Page 12 of Hold the Pickle
I back up like a crab, shocked and startled. The broom falls to the carpet with a thud.
But the thing doesn’t move, tilting its head in a question.
What is it exactly?
It’s a cat, but no cat like I’ve ever seen. It’s the size of a cocker spaniel, with tan and black stripes like something wild.
“Who are you?” I ask.
It simply watches me.
“Are you friend or foe?”
It apparently decides I’m no threat and curls up on my transformer bedspread. It takes up a good quarter of the bed, its fuzzy tail wrapped elegantly around its body.
So itisa cat, maybe in its monster form.
I lift my phone to text Nadia about this intruder, then realize that I don’t know her number. We never exchanged contact information even as we signed paperwork to share a home.
Is this cat hers? Is it one of her rescues? The one that made her ask about the pet policy at the first apartment?
She didn’t mention it, but then we were always with the leasing agent when we were together.
It’s one thing to hide an illegal cat when it’s normal sized. But this one?
I reach out to poke it, but the monster feline narrows its gold eyes at me.
Yeah, it could probably eat me for breakfast.
I’m too long for the sofa, so I guess it’s back to the floor for me, this time without so much as my Transformer blanket. At least there’s carpet.
I might sleep with one eye open.
5
NADIA
The clock over the register reads ten. It’s been a fast and furious morning prepping at the deli. Max took Camryn for a doctor’s appointment, and I’m waiting on him to get back.
I need to leave the moment he arrives. Dalton will get off shift any minute, and I have to arrive at the apartment before he does.
“You got the cups?” Geneva asks, towering over me as I pull stacks from the stock below the soda fountain.
“I’m on it.”
“Thanks.” She heads to the kitchen.
I stand up to refill the cup rack.
Thank goodness Dalton works marathon shifts. When I got home from signing the lease and realized I didn’t have his number, I knew I needed to catch him before he got to the studio for the first time.
I have to tell him about Cattarina the Great, also known as Catzilla.
It will take some doing to explain why I didn’t disclose her existence to the manager. And also cross my fingers that he’s not allergic.
Because Max’s wife Camryn is definitely allergic. Big time. She’s been miserable since I moved in.
Catzilla sheds everywhere, and even though I keep her to my room, her hair has infiltrated every space in their cute house. Poor Camryn isn’t allowed to take most allergy meds while she’s pregnant, so she’s had perpetually teary eyes and a red nose since I arrived a few weeks ago.
