“Yeah, I don’t know how Wilfred would react to a cat. They can be territorial. So a sitter it is, then.” Josh glances at the computer screen again.
“Apparently this woman is top rated on all the websites in the area as the best kitty whisperer out there.” Whatever the hell a kitty whisperer is.
“Say that again.”
“Say what again?”
He tips his chin up and smirks. “You know what.”
I roll my eyes but smile. I can deal with stupid jokes a lot better than I can deal with what’s going on with my mother and her cat situation.
“She has to know how that sounds. I mean, how can she not?” Josh says.
“Well, I’m about to call her to find out if she’s legit.” I pick up my cell and unlock the screen.
Josh rolls his chair closer, pushing me over a couple of feet so he can scroll her feed while I dial her number, set my phone to speaker, and listen to it ring.
She picks up on the second one. “Kitty Hart, the Kitty Whisperer. Please hold!” Her voice somehow manages to be sultry and upbeat at the same time.
“I just—”
“You are the handsomest man in the universe! Are you going to show me your belly? Oh yes, you are!”
She sounds like she should be a jazz lounge singer with the slight rasp and the somewhat singsongy tone she uses. I look at Josh, but her voice doesn’t seem to affect him in the same way, considering he’s silently laughing so hard he’s about to fall off his chair, so I focus my attention elsewhere.
“Who’s my favorite boy? Do you want a treat?” Something jingles on the other end of the line.
“Uh, miss?” I have no idea what’s happening right now.
“Just one second, please!” she calls out. “You need to ask for it nicely.”
I can’t decide if she’s intentionally trying to sound seductive or what. A muffled meow follows and the sounds of a digital voice, but I can’t make out what it’s saying.
The woman’s voice drops a couple of octaves. “Such a good boy. Oh! Listen to that motor run!”
Josh makes a cut motion across his throat and reaches for my phone.
“Okay! Sorry about that! I was in the middle of a training session. How can I help you?”
I swat his hand away and accidentally knock my phone off the desk in the process.
“Hello?” she calls from under my desk.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I try to reach it.
“If you’re just going to swear at me and breathe into the phone, I’m hanging up on you.”
“I wonder how often that happens,” Josh mutters.
I punch him in the back of the calf and manage to nab my phone. Just because I thought the same thing doesn’t mean I can afford to lose this potential contact. “No! Please don’t hang up!” I try to back out from under my desk and smack my head on the keyboard tray. “Ow! Shit. Sorry. I dropped my phone and now it’s covered in dust bunnies and I bashed my head on the edge of my desk trying to reach it. Don’t hang up, please.”
“Oh no! Are you okay?” She sounds genuinely concerned.
“I’m fine.” I manage to get myself out from under the desk, no thanks to Josh, who’s busy massaging the back of his leg while also grinning.
“That’s good. Dust bunnies aren’t nearly as cute as the real thing, are they, sweet little Misery? And wouldn’t you just love to chase one? Yes, you would! But you’re an indoor kitty, aren’t you?” She coos some more and then makes a sound that could be a sneeze, but I can’t be sure. “How can I help you, Mister . . . ” It takes me a moment to realize she’s not talking to the cat anymore, but to me.
“Is that cat’s name Misery?”
“It is, and his brother’s name is Company. Misery loves Company. And it’s very true. Misery loves to hump poor Company any chance he gets. Don’t you, you frisky boy?” It’s followed by more cooing and Josh cough-laughing into his sleeve.
I silently threaten him with violence, and he manages to get himself under control again. Not that my threat has any real impact. Josh is built like a freight train, and I’m built more like . . . a more muscular upgraded version of Gumby.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Yup. Still here.”
“I don’t think I got your name.” There she goes again with the sultry tone.
“Miles.” I clear my throat. “Miles Thorn.”
“Hi, Miles Thorn. I’m Kitty Hart, the Kitty Whisperer. I’m here to help with all your feline needs and questions. What can I do for you today?”
There is no way a human being can be this upbeat. I glance at the computer screen where Kitty Hart smiles back at me while dressed in a leopard-print cardigan, matching glasses, and a shirt that reads I’M A CAT PERSON. Or maybe it is possible.
“I uh, I need someone to watch my mother’s cat while I’m away.”
“Would you require the overnight service, or just the daily drop-in, feeding, and kitty love package?”
Josh makes a lewd gesture, and I spin around in my chair so I can’t see his face. “The kitty love—I mean the second option. Just drop-ins and feedings. I don’t know about the love part.” I scrub a hand over my face, take the phone off speaker and bringing it to my ear. Josh’s muffled laughter in the background isn’t helpful. This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my life, and that’s saying something, because over the past few days I’ve had some pretty freaking weird conversations with my mother.
“All kitties need love, isn’t that right, Misery? Yes, it is!”
“This one is . . . not the friendliest.” And I’m starting to question what exactly I’m signing on for. But the team leaves tomorrow evening, and with this job being so new, I can’t ask for time off to take care of a freaking cat. I could try a kennel, or whatever the cat version of that is, but I’d have to be able to catch Prince Francis, and so far all my attempts have left me are a bunch of scratches. The last thing I need is tetanus to round out my super-shitty week.
“Hmm. Well, I’ll just have to meet him or her and find out if that’s true, won’t I? Where are you and your kitty located? What dates will you need care for your feline friend?” she asks.
“Just west of Toronto, in Terra Cotta, and I’ll be away from Thursday to Sunday.”
“Oh! That’s a lovely location, and within my service area. Let me check my schedule.” It sounds like she hits the wrong button a couple of times.
I glance over my shoulder at Josh, who is now sitting in front of my desk, clicking on pictures of the Kitty Whisperer and scrolling through the comments.
“Okay! It looks like you’re in luck. I can definitely help. Would you be free this evening at six so I can meet the feline and get a sense of what they’re going to need while you’re away with your mother? Which, by the way, is very sweet.”
“Uh, that’s, uh . . . ” I don’t know what to say, so I stumble over my words and avoid correcting her. “I can meet you at six.”
“Excellent. Why don’t you text me the address? Oh, and what’s the kitty’s name?”