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)
By the time I’m done, Prince Francis has wrapped himself around her neck like a hideous stole while Kitty leafs through a very ancient copy of Woman’s Day magazine.
“I’m all set.”
She looks up from the magazine. “I’ll feed him one last time then.” She sets the dog-eared magazine on the stack of others just like it and leans forward. Prince Francis stands up on her shoulders, back arched and mouth open in a wide yawn before he hops onto the arm of the chair and then onto the floor, trotting toward the kitchen like he already knows the drill.
“Why isn’t he destroying things?” I don’t mean for it to come out sounding like an accusation, but based on her arched brow, it does.
“Because he’s getting what he wants—love and attention.” She dumps the balance of the stinky food onto a plate. “Should I assume you don’t know what his feeding schedule is like?”
“I can ask my mom, but I can’t be sure she’ll know.” Every time I admit this, I feel like an even bigger bag of shit for not seeing how bad things have gotten. Her house wasn’t nearly this cluttered the last time I was in it. Or maybe I just didn’t notice. Or chose not to.
She sighs, and some of her haughty irritation wanes. “Why don’t I start by coming by twice a day? I can adjust depending on his behavior. He’s knocking stuff off the tables because he’s not getting the love he’s used to, and it’s the only way he can tell you how he’s feeling.”
“Kind of like how my dog will chew my shoes if I’m too late coming home,” I mutter. That’s only happened once. Wilfred is a great dog.
“Yes, but usually it’s on a smaller scale. And when they do it in front of you, like Prince Francis did when we first walked in, it’s a good sign that he’s not happy and he wants you to know. He misses his human—your mom, I mean.”
“I think they’re pretty much attached at the hip, or the lap.” At least that’s how it seems with the frequency of messages about him.
She nods and makes another little noise. “There’s a good chance. Consistent affection will help. You said you’ll be away for a few days? Does that mean you’ll only need me to stop by while you’re traveling?”
“If I could get on your regular schedule starting Thursday for a while, that would be good. It’ll probably be temporary, a few weeks at most? But food twice a day seems normal?” I’m crossing my fingers the doctors will give her the all-clear soon, but that might be wishful thinking.
“I should be able to fit Prince Francis into my twice-daily route. I’m used to everything from short-term care to daily check-ins. I have a pair of doctors who are both on shift work this week who live close by, so I stop in and feed Mr. Munchies at least once a day, sometimes twice, and then I’ll head over here.”
“Mr. Munchies?” I don’t know why I keep asking questions.
“He’s a rescue who was owned by a family who habitually overfed him people food.” She deftly transfers Prince Francis to one arm and holds him like he’s a football. He doesn’t seem to mind in the least. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and shows me a picture of Mr. Munchies. He looks like a giant orange and white fluffball. Sort of like an inflated furry cat balloon.
“Wow. He’s—”
“Squishy? We have him on a diet and exercise routine. It’s slow going because he’s only motivated by food.” She smiles fondly at the picture.
“I hope he’s an indoor cat, otherwise he might get mistaken for a giant, furry Kong.”
Kitty’s top lip curls. “What a terrible thing to say!”
“But also not untrue.” My foot-in-mouth-syndrome is only getting worse, it seems.
She sets him on the floor. “I’ll put Prince Francis on temporary rotation with Mr. Munchies.”
“Okay, thanks. I uh . . . know my mom would appreciate this.”
“No kitty wants to be alone all the time.” Again with the slightly stiff smile. “I’ll just need a key, and I’ll send you a list of questions for you to ask your mom right now.” She punches a bunch of keys with one hand and my phone dings in my pocket.
Prince Francis rubs himself on her leg, and she bends to give him an affectionate scratch under his chin. “It was really great to meet you.” She addresses the cat, then turns her attention to me, her smile dropping. “I look forward to working with Prince Francis and seeing if we can’t get a handle on his behavior.”
I walk her out and stifle another sneeze.
“Bless mew,” Kitty murmurs, or maybe she said “bless you” and I misheard her.
“Thanks. Sorry about tackling you earlier.” I don’t know why I can’t leave that embarrassing moment in the past instead of dragging it forward with us.