by Molly Fitz
I nodded again. “Yes, that’s why I thought I could help.”
The lights flickered again, illuminating a small lamp on the edge of Mr. Leavitt’s desk. He studied it for a moment, then frowned thoughtfully. “We’re just as overcrowded with volunteers as we are animals. But I’m afraid it may not be enough.”
My heart dropped straight onto the linoleum floor beneath my chair. “Is everything okay?” I whispered, wishing the sensitive little dog in my lap didn’t have to be here for whatever came next in our conversation.
Mr. Leavitt offered an even wider smile than before. “Of course, everything’s okay. At least it is for now. Just a bit of growing pains, if you will. You see, at present, we have more animals and more staff, but not more money. It makes covering all our expenses a bit tricky, but we’ll manage. We always do.”
Was I actually being dismissed? Had Mr. Leavitt somehow decided that my help wasn’t good enough? That rankled me and suddenly made me desperate to contribute in any way I could.
“That’s good to hear, but still I’d like to do something,” I argued, giving him my best, most placating smile. “Would a donation be better than volunteering right now?”
He shook his head and let out a low sigh. “Oh, no, no, no. You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t trying to suggest—”
I chuckled as I fished around in my purse for my checkbook. Mr. Leavitt was obviously a proud man, but this was a community shelter, and I was part of said community. I owed it to the animals to make sure they had enough to eat, drink, and keep a roof over their heads. “I know you weren’t, but I’m already here anyway and I want to help,” I said with a shrug.
“Well, if you insist, then it would be wrong of me to say no. Thank you so much for being willing to help these wonderful animals.”
Mr. Leavitt told me the information I needed to fill out my check and then accepted it with an outpouring of gratitude. “You’re a good woman, Angie Russo. I can tell this little one is very lucky to have landed a place in your home,” he said, scratching the mostly black Chihuahua in the center of her forehead.
And for once I didn’t argue. Paisley was lucky to have us. I knew that better than ever now that I’d seen the alternative. Now, if only there was something more I could do to help the others who hadn’t yet found their forever homes…
Chapter Five
After writing out the check for my donation, Mr. Leavitt showed me around the shelter and detailed how my gift would help the residents there. I left that afternoon about a thousand dollars lighter and feeling fantastic about it.
It was nice to use my money for something good. Not that it wasn’t great to keep Octo-Cat stocked on all the specialty water, gourmet cat food, and new Apple technology his little kitty heart desired, but this time I was helping dozens of animals in need rather than catering to the spoiled whims of a single pampered pet.
I couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home.
During that drive, Paisley and I also had a little talk about what I could and could not do in front of other people.
“So you can’t talk to animals when other humans are around?” the Chihuahua summed up from her precarious perch on the passenger seat.
“Bingo,” I sang with a huge smile of confirmation, then added, “Unless, of course, it’s Nan, Charles, or someone else we’re close to. Got it?”
“Got it,” she barked, taking a quick moment to stare at me in admiration before putting her front paws up on the windowsill and basking in the fresh breeze blowing through our tiny vehicle.
Back at home, we found Nan listening to showtunes while slathering a tall layer cake with light pink buttercream. “Is that the Hamilton soundtrack?” I guessed, suppressing a laugh when I drew close enough to hear my seventy-year-old-plus grandmother rapping about the founding of our nation.
“That Lin Manuel Miranda is so talented, and so cute, too! If I were thirty-five years younger or he were thirty-five years older, I’d have a half a mind to take off half his clothes and—”
I was quick to shove an index finger in each ear so that I wouldn’t have to listen to the rest of that sentence. “Nan, that’s way more than I ever want to hear about that.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Hey, I may be old, but I’m not dead yet!”
I simply gave her a hug and changed the topic. “Yeah, um, right. So, uh, anyway… Has Octo-Cat come out at all today?”
Nan shrugged as she continued work on her towering bubblegum-colored confection. “Not that I’ve seen. How did things go at the shelter?”
A vision of all those poor caged animals sitting in their dark cages flashed through my mind, eliciting a sad sigh. “I made a donation, but I wish there was something more we could do to help. It’s really crowded in there, and they even lost power while I was visiting.”
“You don’t say,” Nan remarked, biting down on her lip and then spinning the cake before her to make sure it had been fully frosted.
“I wish I hadn’t,” I admitted. “What brought you into that place to begin with? Did you know they were struggling when you went in to adopt Paisley yesterday?”
Nan took off her apron and washed her hands in the kitchen sink, then dried them on an embroidered tea towel. “I sure didn’t, and the lights at least stayed on while I was there, but I did notice the fact that they had more dogs than kennels to put them in.”
“So what made you decide to adopt a dog yesterday then?” I took advantage of her quiet thoughtfulness by grabbing a spoon from the drawer and snagging a spoonful of buttercream to taste.
Nan rolled her eyes playfully and followed me out toward the living room where we both claimed our favorite spots in the large sitting area filled with uncomfortable antique furniture. “Oh, I didn’t decide,” she revealed once we were both settled in our seats. “I just did it.”
“Yup, that sounds about right,” I said with a chuckle. I loved my nan dearly, but it was true that she did first and thought later—if at all. “Well, you picked a good one in Paisley. She’s a real sweet girl.”
“Of course I did. And of course she is,” Nan clucked like a proud mother hen. “Was there ever any doubt?”
“Not at all.”
We made some tea, then chatted for a bit about our plans for the week. Nan was hard at work developing new recipes for her upcoming book. It wasn’t a cookbook, but rather a memoir that would be enhanced with half a dozen of her favorite custom recipes. She was also working on some kind of secret art project that she planned to convert into the book’s eventual cover, but I wasn’t allowed to see that until it was ready.
I had originally planned to work on rustling up some new business for Octo-Cat’s and my new private investigation firm, but now it seemed I’d be spending every waking hour serving as mediator for our two pets as they learned to live in harmony.
“Would you be okay with chicken parmigiana for dinner?” Nan asked with a quick glance toward her new Apple Watch. Octo-Cat’s zeal for all things iTech had spread to me and Nan, too. “We have another couple of hours yet, but it wouldn’t hurt to thaw the meat a bit first.”
As a proud American of half-Italian descent, I was always up for a hearty pasta dish—and everything Nan cooked tasted like Heaven to my untrained taste buds. “You know I love your chicken parmigiana,” I answered without hesitation as I stretched my arms overhead and let out a happy moan in anticipation of that night’s meal.
A loud crash followed by the sound of something fragile shattering on the ground sent us both scrambling to our feet.
“What was that?” Nan shrieked.
“Sounded like it came from the kitchen. C’mon.”
We both rushed in and found little Paisley sniffing a broken pile of china. No, Lenox! Oh, this was not good!
“Was that one of Octo-Cat’s teacups from Ethel?” I shouted, a wicked headache already brewing beneath my temples.
Nan bent down and picked up a shard. “Judging from the floral pattern around the rim, why yes. Yes
, it is.”
“Did you do this, Paisley?” I asked after kneeling down to speak with the dog at her level. “Did you accidentally knock this down?”
“No way. I would never do that!” she barked, wagging her tail affectionately. “I would never break Mommy’s or Nan’s things.”
I believed her. Not just because I knew she wanted to keep us both happy, but also because it didn’t seem possible that she’d be able to jump onto the counter, push off the teacup, and then jump back to the floor without managing to hurt herself.
“Do you think Octavius broke his own cup in protest?” Nan asked, shaking her head in disappointment.
“It seems like something he might do, but he’s been locked in my bedroom the whole day. Remember?”
Nan reached one hand up to scratch her head. “Are you sure you didn’t leave a window open or something?”
“Pretty sure,” I said, even though I couldn’t really be sure of anything at the moment, at least not as far as he was concerned. “But let’s go check and see if he’s still in there.”
“Can I come?” Paisley asked, trailing after us excitedly.
“No, he doesn’t—” I began, but then quickly amended my answer. “You know what, Paze? Yes. Yes, you can come.”
“Oh, joyest of joys!” the Chihuahua sang, racing up both flights of stairs as fast as her diminutive paws could carry her.
“You do realize that the cat is going to be furious with you,” Nan pointed out with a naughty grin.
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m furious with him, too,” I muttered, then took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Chapter Six
We found Octo-Cat sitting on the corner of my bed and staring unhappily into the void. A flurry of striped hairs danced in the sunlight that filtered in through the nearby window. Just looking at the scene made me have to sneeze… and so I did.
“Why so loud?” my cat moaned in response to my achoo, turning toward me with a sneer on his scrunched face.
“Kitty friend!” Paisley cried as she charged toward the bed and took a giant leap upward. All that momentum wasn’t enough to propel her tiny body onto the mattress, however, and she rammed into the side of the bed head-first.
Matters also weren’t helped by Octo-Cat’s decision to take a clawed swipe at her. “Hey, you punk! Let’s get one thing straight. I am not your friend,” he growled and flexed his claws, ready to take a fresh shot at the poor, misguided pup.
“That’s enough, you two!” Nan hurried across the room and grabbed an animal with each arm. “Let’s play nice here. After all, we’re a family.”
Paisley strained to reach Octo-Cat across the short distance, barking happily as she cried, “Brother, brother, brother!”
Octo-Cat mewled demonically, twisting furiously until he at last wriggled free of Nan’s embrace.
As for me? I laughed and laughed hard.
Which only made my cat that much more livid with the lot of us. “Why are you bothering me?” he whined. “Go away.”
“We were wondering if you knew anything about what happened in the kitchen.” I studied him carefully for any glint of recognition.
If Octo-Cat knew anything, though, he didn’t give it away. His face remained an unreadable mask—well, at least behind the thick layer of disdain. “What happened in the kitchen?” he asked with a yawn that smelled like two parts Fancy Feast and one part cat butt.
Oh, boy.
Maybe he actually didn’t know. Maybe I was about to break his poor, aggrieved heart all over again. I thought back to the first time one of Ethel’s heirloom teacups had broken, remembering his utter despair and the touching funeral that had followed.
“Are you going to tell him about the broken teacup, or should I?” Nan asked me with one raised eyebrow.
So much for putting things delicately.
“What broken teacup?” the tabby asked after a sharp gasp, struggling to speak each word with his crackly, suddenly oxygen-starved voice.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I really did mean it. “It was one of Ethel’s. We were all in the living room, when—”
“Enough!” he shouted, turning on me so quickly, I took a reflexive step backward. “It was the dog, and you know it!”
I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes away from the enraged feline. “We thought that at first, but she can’t reach the counters.”
Paisley yelped. “I’m sorry about your teacup, brother!”
“You know, she’s not that much bigger than a rat. It wouldn’t be so hard to snap her neck,” Octo-Cat said through gritted teeth.
“That’s a very bad cat!” I yelled. “How dare you say that about your new sister?”
“She is not my family, and she never will be. Get her out of here if you know what’s good for her… or for you.”
Paisley let out an ear-piercing chain of shrieks and wouldn’t stop.
“There, there, dear one,” Nan sang softly while I glared at my cruel cat companion. It was one thing to be upset, but quite another to threaten such violence.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he rasped with a weighty flick of his dark tail. “You’re the one who’s forcing my paw, and can’t you see I’m grieving my poor, sweet teacup here?”
Nobody said anything as we all stood around my tower bedroom awkwardly. Paisley at least stopped crying, though.
“Get out of here! Go! Leave me in peace!” the distraught tabby shouted at last.
I knew he was upset, but I still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d gone from simply irritated to threatening murder. It was moments like this that made me question whether my life was really better with him in it. Of course, I knew it was silly and that hunting was part of a cat’s nature, but still… How could he be so cold-blooded about it all?
“Fine. We’re going,” I mumbled, then led Nan and Paisley from the room. “Next time we see you, I hope you’ll be a bit more welcoming.”
“Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned,” Nan whispered in my ear once we’d shut the door firmly behind our small party.
“No, it really didn’t.”
We trod down the stairs side by side.
Nan carried Paisley in her arms, not unlike a little baby. “What now?” she asked.
“It looks like we’ll be adding to our teacup cemetery in the backyard. Other than that, I don’t know. We both know he can hold a grudge for a long time, and we also know that Paisley isn’t going anywhere. I guess the only thing we can really do is wait the situation out. And maybe keep a close eye on Paisley while we do.” I hadn’t repeated Octo-Cat’s murmured threats to Nan, and I didn’t plan to, either.
Nan hummed to herself now as she thought about what we might do next. After a few moments, her face lit up and she said, “That may be the only thing we can do about this particular problem, but there’s more than one way to… Oh, dear, that is a terrible expression, especially in light of current events. What I mean is there’s more than one problem that needs solving.”
“The shelter?” I asked, my voice cracking on the first syllable of that second word.
My grandmother nodded. “You mentioned how much they’re in dire need, and I just so happen to have some extra money left over from selling the old house to Charles. Perhaps it’s time I made a donation of my own.”
She was right. Donating had made me feel so much better earlier that day, and at least the shelter wanted to be helped, unlike Octo-Cat. “Hmm. How late do they stay open? It’s almost dinner time now.”
This didn’t stop Nan, however. “I’ll run down now and give it a try,” she said. “If they’re already closed for the day, I’ll head over again first thing in the morning.”
I stopped walking and put an arm on Nan’s shoulder before she could head down the grand staircase to the main floor. “Oh, no you don’t! There’s no way I’m letting you go on your own. Remember what happened last time you visited the animal shelter unsupervised?”
“Of course I do,
” Nan said with an impish grin, lifting Paisley in her arms and giving the little dog a kiss on her nose. “But was it really so bad? I mean, look at this sweet girl!”
“Depends on who you ask,” I said, then motioned back toward my room with a beleaguered sigh.
“Be right back,” Nan informed me as she turned away from the staircase and shot down the hall to her bedroom. “I need a quick change of costume.”
When Nan joined me downstairs a few minutes later, she was wearing a hot pink T-shirt that read Dog Mom across the chest. Both Os had been fashioned to look like paw prints.
“When did you have time to get that?” I asked with a chuckle.
“Overnight shipping, dear,” was her reply as she rummaged about in the coat closet and extracted a matching pink leash for Paisley along with a…
“A spiked collar? For your five-pound Chihuahua? Really?” Now I was laughing in earnest. Just because I was never surprised by my grandmother’s antics didn’t mean they weren’t hilarious.
Nan lowered herself to the floor and patted her lap. “Well, why not?” she mumbled while she worked on sizing the collar appropriately for Paisley’s thin neck. “For all we know, the heart of a warrior beats within this tiny body.”
I blew a raspberry. “Um, I can talk to her. Remember?”
“I’m a warrior!” the dog exclaimed enthusiastically, lapping up all the attention. “I’m a big, brave dog!”
I just shook my head. These two were clearly perfect for each other, and I was so, so happy for them.
Chapter Seven
I felt like the odd one out, given that my two companions had decked themselves out in a vibrant matching shade of pink while I wore a black polka-dotted blouse and flippy yellow skirt. On the way out the door, Nan had decided to pair her T-shirt with silver sling-back kitten heels, and I’d thrown on my favorite battered combat boots. As usual, we made quite the interesting pair. Throw in the Chihuahua, and we were practically a walking fashion show—or at least a reality TV show.
