Chapter Twenty-Five: The Cat’S Out of the Bag
chapter twenty-five
THE CAT’S OUT OF THE BAG
Miles
M
y team has a game on Sunday night, and while Kitty has an open invitation to attend, she makes up an excuse about needing to be home. I don’t call her out on it. I know she’s upset about what happened at the park.
I accompany her and Prince Francis to the parking garage. On the way down, three people avoid getting on the elevator, saying they’ll wait for the next one, and someone else asks if she’s the one who punched a goose at the park. Apparently, the story has morphed quite spectacularly since yesterday afternoon.
It gets worse when we reach her car. Someone has spray painted a huge X across the side of her car.
“Oh my gosh, Miles.” Kitty, who was already looking like a deflated balloon after the elevator incident, seems to shrink even further. If she were a cartoon, she would be a puddle on the ground with a very sad face. “Why is this happening? How am I going to fix this?” She motions to the red spray paint.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “Why don’t you take my car? I know a guy who can get this taken care of like that.” I snap my fingers and Prince Francis, who is wrapped around her shoulders, tries to bite them.
“I can’t take your car. Then you have to drive this.” She motions to her defaced vehicle.
“I’ll be fine. Take the Tesla. I’ll get this handled so you don’t have to worry about it.” I take the keys to the Cat-mobile and pass her the ones to my car.
“You’re sure?”
“Paws-itively positive.” I stroke her cheek, and she gives me a weak smile.
“Thank you.” Her chin trembles, a sign she’s on the verge of tears again.
“Anything for you.” I kiss her and pull her in for a hug, wishing I could erase the videos and find a way to help her drown out the noise.
Josh gets out of his sports car, his expression slack with disbelief. “Dude. Why are you driving the cat car?” He gets a load of the graffiti on the passenger side. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah. Oh shit is right.” I got a lot more than just looks from people. Someone threw what was likely an expensive latte at the car, several people flipped me the bird, and someone else tossed a burrito on the windshield. I put the wipers on and ended up
smearing guac all over the place; I had to pull over because I couldn’t see. There’s still a chunk of tomato stuck under the wiper blade.
“Is this because of that video?” Josh rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah. I told Kitty I could get the car fixed. I’m hoping one of the guys can refer me to someone who can make a not-liar out of me.”
“You must really be into her if you’re willing to drive around in this thing. I’m guessing that means she has your Tesla.”
“You’re right on both counts. I feel horrible for her. There are so many freaking people just gobbling this shit up.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh. I hate that I’m very, very wrong about everyone forgetting the video. #kittywhispereranimalabuser is the number one trending hashtag today.
“One of the guys will know someone.” He claps me on the shoulder. “And maybe we can find a way to make something good out of this shit situation.”
“You didn’t see her this morning. She looks like someone ripped the head off her favorite stuffed animal. She’s been such a huge source of support for me while I’ve been figuring out all the stuff with my mom. I really hate to see her like this. I just want to make it better, but I don’t know how.” Kitty has been taking Prince Francis to visit my mom at least once a week, if not twice. I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s not a conventional relationship, but some days she has periods of lucidity and we talk about my childhood and Toby. It might be helping her remember I’m me more often. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. Either way, it’s good for us.
But now Kitty is hurting, and I don’t know what I can do to help make it better.
We head into the arena to meet with Coach Davis and the players. And of course, because a lot of those guys are completely dialed into social media, almost everyone knows about what happened at the park yesterday.
I explain how it went down, and that she tripped and didn’t mean to tackle Wilfred or hit him.
“People are assholes.” Parker shakes his head as he scrolls through the memes—those are new—gifs, and videos that have flooded the internet.
“Don’t I know it,” I grumble.
“Hold on. Have you seen this?” Parker holds his phone two inches from my face.
I push his hand back until the image comes into focus. Then grab it out of his hand. “Holy hell. Is that Brit Sheers? The actress?”
“It sure is. And it looks like she’s defending Kitty.”
I turn the volume up on the video.
“Anyone who follows Kitty Hart knows she has a legitimate heart of gold and wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t care what it looks like. That video clip is taken out of context. I dare the person who posted it to put up the whole thing instead of the piece that turns a person who pours her whole heart into taking care of animals into an abuser.”
Brit Sheers often makes somewhat controversial and political statements. But she’s also very involved in several charity
organizations and is particularly passionate about animals and speaking out about animal cruelty. She’s the founder of A Home for Honey, a not-for-profit animal shelter that focuses on rehoming abused or neglected pets, or animals with high needs.
Sitting in her lap is Honey, a blond tabby that Brit found in a garbage can on her morning run two years ago. Honey has a rare congenital birth defect that makes it difficult for her to get around and also makes her look like she ran into a wall. She’s adorable, and her social media following is unreal.
“You should reach out to her,” Parker suggests. “Maybe she can give Kitty some positive press and help bury all this other crap.”
“Yeah, maybe I should.” I don’t know what I’ll say, or whether a message from me will get seen by her, but it’s worth a shot. Anything to help right this wrong.
I send her a private message, introducing myself as the boyfriend of the Kitty Whisperer, asking if she’d be interested in meeting Kitty in person. And then I wait.
Over the days that follow, Kitty seems to fold in on herself. It gets worse when she loses a couple of new clients who tell her they can’t risk leaving their animals in the care of someone who abuses animals.
I manage to get the giant red X removed from the passenger side door, but she’s still mortified by what happened, and no matter how many new videos she posts to explain what
happened in the park, the backlash and the negativity bury anything positive she puts out there. She nearly has a panic attack every time she leaves the house, and there have been a few times when people have yelled at her and called her names. She’s taken to wearing sunglasses and an oversized hat to hide her identity. And she refuses to drive her car.
It’s the middle of the week and we’re at my place, snuggled on the couch watching hockey. Kitty is dressed in a pair of jeans and one of my sweatshirts. “I don’t know how those guys do it.” She flings a hand toward the TV, then lets it drop to her lap.
“Do what?”
“Handle all the opinions people love to share. I could deal with the jokes and the occasional poking fun at me for what I do, and because I named my company the Kitty Whisperer. I could laugh it off then, because there was balance, and most of the time my followers would come to my defense, but this isn’t the same. It’s just crap piled on top of crap. Every time someone tries to defend me, they become a target. It’s awful. I can’t escape it. I’ve never been embarrassed to be called a cat lady, but this is so different. People aren’t even willing to listen. They just attack. And then to see all these people who were once on my side defecting over this one video, and it isn’t even accurate.” Tears spill over, and she pulls a tissue out of the sleeve of the hoodie to dab at her eyes.
I put my arm around her and kiss her temple, at a loss for what to say. I got a response from Brit’s social media, but it was a stock reply thanking me for the message and saying Brit appreciates my love and support and to keep smiling. I sent an email and got
another canned reply. I even commented on a few of her recent posts, citing who I was and that I’d messaged her privately. Those messages got a lot of attention from her fans, most of it positive, but some of it just as negative as the stuff Kitty is dealing with.
“I’m sorry this is so hard, Kitty. I wish I could scrub the internet for you. I could tell you to ignore the haters and shut out the noise, but I know it’s impossible because they’re in your face. The people who truly know you support you.”
“I’m losing business over this. I can’t go anywhere without being recognized. I think I need to trade in my car.”
“You can keep driving mine until this all dies down,” I tell her.
She gives me a small smile, but her eyes brim with tears. “I appreciate the offer, but I know you must be getting heckled for driving it. I can sell it as is and get something used.”
Up until Saturday, Kitty’s business had been growing steadily, and now the opposite is happening. “Maybe give it another week before you make any final decisions about that, okay?”
She sighs. “Okay. I can wait a week. But I don’t think anything is going to change how I feel.”
I tip her chin up and kiss her softly. When she doesn’t pull away, I deepen it. If I can’t fix her problems, I can at least take her mind off them.
The next night I’m sitting in the arena, Josh on my right, both of us following the players on the ice. I keep an eye on the
opposition, looking for patterns so we can gain the advantage and keep possession of the puck.
The seat to my right is empty and often reserved for the family members of the players who come to watch them play. A few minutes before the end of the first period Teresa, Beavin’s wife, drops into the chair beside mine.
“Hey.” I tip my chin up and focus my gaze back on the ice.
“They’re doing good tonight,” she observes.
“They are.” Parker has really blossomed this season, and so has Austin. Parker is a naturally gifted player and only at the beginning of his career. Once something is pointed out, he’s quick to use it to his advantage. It’s been good to see positive results and to have Coach Davis and the GM backing my role with the team.
Teresa knows that my job is to watch the game and assess the plays and the players, so she waits until the period is over before she says anything else. I’ve been met with a lot of chagrin and pity over the past week. That’s not what I get with Teresa, though.
“How are you, and how is Kitty?” She crosses one leg over the other.
“I’m okay. Kitty is . . . struggling.”
She nods knowingly. “Public opinion can be tough to handle. Did the videos she posted explaining what really happened make any difference?”
I shake my head. “There’s just so much negativity, and it’s sucking the joy out of her.”
“I get it. People love to take things out of context and make them into something they’re not. It’s annoyingly scandalous for a
woman who is a cat lover to punch a dog.” She shakes her head. “It’s frustrating that there isn’t a video out there that shows the entire thing so she can dispel the rumors.”
“I know. I’ve been scouring the sites, but I haven’t been able to find anything to balance out the crappy stuff. And then I just get angry about the things people are saying.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “People are assholes. They love to tear people down. And there’s a weird belief that public figures don’t have feelings, or that their feelings are made of Teflon and that they can handle ridicule and being put under a microscope better than the average person.”
“This is very true,” I agree. I see it all the time with players. They’re held to a different standard. And when they make a mistake, on or off the ice, everyone has something to say about it. “I don’t think Kitty sees herself as a public figure, but I guess she is, isn’t she?”
I’m often in the background of team pictures and videos, but no one ever singles me out. My dog has more followers than I do.
“Oh yeah, she’s totally a public figure now, and a celebrity in the cat-osphere. Brit Sheers has been talking about it for the past week.”
“I tried to reach out to her, thinking maybe if Kitty got a message from her or something that it might boost her morale, but I don’t think she manages her own social media.”
“I have her number. I can reach out if you want,” Teresa offers.
“Seriously? Even if she just got a message or an email, or anything really. That would be fantastic. I don’t know how to make
this better, and it’s killing me seeing Kitty so down. She’s always a ray of sunshine, you know? It’s like a huge black cloud is hanging over her head.”
“I totally get it. I’ve messaged Kitty a few times asking if she wants to get together with me and the girls, but she said she’s busy. I didn’t want to push,” Teresa says sympathetically. “I’ll message Brit now. She usually records her episodes in the afternoon, so hopefully I’ll hear back from her before the end of the game.”
Period two begins, so I focus my attention on the ice. Halfway through, Teresa gets up to take a phone call. She comes back as the period ends, wearing a huge smile.
“I talked to Brit. She wants to know if Kitty would be open to doing a live interview. She’s a huge fan.”
“Seriously?”
“Super seriously. She’s outraged by what’s happening to her. I gave her your contact information. She’s supposed to be flying out this way next week to visit a shelter, and she thinks this would be a great way to help smooth things over for Kitty and give her the positive press she deserves.”
And just like that, the sun peeks through the clouds.