Chapter Twenty-Four: An Absolute Cat-Astrophe
chapter twenty-four
AN ABSOLUTE CAT-ASTROPHE
Kitty
O
ver the weeks that follow, Miles and I finish cleaning out his mother’s house. More than once we drop everything and vacate the house because Miles has a reaction. They haven’t been as severe as the first one, but that might be because as soon as he sneezes or gets a tickle in his throat, we’re out the door. He’s been for more tests, and they’ve ruled out a lot of things, but they still haven’t gotten to the root of the cause. So he has yet another scratch test appointment in a couple of weeks.
And last week I hired a part-time helper. It was hard at first to bring on someone new, change being something I don’t usually invite. I’ve been a lone cat for the past three years, running everything on my own, but Miles and Kat are right: I needed an extra set of hands to make it easier to juggle my schedule and my personal life.
So I hire Fancy Summers, a vet tech student at the local college. She has years of shelter volunteer experience, and her
family has a farm with half a dozen barn cats, three goats, two dogs, and an owl. I have her trained in no time. And she’s incredibly organized, which has been amazing. It also means that on weekends, which is when I stack her hours, I can stay at Miles’s place without worrying about having to get back to town the following morning.
It’s Saturday, and Miles had to duck out early to meet up with Parker and Austin before practice. His team has a game tomorrow night, so they’re going to go through the other team’s recent stats. The stress he was feeling at the beginning of the season has begun to wane, particularly since he’s organically become a bit of a mentor for Parker and Austin.
When my dad was alive, I would sometimes sit and watch hockey with him. Usually I’d be reading a book at the same time, or doing mindless homework that didn’t require a lot of attention. Now I find myself enthralled, listening intently as Miles nerds out about player and team stats. When he’s done, I’ll attack him with my lips, and other body parts.
This morning he left a note on his pillow—which Wilfred drooled on—letting me know that he’ll be home between ten and eleven. I roll out of bed at eight and pad to the kitchen, Wilfred and Prince Francis trotting after me.
Two weeks ago, I brought Prince Francis with me for a sleepover. We wanted to see if he and Wilfred could be friends. And also make sure he wouldn’t send Miles back to the hospital. I was nervous that Wilfred might want to use Prince Francis as a chew toy, but it turns out all my worry was for nothing.
Wilfred didn’t even bark once. All it took was fifteen minutes and one nose swat for them to decide they would be better friends than enemies. Since then, they’ve become the best of friends. Unless Wilfred tries to eat Prince Francis’s food—then he gets a bop on the nose to remind him that he’s not the king of the castle when Prince Francis is around.
I feed them and make myself toast and coffee. They sit side by side at my right, Wilfred’s tail wagging while he rests his chin on my leg and gives me his puppy-dog eyes. Prince Francis licks between his toe beans.
When Wilfred realizes I don’t plan to share my toast, he trots off and returns a minute later with his leash. He drops it at my feet.
“Would you two like to go for a walk in the park?”
Wilfred barks once and does a quick spin. Then he picks up the leash again and drops it in my lap. I laugh and scratch behind his ear. “That’s a yes then, huh, Wilfred? Let me get ready and we’ll go.”
Winter is closing in, bringing with it cooler temperatures, so I dress Prince Francis in a thick sweater before I put on his harness. It’s not his favorite clothing combination, but he loves the walks in the park, so he’ll suffer through it. I put on my winter jacket, clip Wilfred’s leash to his collar, snap a quick pic of the two of them, and post it on social media, and then we’re off to the elevators.
We stop a few times on the descent. One woman does a double take when she sees Prince Francis, then whispers something I
don’t catch to her boyfriend. They giggle. I ignore them. I’m used to the curious looks and whispers I get when people realize that I’m walking not only a dog but also a cat.
We grab a cookie from the Woofable Treats Café for Wilfred so he can say hello to his friends there. Prince Francis takes up residence on my shoulders while we’re at the doggy café, feeling safer from a high perch until we’re back on the street. Next we stop at the Cat-tastic Café for Prince Francis. Wilfred waits outside, staring dejectedly through the window while his new best buddy mingles with his feline friends.
We don’t stay for long, and then we’re on our way to the park. As usual, I get a few curious looks. I smile and ignore the people who don’t get it, cutting out the noise like Miles always tells me to.
We pass regular parkgoers, who stop and say hello, giving both Wilfred and Prince Francis pets and greetings. Wilfred sniffs everything he passes, stopping occasionally to lift his leg and leave a reminder that he was here, too. Whenever this happens, Prince Francis will plunk his butt down near my foot and groom himself.
I spot a group of teenage boys skateboarding along the path, doing jumps and spins, weaving in and out of dog walkers, scaring some of the smaller dogs. Before I have a chance to move off the path and get a better grip on Wilfred’s leash, they whirl toward us. At the same time, a gaggle of geese, who have presumably also been frightened by the skateboarders, come weeble-wobble running across the park about twenty-five feet away.
It’s the perfect storm.
The skateboarders pass by, only inches from us, causing Prince Francis to jump and scale my leg, his sharp nails digging into my skin. The shock of pain makes me lose my hold on Wilfred, who lunges at the skateboarders. I grab for him but trip over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Instead of hugging him around the chest, I fall on top of poor Wilfred. My hand connects with the side of his head, and at the same time, I’m pretty sure I elbow Prince Francis.
The combination of the skateboarders, the geese, and the surprise of me falling on him has Wilfred yelping in what sounds like shock and pain. I push up and try to roll to the side while blindly searching for his leash. He headbutts me in the face as I grab his collar, which sends my glasses flying. Prince Francis, who is still clinging to my side, hurtles himself off me and lands on Wilfred’s back. Someone yells at me to stop hurting my dog. I’m too busy trying to get my feet back under me and keep my hold on Wilfred and Prince Francis to bother responding.
Wilfred yelps again and lurches forward, making a horrible gagging sound because I’m gripping his collar. He drags us into the middle of the gaggle of angry geese. They hiss and snap, and Prince Francis arches and hisses in return, swatting at the livid geese, who have surrounded us. Wilfred tries to buck Prince Francis off while I attempt to shoo the angry geese away. In the process, I lose my hold on Wilfred’s collar. All without my glasses. Which is the moment one of the geese nips Wilfred’s tail. And
then he’s off, barking as he busts through the gaggle and races through the grass.
Prince Francis holds on until they run by a tree, and then he flies through the air like he’s channeling his inner Spider-Man and lands on the trunk of the tree. He scales the side and perches on a branch, sending a few squirrels down on the way. They chatter their displeasure and bounce off.
“Wilfred! Stop!” I shout, chasing after him as he continues to run, nearly knocking over a toddler bumbling between his parents. I’m thankful he didn’t try to use one of the geese as a chew toy. Eventually Wilfred must notice that he no longer has a passenger, at which point he runs in circles, barking anxiously, looking for his four-legged bestie.
I finally manage to get him to listen, and he returns to me, head down and eyes all sad, because he thinks he’s in trouble.
“It’s okay, Wilfred. It wasn’t your fault.” I grab his leash and give him a scratch behind the ear, thankful he’s no longer running around the park like a menace, scaring small children. I check his tail and make sure he’s not injured before I gently tug him in the direction of the tree. “Come on, let’s get Prince Francis.”
As we approach the tree, I realize I’ve garnered a lot of attention and that the skateboarders are no longer weaving through the dog walkers and morning strollers. Instead, they’re gathered with their phones in their hands. I shoot them a look and then go back to ignoring them.
I want to get out of here, but first I need to retrieve Prince Francis. I catch a few comments about not taking your pet out in
public if you can’t control them. Another woman makes a comment about bad pet owners. I hear someone mention the Kitty Whisperer, and I want to hurl.
I try to maintain my composure while I attempt to lure Prince Francis down with treats, and Wilfred tries to appeal to him by barking and whining. But Prince Francis refuses to budge from his safe perch more than fifteen feet above us. There’s no way for me to get to him. And the longer I stand here, trying to cajole him out of the tree, the more people stop to watch. A few attempt to help, but it’s proving futile, and I have a feeling the crowd is making Prince Francis less likely to make the descent. I politely ask if they can give us some space, and a few people comply, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Eventually I give up and call the fire department. Which gains even more attention. My mortification levels are at an all-time high. Falling up the stairs on the first day of high school has nothing on the enormous group of people gathered around the tree while three firefighters approach, carrying a ladder. They’re dressed in full firefighter gear, and the truck sits directly in front of the park entrance, lights flashing away.
I still haven’t been able to recover my glasses, and I’m almost grateful that anyone more than twenty feet away has a blurry face. I’m dressed in a winter coat and a hat with cat ears. I didn’t bother with makeup, assuming this would be a quick stroll around the park, where Wilfred would watch the squirrels and Prince Francis would wish for wings so he could catch birds.
As soon as the firefighter reaches me, I apologize. “I’m so sorry.
I didn’t want to call you. I know you have much better things to do with your time, like fighting actual fires and saving people, but my cat is stuck in that tree, and I think this horde of humans is giving him climbing fright, like the cat equivalent of stage fright.” I point to the branch where Prince Francis is lounging.
He’s repositioned himself. He’s now lying on the branch, his legs hanging on either side of it. He does not look the least bit stressed by the audience.
“Is that cat wearing a leash?” the firefighter asks.
I clasp my hands so I won’t fidget. “He is. Cats are very trainable. And they love walks if you can get them comfortable with the leash and harness.”
“Bernick, you want to do the honors?” One of the other fire-fighters claps a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. He gives me a curt nod and turns to Bernick, but then his gaze slides back to me. “Holy crap. You’re Kitty, the Kitty Whisperer. Dude—” He nudges Bernick with his elbow and repeats. “This is Kitty, the Kitty Whisperer.”
Bernick gives him a questioning look, then mutters, “Don’t advertise your porn watching habits in a public park with a hundred people standing around, Hopkins.”
Hopkins rolls his eyes. “She’s a cat whisperer, you dirtbag. She trains
cats
. Sorry, ma’am. My partner here lives in a gutter apparently.”
“It’s okay. I get that a lot. I should have taken it into account when I named my business, but it didn’t occur to me until after I started getting inappropriate messages, and by that time I already
had an established following.” No one needed that explanation, but apparently I haven’t sustained enough embarrassment today, so I added to it myself.
He nods a couple of times. The third firefighter sets the ladder against the tree. “One of you want to stop with the flirting and hold the ladder?”
“We’ll be right back, Miss Kitty.” Bernick touches the brim of his fire hat and inclines his head.
“Wait! Here!” I pull a baggie of treats out of my pocket and pass it to him. “These might help.”
I wait with Wilfred while the third firefighter holds the ladder for Bernick. Prince Francis is clearly wary, and he hisses and swats at Bernick until he pulls out the treats. It’s too much of an enticement, and Prince Francis finally relents. As soon as he’s in my arms, he climbs onto my shoulders and burrows his way under my hair, then settles into his living stole position, most of him hidden under my curtain of hair.
I want to leave as soon as I have Prince Francis, but Bernick asks for a picture, and my autograph, which is a little weird, especially when he has me sign his son’s second grade wallet photo.
Finally, we can leave. I don’t make any stops on the way back to Miles’s apartment. I keep my head down, but I swear people are whispering and glaring as I pass. I convince myself that I’m being paranoid.
But when I get back to Miles’s place, I make the fatal mistake of checking my messages. I have one from Miles telling me he’s on his way home. Based on the time it was sent, he should be
arriving any minute. I also have messages from Kat and my sister. On top of that, I have countless tags and notifications on all my social media accounts. While it’s not uncommon for me to have a lot of notifications, the number is exceptionally high, and every few seconds my phone lights up with more notifications. I’m afraid of what this means. It’s clear people were filming and taking pictures of what happened at the park.
I don’t have a chance to check the messages from my sister and Kat, because Miles walks through the door. “Hello, beautiful girlfriend! Would you like to get naked first and then go for breakfast, or would you like to fuel up and then get naked?”
He finds me sitting on the couch. “Maybe we should make breakfast here,” I suggest.
I don’t have much of an appetite, and I’m not all that interested in going out in public. I may never be again.
“Is everything okay?” Miles grabs the back of the couch and bends to press a kiss to my cheek.
“I guess it depends on your definition of okay.”
He rounds the arm of the couch, moves Prince Francis from the cushion beside me to my lap, and sits down beside me. “What’s going on?”
I explain what happened this morning while I was taking our four-legged friends on what was supposed to be a nice, uneventful walk.
“Oh, Kitty, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful. But it’s fine now.”
“I don’t know if it is, though. Can you check my social media
account and tell me if there are fires I need to put out?” I pass him my phone, too nervous to do it myself.
“I’ll check Instagram first, okay?”
I nod and pet Prince Francis, hoping that I’m being paranoid and everything is going to be okay. But Miles’s expression tells me a lot of things. Like my self-reassurances are potentially incorrect. His eyebrows do several bounces up and down. His lips flatten in a line. Sound blares out of the phone. It’s my voice, me calling out
stop
, followed by a high-pitched yelp. It must be a recording of when I fell on Wilfred. Miles turns off the volume.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“It’ll be fine.”
“The way your eyeballs keep darting around like you’re following a light laser tells me that is a complete lie.”
Miles sets the phone facedown on the table. “There are a couple of videos that are being taken out of context. And some gifs.”
“A video? Some gifs?” I echo.
He swallows thickly. “And a trending hashtag.”
“Oh my gosh.” I sink into the cushion, wishing the couch would open like a mouth and swallow me whole.
“It’ll be fine, Kitty. Once people understand that you weren’t trying to hurt Wilfred.”
“People think I was trying to hurt him?” My voice is shrill. “What kind of video is it?”
Miles tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth a couple of times. “This stuff changes by the hour. By tomorrow everyone will have forgotten about it.”
“I think I need to see the video.”
Miles blows out a breath and reluctantly hands me my phone once the video is cued up. It’s not long, maybe ten seconds, but it looks like I’m tackling Wilfred, and the angle also makes it look like I punched him in the side of the face. And that I put him in a choke hold. The video on its own is bad enough, but it’s the comments that make my stomach roll.
“Oh my God, Miles. People are calling me an animal abuser.” I cover my mouth with my hand as my eyes well with tears. And I scroll through the videos and gifs, all with me tackling Wilfred, some of them with text on them calling on people to cancel me. “The things people are saying.”
“It’s out of context. We’ll fix this. You can put up a video explaining what happened and dispel the rumors. Come here.” He opens his arms. If the couch won’t swallow me, I guess a Miles hug will have to do.
Prince Francis hops off my lap as I slide over and allow Miles to wrap me in his arms. I want him to be right, that we’ll be able to fix this, but there’s an uneasy feeling in my gut that tells me he might be wrong.