Chapter Twenty-Three: Paws-Itively Purrfect
chapter twenty-three
PAWS-ITIVELY PURRFECT
Kitty
A
fter the Halloween party, my social media accounts see another spike in new followers. Being tagged by a bunch of professional hockey players and their significant others is incredible free marketing. It doesn’t hurt that someone took a video of me saving the raccoon. Thankfully, they cut the video before I took Miles to the floor. And the angle didn’t show his face mashed into my crotch.
There always seems to be a counter action to the positivity, though. Along with the new followers comes a barrage of private messages and comments—some of them disparaging. I get called some nasty names, and of course there are horrible jokes about me offering up my personal kitty services to hockey players now. It’s disgusting and mortifying.
It’s the Wednesday after the party. I meant to visit Kat on Monday, but my schedule was so hectic, with cat visits and managing/deleting/monitoring
the social media stuff, that I couldn’t make it work. I bring a load of old blankets and towels with me to Kat’s Cat Café, and a bunch of sponsor items as an apology. I need to go over my calendar for the month and place a supply order. Kat and I usually do this together, because we get a better discount that way.
“Hey, hey, my famous friend! I was starting to wonder if I was ever going to see you again.” Kat’s tone and expression tell me she’s hurt.
“I’m sorry. Things kind of exploded after the Halloween party in a way I didn’t expect, and I’ve been trying to juggle all the balls and put out fires.” We’ve messaged since the raccoon video came out. The more attention I get these days, the more I see the other, less friendly side of social media. Aside from the nasty comments about hockey players, several people questioned what happened to the baby raccoon. I assured my followers that he was returned to the outdoors and his family. I’m trying to stay focused on the positives.
Kat wrinkles her nose. “I saw some of those comments about playing with balls.”
I roll my eyes. “They don’t even make sense. Hockey has pucks, not balls.”
“Is this some kind of new strategy to build your business that I don’t know about?” Kat picks up Tux, who keeps bumping his head against her shin.
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re taking care of that one
player’s cat, and now you’re always with that Miles guy who works for the team.”
“I’m taking care of Parker’s great-grandfather’s cat, and Miles’s mom’s cat. It’s a happy coincidence that they’re affiliated with the same team.”
Kat bites her lip. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Just be careful, okay? You tend to focus on the positive, and that’s great, but remember where you started and what your goal is. Being internet famous because you love cats and named your business the Kitty Whisperer is a lot different from being internet famous for hanging out with hockey players.”
I purse my lips. “You sound like you’re drinking the comments Kool-Aid.”
She holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re used to cat lovers following you, but this is a whole different breed of people. I just want you to stay true to your vision. Gaining new followers is amazing. You just want them to be your followers for the right reasons.”
“I get what you mean, and I’ll be careful.” I don’t want her to be angry with me or to focus on all the negatives right now. I hold up the bag. “I brought some supplies, all freshly washed. Should I put them in the stockroom?”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Kat sets Tux on the floor. “Now tell me all about the party and exactly what happened with that baby raccoon.”
I fill Kat in on the party, and we make a plan to have dinner the following evening. Miles is away with the team for the next
few days, and while I miss him, it’s not all bad. It means I can dedicate some time to my friends and my family, who haven’t been getting the attention they deserve lately.
Although I’ve noticed that my mom’s been making plans with friends more often and not sticking to the routine that we’ve followed for the past decade. Instead of watching the same old TV shows, I’ll put on the game in the evening while I tackle emails. And if my mom comes home in the middle of a period, she’ll join me.
They’re small things and little changes, but it gives me hope that if she can move forward with her life, I’ll be able to do the same.
It’s Saturday evening, a week after the Halloween party, and I’m staying the night at Miles’s place. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he returned from the away games, and we’re ordering in because I don’t want to have to wait to climb him like a tree.
As soon as I’m in the door we’re on each other. He’s still wearing his suit, and I’m dressed in a pair of leggings and a comfy oversized sweater. I manage to get him out of his shirt without popping any buttons off. It’s a lot easier to get me naked.
We don’t make it past the living room couch. Wilfred disappears down the hall, likely into Miles’s bedroom, embarrassed by our nudity.
Forty-five minutes and a couple of orgasms later, we’re sitting
on the couch, eating Chinese takeout straight from the box. Wilfred is standing close by, giving us sad eyes, clearly hopeful that we’ll miss our mouths at some point.
“You know what might be good for your social?” Miles has been scrolling through the recent posts.
Since the party, I’ve gained even more followers, which is mostly great. My sister checks the comments now, so I don’t have to see the hurtful things people like to say. Even though I’m back to posting my normal cat videos, a few icky responses inevitably show up on my posts and reels.
“What’s that?” I’m wary about his response. Miles is very pragmatic about social media and considers it a tool, and sometimes a necessary evil.
“Video Q&As.”
“Answering questions about the kinds of services I offer to hockey players doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
Miles sets his takeout container on the coffee table and stretches his arm across the back of the couch. “I want to punch every douchebag who’s made a comment about that. What I mean is, there are a lot of people asking valid questions, like how you knew what to do with the raccoon.”
Every time I think about that, I imagine all the ways it could have gone very wrong. “I was flying by the seat of my pants. I just didn’t want the little guy to destroy their house. And it was my fault he got in in the first place.”
“You couldn’t have known that was going to happen. It was wildly unpredictable. And you were super badass. Maybe you
were winging it, but there was intuition at work there. You had some idea what would be effective. You need to cut out the noise, Kitty.”
“How do you mean?”
Miles taps the back of the couch. “It’s like when Parker has a kick-ass game, the fans cheer him on, in the arena and on social media. But if he misses one? Everyone has an opinion, and social media is where they share it. When it’s good, it’s great, but when it’s bad . . . it can really mess with your head.”
I poke at my noodles. “But the jerks will keep commenting no matter what.”
“You’re right. They will. So when I say cut out the noise, Kitty, I just mean cut out the stuff that doesn’t matter, and that’s the negativity and the douchebags. When Parker has a bad game, we post videos of him working out, or at practice, or even at home, making a meal or hanging with his great-grandpa and that freaking cat with the buttons. It makes him a person, not just a player who’s at the whim of the fans. Combat the bullshit by doing what you do best, sharing your love of animals and how to care for them.”
I blow out a breath, feeling a tightness in my chest. He’s right. I need to be proactive. “Just be me.”
“Exactly. You don’t need to be anything but yourself. And you’re allowed to hang out with hockey players. They’re the most laid-back sports professionals out there; at least that’s how I feel. Your true followers adore you, so if you started a segment where you answered
their
questions and allowed for interaction,
I think you’ll have less of the other noise. Don’t feed into it. I know you already have some sponsors who send you products, but with the way you’re growing, I bet there’s going to be even more interest.”
“I had to turn away a few people this week because I can’t take on more clients,” I admit. “I think I’m going to have to look at hiring someone to help me. But that means I’ll need to find time to interview and train people. And then I’d be managing them, and I’ll still have my daily check-ins with clients. It’s a lot to think about.” Adding to my already full plate will take away from my new social life, and I don’t want that, either. It’s a tough balance.
“I know this seems daunting, but when growth happens this quickly, it forces us into action. If you hire even one person to start part-time, then you won’t be running everything on your own.”
“I’ll talk to Kat. She might know someone who needs a part-time cat-sitting gig.”
“That would be a great start. And we can make a few of those videos tonight if you want. See if they can give you back some of the warm fuzzies you get from your followers.”
Over the next few weeks, I start posting regular Q&A videos. At first the nasty commenters show up, but over time they dwindle. Apparently the gossip over my affiliation with Parker and the rest
of the NHL team is no longer exciting enough to hold people’s attention.
And Kat, being the awesome friend she is, helps me through the first few weeks by taking part in the Q&A videos so I don’t have to do it on my own. What begins as a way to support each other turns into a weekly segment for Kat’s Cat Café, where we showcase one of the cats up for adoption.
I’m lucky to have a friend like her, who stood by me even when I was being self-absorbed. Our weekly segments not only shine a bright light on her café, but also give us a chance to spend more time together. And smooth out some of the rough edges that have come with me trying to balance a new relationship, our friendship, and my growing business.
Since Kat has appeared in the Q&A sessions, more than half the cats up for adoption at the café have new homes—a lot of them to NHL players—and she’s been offered her own sponsorship opportunities. I also start interviewing for a part-time helper, because Miles is right, I can’t do it on my own anymore.
Pet product companies have been sending me everything from cat brushes to toys to treats. I barely have time to keep up with my daily routines and home visits, let alone make sure the samples are produced ethically. It’s only after that that I’ll make videos of the cats enjoying them. And now I have one of the bigger pet product companies offering me brand sponsorships. It’s amazing, if somewhat overwhelming.
On the upside, I’ve been able to stop buying food and toys almost entirely because so many sponsorships are coming my way.
I’m very conscious that my followers are big on the fact that I engage with them on a regular basis, so I make sure the videos aren’t about shoving new products down people’s throats. And it seems to be drowning out the noise.
A few weeks after Miles’s mom moves into the home, we bring Prince Francis for a visit. I put him in his carrier, even though he would happily ride on my shoulders and isn’t likely to try to run away. But it’s the home’s rule, and I don’t want to take any risks.
I haven’t seen Tabitha since we moved her into the home, but it’s clear it’s been a positive environment for her. She looks good, like she’s being well taken care of. Her gaze moves from me to Miles, her eyes lighting up when she sees the cage in his hand.
She glances to the right, where a whiteboard has the daily activities written on it, along with a special message in a different-colored dry erase marker:
Miles (oldest son) and Kitty (girlfriend) are coming to visit and bringing Prince Francis.
“Prince Francis! How is my sweet boy? Come in.” She steps back and motions us inside.
I give Miles’s hand a squeeze and let it go so we can walk down the short, narrow hall. Tabitha reads the whiteboard one more time before she follows us.
He sets the cat carrier on the couch and turns to his mom. “I’m Miles, your son.”
“My oldest.” She says it like she’s reciting facts.
“That’s right. And this is Kitty, my girlfriend. Prince Francis has been staying with her since you moved.”
Her attention shifts to me. “Thank you for taking care of him for me. Prince Francis and Miles.”
For some reason those words choke me up. Maybe it’s her sad smile, or the soft knowing in her eyes as she looks between us.
“It’s absolutely my pleasure. But I like to think we all take care of each other.”
“That’s how love should be.” Tabitha opens the cage, and Prince Francis pokes his head out, peeking around before he deems it safe to come out. “Isn’t this a cute sweater!” It has
MOMMA’S BOY
written across the back. She picks him up and nuzzles him, and he rubs his face on her cheek, then licks the edge of her jaw.
“I missed you too, my sweet, sweet boy. I hope you’re not giving Miss Kitty any trouble.”
“He’s been great. He’s very interested in the squirrels in our backyard. Spends a lot of his day on the windowsill, wishing he could join them, or use them as toys.”
Tabitha chuckles. “Can I get either of you something to drink? I can make tea and put out some cookies.”
“Why don’t you let me do that, and you and Miles can sit and chat?” I suggest.
“That would be great. Thank you.” Miles kisses my temple, and I set about putting the kettle on while they get comfortable in the living room.
Prince Francis settles in her lap immediately, and she strokes his back and rubs under his chin while she and Miles talk. She shows
him her schedule and how she marks every task when it’s done. And that there are a lot of people who have the same problem she does, so they understand what it’s like to be forgetful. “We put our contact information in each other’s phones with our room numbers and a picture so when I’m having trouble remembering someone, it’s easier to find the information.”
She shows Miles her phone and he scrolls through her contacts. “This is great. Who’s Allen, and why does he have a gold star beside his name?”
Tabitha scrolls through his information, reading it to Miles. “He’s a friend. He’s older and a widower. He lost his son in a car accident.” There’s a pause and I look over my shoulder. I can see that she’s squinting at the screen. “I lost my son too. Toby.”
“That’s right, Mom. When he was eight.”
“And you’re Miles. My oldest.”
“I am.”
My chest tightens at his sad smile, and I have to fight with my emotions to keep them in check. He’s so patient with her, repeating the same thing when she loses her train of thought. I stay busy in the kitchen, taking my time with the tea. Eventually I join them in the living room, setting tea and biscuits on the coffee table. I take the spot beside Miles and adjust the pillows, which is when I notice the crocheted cat beside it. I pick it up and turn it over. It looks exactly like Prince Francis. “Who made this little guy?”
Tabitha keeps petting Prince Francis. “They have all kinds of classes here. One of my friends made it for me.” She pauses,
maybe searching for a name, but shakes her head and continues. “I used to crochet when I was younger, but I can’t remember how anymore. She knows I’ve been missing Prince Francis, so she made me one.”
“I’ll have to bring him by for visits more often.” I feel bad that I haven’t been able to make it here sooner. Miles has been visiting regularly, though.
“That would be great.” She scratches behind his ear. “I miss his company.”
After we finish our tea, Tabitha offers to take us on a tour and introduce us to all her friends.
“Should we leave Prince Francis here?” Miles asks.
“I have his harness, if it’s okay with the staff.”
“Harness?” Miles’s brow quirks up.
“Yup, I have a harness and leash for him. I started training as soon as he moved in with me,” I tell him.
“You mean a harness and a leash? Like a dog?”
“Basically, yes.” I’m unsurprised by his surprise.
Most cats have the same reaction to a harness at first. They fall over and lie there dejectedly until someone takes it off. But over time they get used to it, and Prince Francis has been great about wearing his when I take him into the yard to run around. We have a cat run set up between the trees so he can frolic around and chase after the annoyed squirrels and birds.
“Why don’t you let me check with the staff.”
Miles calls the front desk and gets a thumbs-up, so I get Prince Francis ready. And just like a dog would, he trots beside us
to the common room, where we meet Tabitha’s friends. Prince Francis steals the show, though, climbing into laps and spreading his kitty love.
With all the things put in place to help Tabitha, she’s doing much better, and it gives Miles some assurance that he made the right decision. Change is never easy, but without it we can’t move forward.