooth but the grip beneath was firm.
"And your name?"
"Mike Raster."
"Well, Mike Raster. Thank you for bringing Isabelle home." She pulled the glove back onto her hand "I am sure we will see you around." She lowered her head, leaving Mike gazing at the bright yellow sunflower that was attached to the brim of her hat.
Mike slowly walked back to the center of his yard and picked up the manila folder that lay beneath the hammock. He mumbled to himself. "I really don't like cats." He brushed the small gray hairs from the hammock with the folder's edge. He then took his usual resting position in the center of the hammock and opened the folder to study. The soothing sound of the woman's voice coming from next door caused his mind to wander, while the familiar, yet uncommon, tingling worked its way down his stomach to his loins.
"C'mon, Mike, concentrate." He tried to refocus on the pitching tendencies and box scores of the next day's opponent. "You got a game tomorrow. You got no time to be thinking about women, especially ones with cats."
He arrived at the ball pack the next day exhausted. Images of felines and flowers had haunted his dreams and throughout the pre-game work out, he could not shake the thought of Annie. When the game started, his mind was in turmoil and when it was over, he had gone 1 for 4 at the plate with a walk and two errors. He drove home disgusted with himself. How could a woman with just a smile and a few off- topic comments so easily ruin his whole mindset? He was quickly reminded of the last time this had happened.
It was the spring of his senior year. He was taking some extra batting practice before the state championship game when Stacy Colburn caught up with him.
"Hey, Mike. You got a second? I need some help moving the boxes of soda syrup into the concession stand."
Stacy was cute, but not drop-dead gorgeous. She had a button nose, soft lips and hazel green eyes. Her hair was pulled up into a ball cap with a tail of red hair pulled through the hole in the back. She wore a blue denim skirt and yellow T-shirt and white sneakers.
"No problem." Mike returned after he deposited the final ball from the pitching machine into the nets at the back of the batting cage. He took off his batting gloves and stuck him in the back pocket of his Levi's.
He laid the aluminum bat against the chain link wall and stepped out of the enclosure. Stacy clasped him by the hand. Mike looked down at their interlocked fingers and then into Stacy's smiling face.
"C'mon slowpoke" she tugged on his hand. "I ain't got all night to move this stuff. My dad's coming to pick me up in a half hour."
Mike stumbled after her, still puzzled by the hand holding gesture. It was the first time it had happened at school, not that he was unattractive, but he was too busy playing ball to be bothered with girls. Beside, with his dad gone he had to shoulder a lot of the household responsibilities while his mom worked graveyard shift at the hospital.
The concession stand was behind the bleachers, thirty yards from the batting cages. When they arrived, Mike did not see any boxes. He figured they were inside and she needed help stacking them onto the shelves. Stacy turned the knob of the door and switched on the bank of florescent lights overhead.
Mike walked through the open door ahead of Stacy. The place smelled of popcorn and licorice. He quickly looked around the twelve-foot by six-foot trailer for the boxes but saw nothing that needed to be moved.
"Stacy, what did you need help with?"
"This!" She threw herself into his arms and they tumbled down to the floor. She mashed her lips into his. Although he was surprised, he kissed her back, mimicking Stacy's movements. Then she started clawing at his pants and soon he lie exposed on the sticky tile floor. Stacy quickly slid out of her short skirt and pink cotton panties. Mike remembered the matted patch of red hair that covered her sex. She pulled her shirt over head and freed her young breasts. She moved his hands to her chest. He felt the firm orbs beneath his trembling fingers and the erect nipples beneath his palms. She gasped at his touch then crawled onto his hard member. Once he was buried inside her, she wiggled and moaned.
He pushed up into her with tentative pulses, but his caution gave way to passion and he found himself thrusting up into her, matching her gyrations. Stacy moaned and cried out in ecstasy, filling the tiny room with the sounds of her pleasure. Minutes later, Mike exploded for the first time with everything he had and then lay silent staring up at Stacy's body as she continued to ride him. He prayed that this was not all just a dream.
When he had recovered, he looked up into her face. She smiled and leaned over to kiss his lips. She then cleaned herself with the napkins from the aluminum dispenser on the counter. Mike stood up and pulled up his pants. He had turned his back from her and was tucking in his shirt when he felt her hands wrap around his waist and then retreat to his back pockets. He paused wondering if he should reach and grab her from behind when he felt her body pull away.
As he turned around, Stacy was waving his batting gloves in the air while she exited the door of the trailer. "Good luck tomorrow, slugger." The door clicked shut.
He had gone 1 for 5 against with three strike outs, only one RBI, an error and his hands hurt for a week because he hadn't had his batting gloves.
A horn blared behind him and woke him from his pleasant memory. He looked up to see that the traffic light was now green and the car that was directly in front of him was now fifty feet away. He stomped on the accelerator and his Black Wrangler lurched forward.
