Kitty
T
urns out I was right about Bumbles. He was stuck in the cupboard, rather than the wall. He chewed through a bag of food and ate a good portion of it, then dropped a deuce in a basket of potatoes now destined for the garbage.
With Bumbles managed, I drive to Miles’s mother’s place to switch out our cars—I don’t know why I don’t just refer to her as Tabitha in my head since I’ve seen her name on her mail. Maybe because I’ve never met her? Prince Francis is displeased with my short visit, but I promise I’ll be back later to hang out. My next stop is home so I can shower and change into fresh clothes.
While I’m in the shower I play over the parting hug with Miles. It was clumsy, mostly because I didn’t expect it. It’s possible it was a gratitude hug, or a reflexive one. Regardless, I enjoyed it. Everything was easier when I believed he was a hot cat-hating jerk. Now our interactions are steeped in awkwardness.
By the time I’m done in the shower it’s noon. Mom is dressed
for work at the bakery. Two plates sit on the counter, one empty, one with a BLT sandwich. She pushes it toward me. “That’s for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her on the cheek and pick up one of the triangles, taking a bite. All I’ve had today so far is coffee. “When does your shift start?”
She checks the clock on the stove. “Not until two, but I’m only there until six, so it’s a short one.”
I swallow my bite of sandwich. “I’m sitting overnight for a client, so it’s only you and Hattie for dinner. Speaking of, where is Hattie?”
“She went to the library for a study group this morning, and she has a night class, so she won’t be home for dinner either.”
“Oh, that’s right. I could pop by and have dinner with you so you’re not alone, if you want,” I offer.
“You don’t need to do that. Marie invited me over tonight, so I think I’ll accept, since I’m going to be the only one here.” She drums on the counter.
I try to hide my shock, but I think it comes through in my pitch. “That’s a great idea! How is Marie these days?” Marie has a son around my sister’s age. Last I heard he was on scholarship at a university out of province.
“She’s good. Trying to keep busy now that the house is empty. She’s taking a flower-arranging course because she’s convinced there are wedding bells in her son’s future.”
“He’s only Hattie’s age.”
Mom smiles and shrugs. “I think it’s probably more about trying
something new than anything else. She asked me if I wanted to join her, and I think I will. It’s only one night a week. It’ll be fun. Besides, you and Hattie are just so busy these days.”
“I’m glad you’ll have company.” It’s good that Mom is making plans with friends instead of spending the night in front of the TV watching old shows.
Mom leaves for work, and I pack an overnight bag. I stop at Kat’s to manage some paperwork. It isn’t my favorite part of the job, but at least I can hang out with Kat for a bit and fill her in on the excitement of the last few days. She sits in the office with me while I fill out invoices, and a new, adorable kitten named Smush climbs all over her. He’s a Persian with a congenital birth defect that makes his face asymmetrical. He has the sweetest disposition.
“That must have been scary.” Kat’s eyes are wide as I explain my unexpected trip to the emergency room. “Anaphylactic reactions are no joke.”
“It was a harrowing fifteen minutes, that’s for sure. And now I’m nervous about him coming to the house. It’s weird, though, because he’s been coming there for nearly two weeks, and it’s the first time he’s had any kind of reaction. But he’s going for tests, so hopefully he’ll get some answers soon, and I don’t have to be anxious about it anymore.”
Kat arches a brow. “Sounds like you’ve changed your tune about the cat-hating jerk.”
“I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” I shrug. Since I’ve gotten to know him a bit better, my impression is shifting.
“Now tell me about your date with Brad. I need all the details.” We haven’t been able to make our schedules align recently, so this is the first chance we’ve had to really sit down and chat since they went out.
Kat fills me in on her date, which ended with a toe-curling kiss and a request for a second date. After I’m finished with invoices, we spend half an hour taking videos with Smush and include a few of the kitten products for our sponsors, and then I’m off to love some kitties.
Later in the evening I make another stop to see Prince Francis. The second I slide the key in the lock, he meows from the other side of the door. I carefully push it open, and he rushes onto the front porch, weaves between my ankles, then promptly throws himself down at my feet and stretches out, little paws curling as he kneads the air.
“How’s my favorite naked kitty? Were you a good boy today?”
He rolls to his feet and scales my leg. I pick him up, and he immediately rubs his face against mine, licks my cheek a couple of times, and then burrows through my hair, his whiskers tickling the back of my neck. He stretches himself around my shoulders and hangs around the back of my neck like a living stole.
The living room is in its usual chaotic state with boxes overturned, and the remaining mantel gnomes litter the floor.
His ear twitches against my cheek as I sigh. “Oh, Prince Francis, what am I going to do with you?”
He nudges me with his wet nose and licks the edge of my jaw. Then he tries to bite my earlobe before he starts purring.
Ironically, or depressingly, depending on how one looks at it, this is the most action I’ve gotten in a long time. Apart from the unexpected hug and the accidental key-retrieval peen graze. I wish my interactions with Miles were slightly lower on the embarrassment scale.
“We’re having a sleepover tonight. Does that sound good to you?” I rub his whiskery cheek.
He meows and starts purring, as though he understands.
I feed Prince Francis, hunt down the vacuum, and suck up the catnip toy that’s now a shredded mess, before I tackle the fallen gnomes.
I’ve just finished cleaning up when I get a message from Miles, indicating he’s stopping by in a few minutes.
My heart rate kicks up a few notches, and of course, because my brain does what it wants, an image of him from this morning pops into my head. His hair was a sexy mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, lips back to their normal, full, luscious condition. His long, lean limbs were wrapped in a rumpled white T-shirt that hugged his chest and showed off the hint of a six-pack. Or maybe a four-pack, but I’ve never seen him shirtless, so I’m totally guessing.
But the real showstopper happened to be hiding in the pouch of his boxer shorts. He’d been rocking some serious morning wood. And the light blue boxer shorts covered in a hockey puck print didn’t do much to mask the problem.
Now that his jerk status has been shelved, and I’m no longer irritated by my attraction to him, I’m finding it a challenge
not
to think about what he might look like minus the boxers and the
shirt. Thanks to my overactive imagination, I’m nervous about seeing Miles this evening. I’m also concerned about his allergies. So worried, in fact, that I meet him outside on the front porch.
He’s wearing a pair of black dress pants, free of animal hair, and a light blue button-down—which happens to be the same color as his boxers this morning. I quickly try to corral my excited imagination, but his tie is hockey themed too, so the image pops back up like an untamable gopher.
He’s not wearing a suit jacket, but as my gaze lifts to his face I feel my eyebrows rise. A blue surgical mask, the kind doctors wear, is looped around his ears and hangs under his chin like a fabric beard.
“Hey.” He raises a hand as he walks up the steps to the front porch.
“Hi. How was your day?” I make a general motion to his face.
This was a lot easier when his jerkiness interfered with his attractiveness. Now when I look at him, all I see is the hot guy I took care of last night who’s going through a tough time.
“Not bad. Just a bit tired. You’d never know I almost had a brush with death yesterday.”
“It’s a bit surreal, I imagine.”
“Yeah, kinda.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and starts to rub his chin, but the mask is in the way. “I did some online research, and one suggestion was to wear a mask so I’m not breathing in the dander. If that’s the problem, anyway. But a mask is a barrier between me and whatever is causing the allergy. The internet gurus also suggested goggles, but the only kind I have
access to are swimming ones, and I draw the line at wearing those outside of the ocean.” He holds up a pair of blue surgical gloves. “But I also have these.”
“It looks like you raided the nurse’s station at a hospital.” If he was wearing a pair of scrubs he’d look like a doctor.
“I haven’t been there yet today, but that would have been a lot cheaper.” He rolls up on the balls of his feet, then drops back to his heels.
“Do you want to come in, or . . . ” I let it hang, unsure how to proceed and nervous he’s going to have another allergic reaction. One brush with death in twenty-four hours is more than enough.
“I’ve been inside my mother’s house a lot over the past couple of weeks, and yesterday was the only time I had a reaction like that. I’m sort of hoping it’s a one-time thing.” The way his voice lifts at the end makes it sound like a question.
“Do you have your EpiPen with you?”
“Yup.” He pulls it out of his shirt pocket.
I nod and blow out a breath. “This feels a lot like I’m sending you into a burning building.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine.” He runs his hands over his thighs and pulls the mask up to cover his nose and his luscious, full lips. It’s almost a relief that I don’t have to look at them anymore.
I step back and allow him to open the door.
I don’t know what I expect to happen. Maybe for him to blow up and turn blue like the girl in
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
when she eats the gum that tastes like a four-course meal with blueberry something or other at the end.
But he crosses the threshold and doesn’t immediately start gasping for air. He leaves his shoes on, a habit I’ve gotten into as well, thanks to Prince Francis and his twitchy paws.
When he reaches the living room he stops, toes an inch away from the carpeted floor. His eyebrows lift and his head turns my way. “Was this place clean when you got here?”
“I tidied up,” I admit.
Now his eyebrows pull together. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I was here early, and it only took a few minutes to put everything away.” Or toss it in the garbage.
He nods once, like that makes sense. “You mentioned staying overnight to monitor Prince Francis. Do you think you still need to do that?”
“It depends on how much longer he’s on his own. You said you had an appointment at a home?” I keep waiting for him to make a comment that’s going to throw him back into jerk territory, but so far so good.
He nods and glances at the smartwatch decorating his wrist. “I wanted to stop by here and check in with you first.”
“Are you taking your mother with you?” I don’t know why I’m so inclined to ask personal questions, but I guess it’s better than bringing up what happened this morning.
“I’m not sure how she’s going to react, so I figured it was better for me to check it out before I take her on a tour.” He adjusts his mask and tucks a hand in his pocket. “I’ll show you the spare room
before I go, so you can get settled in. Kinda weird that I’m doing this two days in a row, although I don’t remember much about last night, so maybe you found the spare room on your own?”
“You showed me. You were a gracious, albeit groggy, host,” I assure him.
“That’s good to know.” He leads me up the short staircase to the second floor. There are five doors up here. One is a bathroom; another is a linen closet with fresh sheets and towels. “That’s my mother’s bedroom. It basically looks the same as it did when I was a kid.” Miles motions to the bed with an old quilt that reminds me of the early two thousands.
He moves to the door across the hall. The hinges creak as he pushes it open. “I don’t think this room has been updated since I was a teenager.” He flicks on the light.
“This was your bedroom?” I soak up the space, trying to imagine a teenage version of the man standing in front of me lying on that double bed.
“It was. After my parents separated, I stayed here every other weekend through my teen years. I don’t think anyone else has ever slept in here.”
The comforter is hockey-player inspired. The pillows have the same pattern. Across the room is a dresser with a digital clock, but nothing else.
In the corner is a small desk and an old computer monitor, also circa the early two thousands. Apart from a poster with a motivational phrase above the desk, the walls are bare. It doesn’t look like much has changed in the last decade.
I wonder what young Miles was like. Was he studious? Did he have early-morning hockey practice on weekends? I glance at the bed again and because my mind is being a jerk, I picture the version of Miles I know lying on it in only his boxers.
When I speak, I sound like a squeaky toy. “This is great. Thanks.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure when the sheets were changed last, so we can grab a fresh set from the linen closet if you’d like.”
With the non-PG quality of my current thoughts, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be near a bed with Miles. “That’s okay. I can manage. What time did you say your meeting at the home is?”
He glances at his watch. “Crap. In less than half an hour. I gotta run if I’m going to get there on time. I’ll message later, though.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“Sounds good.” He turns his head and raises his arm, coughing once into his elbow, but his face is still covered by the mask.
“Oh no! Is it happening again? You need to get out of here!” Two allergic reactions back-to-back would be bad. I grab him by the free arm and drag him down the hall. Apparently I’m the biggest klutz in the history of the universe because I lose my footing on the stairs.
On the upside, instead of pulling Miles down along with me, he manages to snag me around the waist with his free arm. We land in a heap on our butts, me between his long legs.
“I’m so sorry!” I try to scramble to my feet, but his arm is still wrapped around my waist.
“I’m fine, Kitty. I’m not having another reaction. I just inhaled
a hair or something, and it made me cough.” For a moment, his arm tightens around me, and I swear I feel his nose in my hair, but then that could be because of the awkward position we’re in.
“Oh. Wow. I turn everything into a medical crisis, don’t I?” If my voice could turn colors, it would be red with embarrassment.
Miles releases me and I push to my feet, moving down a couple of steps so he has room to stand. “Well, to be fair, yesterday was freaky for both of us, so your concern is understandable. A repeat would not be welcome.”
He follows me to the foyer, and I step outside onto the front porch with him.
He unhooks the medical mask from around his ears and tucks it into his pocket. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, commanding my attention. “Thanks again for everything, Kitty. And especially for staying the night. Here and at my place. I realize we probably got off on the wrong foot, and I kept sticking mine in my mouth. There’s a good chance I’ll still keep doing that, the foot-in-mouth thing, but it’s not intentional.”
I’m still staring at his lips, pondering their kissability, so it takes me several extra seconds to respond. “I could have been more empathetic to begin with. Not everyone is a natural cat lover. And I’m happy I could help last night and tonight.”
“Me, too. I mean I’m happy too, about you helping.”
We smile at each other for a few seconds.
“Good luck at the home. I hope it’s the right fit for your mom.” I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I wrap them around me, like I’m giving myself a hug.
“Me, too.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket and flips them around his finger. “I’d say have fun with Prince Francis, but considering how much damage he causes, I don’t know that tonight is going to be all that awesome for you.”
“I’m sure that when he realizes there’s a lap to occupy, he’ll be fine.” I point to my crotch and realize too late that it’s inappropriate. Talking to Miles was easier before my hormones took over and made me stupid.
He stutter-steps to the walkway and does a two-step thing on the way to his car, still flipping his keys between his fingers. I wait until he’s pulling out of the driveway before I go inside.
I decide that the evening would best be spent on cat training. So I pull out my programmable buttons and get to work setting them up. The first button is the easiest one to inspire training: Treat. I settle cross-legged on the floor and shake my bag of treats. Prince Francis trots over and headbutts the bag of treats, which I tuck away in my pocket.
I press the button, and it says “Treat” in my voice. It gets his attention the way I want it to, and he sniffs the button, looking from me to it and back again.
For the next hour I sit with Prince Francis and teach him to press the button if he wants a treat. He gets the hang of it by the end.
Afterward, I make us both dinner, and then we settle in to watch a movie. Miles’s mother has great satellite TV and access to loads of movies, so I put on
The Secret Life of Pets
, and Prince Francis makes himself comfortable in my lap.
After the movie, I change the sheets on Miles’s childhood
bed and grab my pillow from the car. I’ve just changed into my jammies when my phone buzzes with a message from Miles.
Miles:
How is the demon child?
I grin and send him a gif of a sphynx cat looking sinister, then another of a cat looking angelic.
Kitty:
He was on his best behavior.
I follow it with a video of Prince Francis pressing the Treat button, then looking up at me expectantly.
I get a slew of shocked face gifs in response and then my phone rings.
“You taught him how to ask for treats? Can I get my dog to do that?” Miles asks by way of greeting.
“Oh yeah, Wilfred can definitely learn. You just need patience and time.”
“You’re amazing, Kitty.”
“He’s food motivated, and I took advantage of that. I’ll add more buttons, but this is a good starting point.” I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My nipples are peaked against the fabric of my nightshirt, and not because I’m cold. I’m glad this is a phone conversation and Miles can’t see my face, or the rest of me. “How was the tour of the home?”
“It’s a nice place. I’m going to bring my mother back to see it in a couple of days.”
“That’s wonderful news!”
“Yeah, they have a great staff and varying levels of care, which is exactly what my mom needs. Anyway, I just wanted to check on you and Prince Francis. Tomorrow night the team has a home game, but I’ll be able to pop by the next day if that works for you. Can you text me in the morning, though, to let me know how it goes?”
“I can absolutely do that.”
“Great. Thanks again, Kitty. You really are a lifesaver.”
“It’s really no problem. Have a good night, Miles.”
“You, too, Kitty.”
I end the call, turn off the light, and climb into bed. I haven’t done an overnight cat-sit in a long time, and it’s a welcome change in routine. It takes all of thirty seconds before Prince Francis hops up onto the bed. He makes himself at home on the pillow next to me, one paw covering the back of my hand.
I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face and visions of Miles in his boxer shorts playing behind my eyelids.
Extremely loud yowling startles me awake. I bolt upright in bed, confused as I take in my surroundings, because I’m not in my own bedroom, and I don’t own a cat. For a moment, I’m thrust into the past, to the day my father passed away. Smokey had been yowling the same way, the sound forlorn and melancholic.
It takes me a good thirty seconds to get my bearings and
remember where I am, and that the cat isn’t Smokey, but Prince Francis.
I throw the covers off and pad across the floor, a shiver runs down my spine when I hit a creaky spot. I flick on the hall light and wait for my eyes to adjust.
I spot Prince Francis, sitting in front of the closed door leading to one of the rooms.
“What’s going on, buddy?” He doesn’t look my way, just keeps up with the loud, melancholy yowls. He stretches out, his nails sliding down the wood, making a muted nails-on-chalkboard sound. I call his name a couple more times, but he continues to ignore me.
I pad down the hall, considering my options. I don’t want to go snooping around, but there must be a reason Prince Francis is in full-on caterwauling mode. Maybe there’s a mouse in there, or another rodent.
Before I open the door, I scoop Prince Francis up and tuck him under one arm so he can’t go running in there before I’ve had a chance to make sure it’s safe. He’s like a squirmy baby, but I’m not taking chances, since Miles’s mom is a semi-hoarder, and over the years I’ve learned that some people have rooms full of boxes that they keep hidden from the rest of the world.
I turn the knob and the door creaks open slowly, exactly as it would if we were in a horror movie. I flick on the light and am relieved when there’s no masked man wielding a knife. It’s not a hoarder lair; it’s another bedroom. I set a wriggling Prince Francis on the floor, and he zooms across the room, jumps up on
the bed, launches himself onto the dresser and then back onto the floor, yowling while I take in the space.
It’s a child’s bedroom. Not an infant, but a young boy maybe. There’s a twin bed in one corner decorated with a dark comforter with a Spider-Man theme. The whole room looks like an homage to superheroes. Miles said he was an only child, so I have no idea what to make of this room.
Prince Francis stops zooming and plunks his butt in front of the wall. And he starts back up with the melancholy meowing, but this time it’s directed at nothing. And when I try to pick him up, he hisses and follows with an admonishing swat.
Enticing him with treats doesn’t work. At a loss, I leave him where he is, certain he’ll stop eventually. Half an hour later Prince Francis is still yelling at the wall, and I’m convinced the house is haunted.