Without warning, he pounced.
Cookie started and grabbed Maris’s arm while they both stared at the little black cat. He’d jumped into the air almost vertically and come down directly on the lump. As they silently watched, he seemed to be trampling it. Then he did something that Maris had never heard him do—he growled. It was a low guttural sound, even more alarming than his actions. It sent a quaking shudder into the pit of her stomach.
“What does he have under there?” Cookie whispered, her grip on Maris’s arm tightening.
Maris shook her head. “Whatever it is, it wasn’t there yesterday.”
“Or this morning,” Cookie agreed. “You’d better have a look.”
Maris stared at her. “Me?”
Cookie nodded at the still growling Mojo. “He’s your cat.”
As Maris looked back to him, he jumped up in place and came back down on the lump. Now he seemed to be prancing in place.
“Good grief,” Maris muttered. She looked down at the edge of the rug. But it was a good dozen feet to the lump. As she crouched down to take hold of the edge, Cookie backed up. Maris looked over her shoulder at her.
“What if something comes scurrying out?” the chef asked.
Maris grimaced. She hadn’t thought of that.
Good grief.
She wouldn’t mind backing up now too. But as Mojo continued to growl and stomp, she knew she had to look.
“Hurry,” Cookie urged her.
“Okay, okay,” she muttered.
But if it was some kind of rodent, she was going to scream.
Slowly, she lifted the edge of the ornate rug. It wasn’t as heavy as she’d expected, but without the light from the windows on the other side of the room, it was completely black underneath. A tiny lump of fear settled in her stomach and anxiety tightened her chest. A claustrophobic attack had been the last thing Maris had expected. But as she continued to lift the rug, creating more of a dark cavern below it, she understood why.
But then she had an idea. Instead of lifting it, she lowered it back to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Cookie asked.
“I am not crawling under there,” Maris said. She grasped the edge of the carpet and began to roll it. “Cookie,” she said, “can you scoot that ottoman out of the way?”
The chef darted forward, shoved it aside with her foot, and sprang back into the hallway. Though Maris knew that Cookie was spry and particularly fit for her age, she was still impressed. “Nice scooting.”
Bent over almost double, Maris pushed the growing roll toward the lump. The more rug she gathered in the uneven roll, the larger it became and the faster it went. In her anxiety to just be done with this, she was moving too fast. She was creating a tidal wave of fabric.
“Mojo,” she shouted. “Look out!”
The fluffy black cat looked up at her and saw the approaching wall of rolling rug. His orange eyes got huge.
“Mojo, move!” Cookie yelled.
Maris sank to her knees and grabbed the roll, trying to stop it, but only managed to slow it. Mojo leapt straight up into the air again, landed on the roll as it finally came to a stop, and then leapt down to the bare floor.
“Oh my god,” Cookie whispered. “What is that?”
Without looking, Maris scrambled to her feet and jumped backward. She stared down at what the rug had revealed and could hardly believe it. It was a giant red spider the size of her hand.
Mojo leapt at it.
“No!” she exclaimed, reaching out a hand to stop him, but it was too late.
He snatched it up in his jaws, swung his head back and forth, and tossed it at the door—where Cookie shrieked. Maris charged forward, scooped up her cat, and then brought her foot down hard on the red insect. But to her shock, she didn’t squish it. All she felt was a sort of cushy softness that gave way. As Mojo cocked his head at her foot, she stared down at it too. The spider’s red limbs, striped with black, were splayed out in all directions around her shoe.
“Did you get it?” Cookie said from the far side of the hall, her back against the wall. “Is it dead?”
But the more Maris stared down at the floor, the more she understood what it was. The limbs were fuzzy, but not in a spider fur kind of way. If she had to guess, she’d say it was terry cloth. Slowly she lifted her foot, and felt the ‘spider’ spring back into shape. She stepped back and smirked at it.
“Yeah, it’s dead,” she said, and smiled at the chef. “It’s a toy.”
Cookie exhaled. “Oh, thank goodness. A toy.”
Mojo squirmed to be put down and Maris lowered him to the floor. As soon as she let go of him, he grabbed the spider in his jaws and scampered from the room. She could hear him galloping down the hallway.
Cookie shook her finger at him. “Next time, young man, I’m going to send you in after it.” Then she lowered her voice. “As soon as I’m done having a heart attack.”
Maris had to chuckle. Mojo and his toys. Next time she’d probably find one under her pillow. But at the thought of finding a spider toy there, she shuddered and had to shake it off.
She turned to unroll the rug, but she saw something else on the floor. “What’s this?” she said lowly.
“Oh no,” Cookie said, freezing in place. “Not more.”
“It’s okay,” Maris said, bending down to pick it up. “It’s just a card.” She turned it over. “A tarot card.”
“What in the world is it doing under the rug?” the diminutive chef said, finally coming into the room.
Maris shrugged. “Same thing as the toy I suppose.”
Cookie tsked, but peered down at the card. “The five of pentacles.”
A man on crutches and a woman clutching a shawl were trudging through the snow. Behind them was a stone wall with a beautiful stained glass window. The design featured five yellow circles, a star
