Page 59 of Hold the Pickle
“Of course we should.” She reaches in to run a thumb over the top of the first one’s head. He’s solid gray with white feet. “Greyson,” she says.
“Fitting.”
She touches the second, an orange one. “Pumpkin.”
“Easy to remember.”
“You do the next two,” she says.
I slide my finger down the short tail of a black one. It looks exactly like its mother. “Doppelgänger.”
“That’s a mouthful.”
“But so many nicknames. Dop. BopDop. Boppy. Boppadeedop.”
She laughs. “Okay.”
The fourth one stirs, lifting its head. It’s stark white with no other color. It mews at us. “Ferris Mewler,” I say. “Ferris, for short. Or Save Ferris. Or just Mew.”
She laughs again. “You make it so complicated.”
“What about Mama Cat? The original MC? MC Catter? Can’t Touch This?”
Now Nadia is in giggles, and the sound is so pure, so happy, that the day is completely turned around from the terrible hospital shift.
Something brushes against my elbow. I jerk my arm up, then realize Cattarina has come out from under the bed. “We have visitors,” I tell her.
Nadia quiets, watching her cat approach the crate. She sniffs the edges, then pokes her face over the top. She’s big enough that she can see over it without lifting her body.
Ferris Mewler spots her and wiggles to the edge, almost as if he thinks this is another source of milk.
Cattarina strains over the side, her face nearing the uplifted head of the kitten.
The two of them touch noses, then Cattarina moves fast, grabbing the kitten by the scruff. Before we can even react, she’s dashed to the bed and leaped on top with the kitten.
“Cattarina!” Nadia cries, jumping to her feet.
By the time we catch up to the cats, Cattarina has Ferris curled into her belly and is licking his head.
“What should we do?” Nadia asks. “Take the kitten away?”
I turn back to the crate. “I’m not taking anything from your cat. She might eat me. Besides, we should think about sleeping arrangements. Does Cattarina have a bed?”
“Yes, under ours. I keep it hidden because she won’t sleep on it out here.”
I kneel by the bed and push the suitcases aside.
“It’s toward the back, near the corner,” Nadia says.
I grasp the corner of the pale blue bed and drag it out. “If that’s her sleeping spot, she’ll take the kittens down there and it will be hard to get them,” I say.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Nadia’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “We need to make it accessible if she’s going to steal them.”
“Hopefully Mama Cat won’t fight her for them.” I glance around. “We have to kitten proof this place. Those babies are going to be everywhere as soon as they get stronger.”
“We’re going to need a bigger litter box,” Nadia quips, and I laugh out loud.
“We are.”
