Piglet leapt into the air, spun around butt first, and promptly dropped to her back with her belly up, ready to play with the fluffball. She’s been great socialization for the cats, and they for her.
Archie thinks Piglet will be ready for adoption soon. The thought makes my palms itchy and my throat thick. So badly, I want her home to be with me. I don’t want to have to say good-bye to her. I want to be the person she trusts, the lap she throws herself in every morning, the face she covers with kisses.
But she deserves more than me. More time, more money, more space. I’ve got the love; I just don’t have anything else. And Piglet deserves it all, not just the scraps.
A car door slams out front, followed by deep laughter, and I peek out the front window as two men approach the entrance. Piglet cocks her head, hesitant but curious.
I smooth the spot between her eyes as she nuzzles her head in my palm. “You want to say hi, girl? Are you up for it?”
She stays glued to my leg as she follows me to the front desk. When our guests stroll in, she scurries behind me, nearly stuffing her entire face in my butt.
“You’re safe, Pig,” I tell her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
“Oh shit,” one of the men murmurs. “That’s Piglet.”
My forehead crumples. Maybe Archie’s been sharing her picture on the shelter’s social media page. Sometimes he does these photoshoots with ridiculous hats, and they go viral . I don’t understand it, but people always rush in to see the animals afterward. Maybe my Pig has gone…viral.
Ugh. I don’t like the sounds of that.
The men are about my age, maybe a bit older. One with golden waves and turquoise eyes, the other with brown hair and tattoos. Both ridiculously large and attractive, with happy, easy grins and a presence around them that seems oddly…warm. Friendly. They also both have mustaches, one brown and one blond, but the shape is so identical, so clean and perfect, they almost look…fake.
Yes, I’m certain these mustaches are fake as hell, but I don’t know why.
Piglet doesn’t seem to second-guess the mustaches, shoving her head between my legs, sending me toppling sideways into the desk, her nose going a mile a minute while she sizes them up.
“She’s fucking cute, dude,” the tattooed one whispers to his blond friend.
“Sorry. This is Piglet. She’s one of our rescues, and she’s learning to trust men. And yes, she is super cute, and she knows it.”
The blond crouches down, smiling at her. “We won’t bother you, pretty girl.”
Pig’s tail starts thwacking against the desk. She doesn’t get any closer, but the tension in her lithe body dissipates as she looks between us.
“Can I help you guys?”
The blond leaps to his feet and shoves a hand through his hair, looking to his friend with wide eyes. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we were gonna…” He slaps his friend’s chest with the back of the hand. “You were gonna look at those…those…cats.”
The tattooed man claps his hands together. “Yeah! Yeah, I was gonna look at those cats! For you, though. ’Cause you wanted to get Jennie a…a cat. For her birthday.”
“I’m not fucking getting her a cat. It starts with one, next thing you know I’ll have five cats and three dogs and I’ll be sleeping by myself on the couch.” He jabs his friend in the shoulder. “You’re getting the fucking cat, douchewaffle.”
“Uh…right, so…” I thumb toward the cat den. “Cats?”
“Yeah,” that tattooed one says, shooting a feral look back at his friend. “But we’re just browsing, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” That’s how it always goes, mostly, and then they’re back a week or two later, just to see if the cat they fell for is still here. Then a couple days after that, and another day after that, this time with adoption paperwork, a crate, and a brilliant smile to take their new friend home. We have one of the highest turnover rates in Vancouver. Our cats are rarely here more than a few weeks, unless for medical reasons. Archie says it’s thanks to his cats in hats photo sessions.
Piglet and I lead the way to the cat den, and as the men’s hushed whispers trail behind us, I’m fairly certain they’re talking about me.
“It’s definitely her…pink hair…no, dude, he didn’t say it was all pink, he said it had pink in it.”
My hand goes to my hair, curling around the rose ends. For a moment, I wish I blended in with the cream-colored walls.
“She heard you, dipshit. Now she’s gonna think we don’t like her hair.”
A throat clears, and I glance back, ears heated, as the blond man offers me a kind smile. “Uh, I like your hair. It’s really pretty and unique.”
His friend’s head bobs. “Yeah, and super cool. It suits you.”
My shoulders inch away from my ears, and my hand falls from my hair. “Thank you.” As I step into the room, Piglet yanks me toward a cage full of kittens. They’re her favorite, rambunctious and full of love, and they’re feral for her.
“Holy fuck.” The blond pokes his finger through the gated door, and a tiny black fluffball attacks it. “Look at this cutie.”
Tattoos rolls his eyes. “As if you’re not adopting a—oh my fucking shit. ” He stops in front of our newest arrival, a giant ball of white fluff with a few strategically placed orange blobs, like the ones on all four paws and around his right eye. “Who’s this squishy marshmallow?”
“He doesn’t have a name yet. He just came in a few days ago. He was left behind when his owners moved out of their apartment, so we don’t have any documentation on him.” The cat flops over when I open his cage, paws in the air, belly on display. The man steps forward without hesitation.
“Oh shit,” he chuckles, ticking his belly. “You’re a cute little fucker.” Lifting one paw, he frowns. “Is it just me, or does he have too many toes?”
I nod. “He’s polydactyl.”
“Poly-what’ll?”
“Polydactyl,” I giggle, watching as he hoists the cat into his arms like a baby. “He’s got an extra toe on each paw, but it doesn’t impact his life.” I scratch at his chin. “Just more of you to love, huh, bud?”
“It’s like he’s wearing mitts. Huh, buddy? That’s what your name should be.” He buries his face in the cat’s belly, and the cat mewls, licking the man’s wavy hair. “Mittens.”
The blond snickers. “Mittens? Wow, big, tough Jaxon.” His mouth opens on a silent scream as his friend’s fist lands square against his shoulder, and he clutches the injured limb while slapping at his friend’s face. “Ow, you donkey!”
The cat—Mittens?—hisses and swats at the blond. The man—Jaxon?—hides his smile in his fur. “Good boy, Mittens.”
I grin at them. “You two would make such a cute couple.”
Jaxon pulls his mortified face from Mittens’ belly. His friend’s jaw drops, and he steps back.
“No, but I—I have—Jennie’s my—I have a Jennie !”
Jaxon gestures at him with one flail-y arm. “And I’m way hotter than him!”