1986 | Rockwell, North Carolina

Gummich the orange cat did not possess the typical purring mechanism that most cats are known for; instead, he grunted on the rare occasions that he felt deserved the reward of purring. 

Gummich had been rescued from a pack of dogs by Robert. Once settled in at the Rockwell house all those years ago, the cat had taken a little while to clean himself up, then checked out the house with all of the children. He’d made his opinion known that the adults were welcome to stay, but the kids would have to go.

Dolores loved Gummich – LOVED him. Adored him. Gummich could do no wrong and was her favorite of every other heartbeat in the house. And Gummich reciprocated. But only to Dolores. He refused to sit on anyone else’s lap for any reason ever. 

Due to Dolores’s conviction, she was required to host her probation officer at least once a month. One sweltering spring afternoon, dressed impeccably, the woman dropped in on Rockwell more than three hours earlier than their agreed appointment time. Dolores was in her sweatpants, the kids were running wild or frantically cleaning their rooms, the sink was still full of dishes, the baby was still in his diaper from the night before, and Dolores was mortified.

Dolores cleared the clean clothes off a section of the couch, making room for the probation officer, who delicately wiped the space with her hand before perching on the edge and pulling her notebook out of her oversized purse.

As she began asking questions of Dolores, Gummich strode into the living room with his tail in the air and his eyes half-closed mischievously. He strutted up to the couch, rubbed himself in what he gathered as an alluring way against the probation officer’s legs, and then leaped ever so delicately into her lap.

Dolores’s jaw dropped. This cat treated everyone with disdain. What was going on?

Gummich then began to purr – or grunt, as it were – arching his back to be petted, tail in the air, delicately “making biscuits” on her lovely skirt.

Dolores’s P.O. tried to nudge the cat off her lap, and he dug his claws in more insistently, rubbing against her nice blouse and grunting at her like he was in love. 

“Uh… nice kitty,” she said, patting him on the head and pushing him away from her.

Gummich turned away from her, and just as he was ready to leap from her lap, he sprayed urine all across the front of the nicely dressed probation officer. The woman screamed, leaping to her feet to escape the spray. Gummich hit the floor – tail in the air, and an evil grin on his face – and pranced out of the room, leaving a nearly hysterical probation officer in his wake. 

Dolores, attempting not to laugh, pulled towels out of the pile of clean clothes and followed the fleeing woman to the door. Her car sprayed gravel from the driveway as she peeled away from the Taylor house.

Dolores stood in the doorway after her P.O. left, doubled over with laughter as tears streamed down her face. Gummich watched her from his perch in the kitchen, a knowing, haughty look on his face. Dolores finally pulled herself together and walked over to him. They gazed at each other for a moment and Dolores scratched him behind the ears. 

“I love this cat,” she snickered to herself as she went to drop the urine-drenched towel into the washing machine.

Summer descended on the Rockwell house, bringing with it mulberries and hot breezes and those lazy afternoons when breathing is nearly too much exercise. Dolores and her girlfriend enrolled the kids in swimming lessons, which were due to start in July. Dolores had made matching denim swimsuits with oversized buttons for each of her kids, to keep them modest. When soaked, each swimsuit weighed more than the small child within its blue depths.

Dolores began feeling sicker and sicker as the weeks of swim lessons dragged on. And while Dolores claimed to hate all doctors, her health went steadily downhill. She believed that since she fought so hard to make abortions illegal, that doctors would want her dead. In truth, Robert could not afford health insurance, so a trip to the emergency room would cost more than they could afford. But soon, she got so sick that there was no choice. 

She had had a miscarriage: an ectopic pregnancy, she explained to the kids from her bed. “I was pregnant and did not know it. The baby got stuck in the fallopian tube. She was there for so long that she died and made me very sick.” Dolores looked around her bed at the kids. “I named her Gracie.”

Gracie’s death kept Dolores bedridden for another few weeks, but Jesse was there to help while Robert was working. Jesse made dinner for the family and did the dishes and the laundry. Robert hung out the clothes and played with the younger kids. Jesse changed diapers and kept the fights to a minimum. Robert managed Dolores’s needs list.

But when all of the kids were in bed, the dishes were done, and the house was quiet, Jesse huddled between the wall and her bed, the fan in the window hiding the sounds of her crying. She mourned. She mourned for the little life that would never hear the birds sing or know true love. She cried for herself: for the loss of a little sister that had brown hair and dark eyes like her. She cried until she got too cold to be out of bed. Gummich was waiting at the foot of the bed, his front paws tucked tightly under his chest as he watched Jesse through his half-shut eyes. He purred the best he could and moved closer to her feet to comfort her as she climbed back into bed and fell asleep.