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)
“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?”
“It’s Prince Francis,” I half mumble.
“How regal! I look forward to meeting Prince Francis tonight then! Have a wonderful afternoon, Miles. Meow for now!” And with that she hangs up.
chapter two
ROYALLY HISSED
Kitty
Don’t do it! Don’t you do it, Mr. Munchies!” I’m on the other side of the room, with a good twelve feet separating us. I can’t move fast enough to grab him before he knocks the vase of fresh flowers off the mantel, but I have other ways to deal with mischievous kitties.
His white-and-orange paw is raised in the air, little toe beans twitching. My hand is in my pocket, finger on the trigger. I need to be quicker on the draw than he is on the paw. I pull the baby-blue squirt gun free from my pocket, grateful that it doesn’t get caught on the inside of my cardigan this time. His eyes round and he rears back slightly as I close one eye and take aim and hit him directly in the face with the stream of cold water.
He yowls angrily and leaps off the mantel, knocking over a picture frame in the process, his tail swatting the vase, which teeters precariously for several terrifying seconds before it stills. I exhale a relieved breath and then groan at the sound of something crashing to the floor in the other room.
Most of the time I love my job, but dealing with cats who behave like wild teenagers is not my favorite. Although they’re often the same level of herdable.
I rush through the living room to the kitchen and suck in a horrified breath as I spot Hogwarts on the floor, pieces scattered all over the place. One of Mr. Munchies’s humans, Jeff, is a huge Lego fan. When he’s had a particularly difficult day, he comes home and unwinds by building something. Over the past several weeks he’s been working on Hogwarts. It’s quite detailed, with several buildings. The entire kitchen table is occupied by the project. Except now Hufflepuff’s dorm is no more.
I spot Mr. Munchies on the other side of the room, hiding behind the garbage can. I take aim, but he’s too fast, rushing off down the hall in a bid to escape the stream of water I’ve just shot at him. It misses, hitting the wall instead.
I sigh and slip the water gun back in my pocket, then check the time. I have half an hour to clean up this mess and drive across town to meet my potential new kitty and his human caretaker.
As I bend and start pushing the scattered Legos into a pile, my knee hits the floor, and a tiny plastic piece bites into the skin. Three more times I accidentally step on the camouflaged pieces and yelp in pain. I’m used to being scratched, and even bitten on occasion, but stepping on Legos is its own brand of torture.
Mr. Munchies makes another appearance, and when he’s sure I’m not going to spray him again, he rubs himself on my legs, meowing his apology for knocking over the Lego creation and causing me pain with all the Lego shrapnel. He steps on a piece, too, then does a donkey kick to unstick it from his paw. Once it’s free, he drops down on his butt, flops onto his side, splays his toe beans, gives them a lick, and then goes to work on his privates.
“Mr. Munchies, your manners are the worst.” I poke him in the side, and he lifts his head long enough to give me a disgruntled look, as if it’s my fault I’m cleaning up Legos while he’s in the middle of washing his furry nuts.
It’s hard to stay mad at him, though. This is his way of telling me he wants attention and that he doesn’t like being left alone. I get it. Loneliness and boredom are two emotions I’m not fond of either. Although, with cats like Mr. Munchies to take care of, I’m rarely bored. Lonely is different, because we can be surrounded by people or pets we love and still experience that hollow ache sometimes.
Once the Lego pieces are back on the table, I email Jeff to tell him about the mishap and that I hope I got all the pieces. I leave two small spray bottles on the edge of the kitchen table to deter Mr. Munchies from jumping back up, give him a few extra pets, and feed him dinner. But I forgo the treats because of his naughty behavior and then lock up behind me.
I’ve only been caring for Mr. Munchies for a few weeks, so he’s a work in progress. He’s getting better, but it’s a slow process.