Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Kitty stands and replaces her glasses, adjusting them so they sit straight, and touches her hair before smoothing out her top.
This intro could’ve gone a whole lot smoother. “I shouldn’t have tackled you.”
“Next time I’ll issue a water gun warning.” She rubs her elbow.
I knead the back of my neck, trying to figure out a way back to her good side. Maybe honesty will do the trick. “I have a dog. I don’t really get cats.”
She purses her lips, but slowly arranges her mouth into a stiff smile. “I figured you were a dog person. Cats are different.”
“They’re furry little psychopaths—or in this case, a naked one.”
I’m awarded with a raised eyebrow.
I should probably shut the hell up. I stuff my hands in my pockets, unsure what to do with them. Josh would be laughing his ass off if he could see me now. I’m notoriously not smooth with the ladies. See me tackling this one for details.
“They’re independent, not psychopaths. And they pick up on negative energy, which would explain why he’s hiding from you. Should I assume he’s generally skittish when you’re around?”
I blow out a breath, working to find some patience, and maybe a side of manners. “I haven’t had enough contact to be able to answer that.” I’ve only just met this woman, and I need her to take care of this furless nightmare. Telling her I haven’t seen my mother since I dropped flowers off on Mother’s Day probably isn’t going to win me any points. In fact, it only adds to my d-bag status.
She nods, not pressing further. “Do you know where your mother keeps Prince Francis’s treats? It might help if we can entice him with something he loves rather than continue to insult him.”
“Probably in the kitchen.” I found his food in the pantry, so I’m hoping the treats are close by.
I lead her through the living room, motioning to the broken trinkets as we skirt around them. “I didn’t have time to stop in yesterday, so I’m thinking he was pretty mad about that.”
“How long has your mom been in the hospital?” Kitty’s voice is soft and raspy, as though she needs to clear her throat.
“A few days. The doctors think she might have early-onset dementia.” Which is something they told me a couple of hours ago when I stopped at the hospital before coming here. It reframes a lot of our conversations over the past year. Now I’m beginning to realize she honestly didn’t remember the calls or the visits. And that makes me feel even shittier. “I don’t know how long she’s going to be there, to be honest, and I live in the city, so driving back and forth all the time isn’t always reasonable, and sometimes I travel for work.” And so far, all my interactions with Prince Francis have been less than pleasant, so covering more than the basics hasn’t been high on my priority list.
“Right. You said you have a trip coming up.”
I nod. This is better. If I can stick to facts maybe I can also be less of a jerk. “I’m only gone for a couple of days, but trying to juggle work and my mother in the hospital and her cat is a lot. Which is why I called you.”
She’s lost a bit of that stiff edge, and her expression turns sympathetic. “That’s a lot of stress.”
All I’ve done so far is dump a container of cat food into the bowl when I stop by, clean up whatever crap Prince Francis has tossed on the floor, and then drive home. And I’ve only done that twice. This being the second time.
Based on her website and social media, Kitty seems to be dedicated to taking care of other people’s cats, so hopefully she’s better at managing Prince Francis than I am.
I open the pantry door and turn my head away, raising my arm so I can sneeze into my elbow. “Freakin’ allergies.”
“Bless you,” Kitty mutters.
I drop my arm and cringe at the sheer volume of food my mother keeps on hand. She lives alone, so there’s absolutely no reason for her to have six boxes of cornflakes or ten jars of peanut butter, half of which are probably expired. Until a couple hours ago, I believed it was because of her compulsive sale shopping, but maybe she doesn’t remember what she has in the pantry, so she overstocks. This place needs a deep clean, that’s for sure. I don’t know when I’m going to have the time to do that. And being in this house isn’t exactly pleasant. The memories I have of living here aren’t great.
“Ahh, here we go.” Kitty brushes by me, the brief contact pulling me out of my head and my unwanted trip down memory lane. She picks up a package of dry treats and two different cans of cat food. “Do we know which one is Prince Francis’s favorite flavor?”