Page 3 of Lane's Lost Kitten

When we were together, she’d always been annoyed by my efforts to take care of her. Seemed we were both natural caregivers. Rob loved that she laid out his clothes for special occasions and watched his diet to make sure he didn’t eat more butter than bread.

First time they brought me a basket of beautiful lettuce, a bug hopped out of it, and they nearly fell over laughing at my shock. They truly were two peas in a homesteading pod. And they were both my friends now, which was great but also reminded me that I had not found my pod-mate yet.

Still there? she texted.

Yeah, sorry. Just figuring out what I need to do on a unit.

Funny, I had no idea you had all those skills when we were together.

No. Neither did I.

We chatted back and forth a bit more, and then I had to message the electrician and said goodbye to Meri. She was probably off to feed the chickens or something. She really loved those chickens.

I poured my second cup of coffee. She’d always been a tea girl. I should have known we were incompatible.

Chapter Three

Lane

Bringing Cat-terine home was the best thing ever. She was adorable beyond words and, for some reason, she picked me. Funny how I thought I was going to go to the shelter and find myself a cat only to have none of the say when it came down to it.

Before I even looked, I’d picked up the cat necessities, everything from a fancy cat litter pan that cleaned itself, to a water dish that was a tiny waterfall, to feathers on a little pole. But everything I’d purchased was cat, not kitten, specific, and a second trip was going to be needed.

“Sweet girl, this is your new home.” I brought her into the room where the cat litter was. The nice people at the shelter had given me instructions like letting her see it, showing her where her food was, etc. I followed their directions and sat back to let her be alone and explore. The day was huge for her. She’d gone from the shelter, into a cardboard box, for a car ride, and now was in a brand-new place. It was probably going to be a while before she settled in.

They also said one of the big things to do was to keep her in a single room for two to five days so she could get used to everything. Given how small my apartment was, I figured it would be fine to let her roam. If it looked like it was overwhelming her, though, I’d figure something else out.

I sat down on the couch and turned on the television in the background. In my mind, the TV was a signal that I was “busy” and not staring at her. Did cats ever worry about that? Probably not, but also maybe? I wasn’t willing to risk it. I wanted to give her a perfect life.

“I want you to be happy here,” I murmured as the movie played softly. I hadn’t even paid attention to which one it was. One of the Batmans. That was all I knew.

I kept my eye on her and spent my time scrolling on my phone, looking for all the things that I’d most likely never need as a kitten owner nor would she want. I planned to get them all anyway. Among other things, I found a little cardboard house they said was perfect for kittens learning how to scratch—the theory being that it was far better for them to scratch cardboard than my couch. I had a hard time thinking of her as being destructive. Kittens were adorable balls of fluff, but they didn’t stay that way for long.

From there, I grabbed a bunch of toys and a new collar small enough for her. I even contemplated getting a bell for that but ultimately decided it might be going a little too far. Besides, I didn’t need to hear her coming in. The final thing that went in the cart was a little felt mushroom that had a tiny bed inside for her. According to the review, it was 50/50 whether the cats loved the little house or preferred the box it came in. In both cases, the cats loved it, and that worked for me.

When I set my phone down, she was at my feet, looking up. “Did you want to come sit with me?”

She opened her mouth and let out this little almost meow.

“You’re just too adorable. I cannot even.” I picked her up and set her on my chest. She curled up on my shoulder, lay down, and the two of us watched a movie together.

We spent the rest of my week of adjustment bonding. Aside from that, I rearranged things in the apartment to work better, did some exploring of the neighborhood, and contemplated getting one of those kitten backpacks so that she could come with me everywhere. I wasn’t sure she’d like it, but it would be fun. It was currently living on my wish list while I decided.

I scoped out the grocery store, the pizza place where I had my first dinner here, as well as an all-you-can-eat, all-day-long-breakfast-serving diner. It wasn’t like where I came from, but I could see myself getting used to it here.

My first day of work was spent in HR, going over paperwork, watching training videos, and learning all the things I shouldn’t do because they might get the company sued and or me fired. I still didn’t have a feel for how much I was going to like or not like the job, but at least all the Is were dotted and Ts were crossed and all of my initial trainings were behind me.

The next day, I was going to get my desk and meet the others in my area. That was when the real discovery would begin.

I grabbed a chicken sandwich and a salad on the way home, not wanting to bother cooking. And when I got inside, the first thing I did was place the bag on the counter and look for the cat.

Normally, I found her in one of two places—staring at me basically right at the door or sitting on a towel in front of my dresser. Out of all the way-too-fancy things I bought her—that towel was her favorite, and, technically, it wasn’t for her. But it had a cat on it, so close enough, I supposed.

The first time she discovered it, I’d dropped it on my way to putting things away, and she had claimed it as her own, and I didn’t have the heart to take it away from her. But today, she wasn’t in either place.

I called her name while I looked behind furniture and the refrigerator, in the drawers, in the closet. I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find her. She’d somehow gotten out. Maybe the city needed to inspect the place, and she followed them when they left. No. That didn’t make sense. My landlord would’ve told me it was happening.

And for now, it didn’t matter how she got out. She had, and I needed to find her.

---