Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“What kind of…” I trailed off when we walked into the tent to find two huge cats with shock collars on, perched on large boxes with pillows lining them.
I blinked. Then blinked some more.
“Those are tigers,” I stated the obvious.
“That they are,” she confirmed. “And they’re hungry little boogers.”
She let me go, and I stayed where I was, frozen to the spot.
I watched her as she trailed between the two large, fully grown, huge-ass cats to the freezer that was in the corner of the room.
They both watched her with hungry eyes.
“I know, I know,” she said to them, as if they were small house cats and not ones that could likely bite her face off with very little effort. “I’m late. But I got caught up in the new routine I was doing, and I forgot Tony needed me to feed you because she has a routine with Razzle.”
“Who’s Razzle?” I asked. “Or should I say what?”
Her eyes sparkled as she shot me an amused glance before filling two large bowls with what looked like rice and meat.
Curiosity won out, and I wandered closer to look into each bowl, noting different things in each.
“Razzle is the boa constrictor that Tony—Caristionia—performs with. He’s yellow and eleven and a half feet long. You can’t miss him,” she chirped.
I scoffed. “Miss him? Likely never. Whatcha got in those bowls?”
“I have their very specialized diets in these bowls,” she said.
She then went on to explain their food needs, how often they were fed, and how much.
I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as they ate greedily, not stopping until they were both finished two minutes later.
“You can touch them,” she offered. “They like back scratches and ear squishes like all kitties. They’re just a little bit bigger.”
“Just a little bit,” I murmured as I watched her take the food bowls to a stainless steel utility sink to wash them.
Once they were drying in the dish drainer next to the sink, I reached out and ran my hand down the length of the closest one’s back.
“That one is Coco,” she said. “She’s a three-year-old white tiger that we rescued from a hoarding situation in Texas. The orange one is Melon. Both are girls.”
Their fur was rough yet soft, and I continued to run my hand down the length of the white one when I felt a nudge at my right hand.
Melon, not to be forgotten, waited patiently, now standing right beside me, looking at me expectantly.
Slightly off guard at the stealth in which the cat had moved, I reached down and gave the cat a chin scratch.
Then she started making a chuffing noise.
It was by far the loudest purr I’d ever heard in my life.
“Wow,” I said as I fingered their ears at the same time. “That’s an impressive purr.”
“Very, although technically, it’s not a purr since tigers don’t purr,” Simi agreed. “Come on, let’s go. I have a few places I’d love to show you.”
With reluctance, I left the tent with the cats and followed her directly back to the beginning.
Keene, who was still on the gates, jerked his chin up at us as we passed and said, “Taking him to Val?”
“Obviously,” she laughed. “Val would kill me if I didn’t bring him to her booth first. She says it’s a superstition, and we have to abide by it, so I’m only following the rules.”
“Uh-huh.” He turned back to a little kid that offered him his wrist to put on his yellow wristband.
Keene dismissed us, and Simi caught my hand up again.
“What’s Val do?” I asked.
“Val is a fortune-teller,” she said. “I think you’ll like her booth. It’s fun to watch grown men squirm when she guesses something right about them.”
“So she’s not the real deal?”
Simi pursed her lips as if she had to think about the question.
“To be honest,” she finally said, “I don’t know. On the one hand, she’s been right about a whole lot of things. And on the other, she’s done really well at purposefully leading you where she wants you to go with her words. She can read people very well and by far knows how to apply that to what she does. She’s been doing this for going on fifteen years now, since she was fifteen. People love her, and her booth is one of the first to get visited, or why they come to the circus to begin with.”
“Her booth won’t be busy?” I asked curiously.
“No,” she answered. “Her booth isn’t quite open yet. We should get there and get you read before she needs to open up.”
“And why would Val kill you if you didn’t go to her first?” I asked as we dodged a kid with a red balloon wearing a yellow rain jacket. Hadn’t that mother ever seen It? No way would I allow my child to dress like that at this somewhat already freaky place.