Free The Cat's Job by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller Page B

on the sill, looking up
at the big old oaks that shaded the dooryard, their January-bare
branches glittering like they'd been dipped in diamonds. They
stretched tall against the bright blue sky, and Agnes felt a little
dizzy, seeing something as familiar as the trees made strange and
discomfortable.
    She moved her eyes, squinting against
the bright. Everything -- trees, truck, dooryard and barn -- was
covered in ice. Thick, shiny ice that the sun struck spark from,
like a hammer against steel. There wasn't a sound to be heard in
all the bright, frozen world. Agnes wondered if the birds were
frozen tight to their trees.
    She took hold of the doorpost and
eased down the ice-encased steps, skidding off the bottom and
scrabbling to keep her feet when she struck the yard. Slowly,
half-skating in her work boots, she went across to the bird feeder.
Froze solid: she could see the seeds through the ice, double-sized,
like she was looking through a magnification glass. She had a
couple whacks at it with her mittened fist, holding onto the slick
pole with her other hand, but the ice didn't so much as take a
nick.
    "Damn," she said, and her own voice
spooked her, too loud in the brilliant silence.
    Careful, careful as she could and then
some, she turned and skated across the dooryard, heading for the
truck.
    She was doing all right 'til her
forward foot slid a little too quick, the bad knee gave and she sat
down sudden on ice hard as stone, feeling the jolt from her
tailbone to her head.
    It was a comedy skit, then, with her
trying to get upright with nothing close by to hang on to and her
boots everywhichway on the slick. Finally, she gave it up and
scooted the last couple feet to the truck on her can, the beginning
of a breeze tickling her ear. She reached up for the door latch and
didn't quite connect, reason being she was staring at tires fully
encased; the ice sheathing the rubber growing right into the ice
surface of the drive. Three, four inches of ice.
    "Need the axe for that work," Agnes
muttered, and her own voice wasn't quite so spooky now, what with
the breeze moving around and pinging off the frozen branches. Not
quite a natural sound, that ping, but better than
silence.
    She put her attention on the matter,
got a hand on the latch and hauled herself upright, shoulder
popping and knees complaining. When she was pretty sure her feet
were going to stay where she'd put them, she let go the latch. The
mitten stuck to the ice and mites of wool pulled loose, but the
knit held without raveling.
    The breeze had picked up to a
near-wind, burning her ears on the way by, which made her regretful
of the watch cap. Just over her head, the oak groaned and she heard
that ping again, which she thought might be the ice,
cracking.
    The truck was in solid: Axe work, sure
enough. She figured to hack out a couple sections of ice, expose
some metal, and let the sun do the rest of the work. There was
plenty food put by, between the freezer and the pantry; plenty wood
for the stove. A drive into town wasn't an urgency, but she didn't
like being without the means to travel, if travel was called
for.
    The wind snarled, sudden and winterly;
the oak over her head moaned.
    Out in the back wood, some damn fool
fired a gun. Agnes jumped, skidded, threw herself flat against the
truck and managed not to fall. Following the shot was a sound like
a barrel-load of jelly glasses being smashed, and a
thud.
    "Tree," Agnes gasped into the cold,
while the wind chewed the tips of her ears. "Tree down." She closed
her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to settle out the tightness
in her chest. She opened her eyes again and looked over to the
barn, which was where the axe would be, hung up on its peg, just
like Jakey'd always done it.
    It was then she saw the
cat.
    They'd always had cats -- barn cats, that was.
Working
cats, not your tuna-fed layabout the pedigree for
which cost more than Jakey had paid for the farm, back in '48.
There were fewer cats now -- maybe