Page 80 of Hold the Pickle
The kittens circle my lap, meowing for attention, for treats, for food.
I carefully extricate them from my jeans and fill the line of bowls. The adult cats watch as the kittens guzzle their dinner. I always feed them separately as the hungry babies will steal their adult kibble otherwise.
When they are settled, I lean against the bar, looking over the room.
I don’t know what’s next for me. All I do know is that these cats are mine. My kittens. My family.
But we can’t all live here.
26
DALTON
Iread Nadia’s texts around midnight with a feeling of doom.
So, it’s happened.
Damn.
She sent an image of the notice on the door.
We’re screwed. We only have two days.
She’s probably asleep by now, but I write her back, anyway.
This sucks. We’ll figure something out.
But will we?
Finding that place had been hard enough. How could we get another?
I will have to try.
Fitz bumps my shoulder as she sits beside me in the break room. “What’s got you so long in the face?”
“Cat kids got busted. We have to find them a home or move out.”
Harrington takes a chair opposite me. “Your girl won’t let those cats go.”
“I don’t want them to go either. And where would we take them? The shelters are full. The rescues are full.”
Fitz shakes her head. “People need to neuter their animals.”
“They were strays.”
“They came from somewhere.” She shoves a fork into her plastic bowl filled with pasta.
I unwrap a sandwich. “You two wouldn’t have spots, would you?”
“My roommates would murder me in my sleep,” Fitz says, using her fork as a pretend knife slashing her throat. “Manny petted a neighbor’s cat, and Veronica made him wash his hands for thirty minutes before he could touch her stuff. She has a thing about dander.”
I nod. “Nadia’s cousin is allergic.”
“I can’t keep a plant alive,” Harrington says. “And I’m pretty sure my place doesn’t allow pets at all.”
I sit back in my chair. “We’re up a creek.”
Fitz stabs a noodle. “Sounds like it.”
