Page 22 of Complete Me

9

Xander

Two weeks after our discussion about pets, Bjorn, Kaino, and I climb out of Bjorn’s Range Rover and walk toward a beige cement block building with Tails and Toe Beans painted in large bubble font on the side. There’s absolutely nothing else remarkable about the place, except perhaps the incredibly loud and excited barking coming from somewhere behind the privacy fence. I eye the place skeptically. “You’d really want to work here?” Bjorn told us about his plans to retire from the police force and a few of the options he’s considering as a replacement.

He walks around the front of the vehicle and takes my hand, leading me toward the front of the building. “Wait until we get inside. You’ll love it.”

I sincerely doubt that, but keep my opinion to myself. It doesn’t help that I’m feeling a bit out of my element. Bjorn insisted we wear something we don’t mind getting dirty. As if I have a wardrobe of that kind of clothing. After much cursing and sorting through everything at least three times, I settled on a pair of somewhat older blue jeans and a gray cotton sweater over a denim button-down shirt. On my feet are the only pair of canvas shoes I own. Bjorn insisted my footwear should be washable. The entire experience so far has me stressed and wondering what we’re walking into. Kaino seems to know what I’m thinking because they have a mischievous sparkle in their eyes. “You look very nice.” They brush their fingertips down my arm, and I’m so shocked that I almost stop walking. “Your sweater is soft.”

“Thank you.” I stutter-step forward, somehow managing to maintain momentum without tripping. Much.

Bjorn swings the door open, ushering us inside. “Welcome to Tails and Toe Beans.”

I take a tentative sniff, expecting the heavy, acrid scent of urine, or wet dog, or both, possibly overlaid with heavy floral air freshener to mask all of it. Instead, there’s a distinct scent of pine cleaner and bleach. While not my favorite aroma, it’s preferable to what I’d been anticipating.

Bjorn leads us down a brightly lit corridor that ends in a larger, somewhat cozy room with a reception counter and several other doors leading who knows where. A shortish woman in her mid to late thirties, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved, moss-green polo with the shelter’s logo on the left chest area is behind the counter. “Hi. I’m Sandy. How can I help you?”

Bjorn gifts her with one of his casually disarming smiles and leans on the counter. “Hi Sandy. I’m Bjorn. And this is Kaino and Xander.” He points at each of us in turn. “We’re here for a few hours of volunteering. I spoke with Kathy on the phone, and we filled out the questionnaire and quiz, and we’re ready to go.”

Sandy pulls a clipboard from under the counter and runs her finger down the sheet, nodding at something on the page. “Here you are. Okay, you’re scheduled for an hour in the cat room first, then an hour with the dogs. Brad is your volunteer guide. He’ll answer any questions you have and help if anything comes up with one of the animals.”

If anything comes up? What does that mean? I turn to Kaino. “What might come up? Are these animals sick?”

Sandy answers my question, though I’m not actually sure she heard me. “We might have visitors looking to adopt, at which point we’ll want them to meet the animals.” Oh. Well, that makes sense. Why didn’t she lead with that?

“What will we be doing?” Bjorn told us we’d be playing with the animals, but part of me can’t help wondering if we’ll be scrubbing out cages or on pooper scooper duty. Doody duty? I groan because that’s Bjorn-level bad.

Sandy glances back at her clipboard. “You’re assigned to the playrooms. So that means interacting with the animals, helping them socialize. If things go well today, and you want to continue volunteering, the next step would be our formal training program. That requires a commitment of two hours each week for six weeks, where you learn about the care and handling of the animals. We can get into more details later, if it’s warranted.” The way she’s phrasing things makes me wonder how many people volunteer and don’t come back.

One of the other doors opens, and a young man in his early twenties joins us. He’s wearing the same polo and jeans uniform as Sandy. “Hey.” He nods in our direction. “These my new recruits?”

“Yep. Bjorn, Xander, and Kaino. This is Brad.” We all acknowledge each other with a head nod or wave as Sandy introduces us. “Brad’s going to take you into the cat room. If you have any questions or issues, he’s your guy.”

Brad jerks his head the way he came and opens the door. “Okay, let’s go meet some cats.”

Both Bjorn and Kaino seem relaxed, almost eager, as they follow Brad into the playroom, but I can’t shake the low grade anxiety. What if the cats hate me? What if they love Bjorn and Kaino, and none of them wants to play with me? I give myself a mental kick in the pants. What am I, five? Get a grip, Xander.

“Why don’t you all have a seat on the benches, and I’ll get the cats.” Brad gestures to a kind of modern art piece that’s the same moss green as the employee shirts. It’s situated in the middle of the twenty by twenty foot room, and does have flat surfaces, which I supposed could be seating, but it looks incredibly uncomfortable.

Brad disappears through a different door as Bjorn plops himself down on the bench, grinning. “This is going to be great.”

I’m still not so sure. I sit between him and Kaino, my anxiety growing. Brad opens the door wide enough for several cats to bound into the room, some making straight for a cat tree in the corner, others diving onto toys on the play mats. A few saunter toward us, curious but a bit hesitant. We all sit still, waiting to see what they do. I glance at Brad, who is trying to coax a cat into the room. When the tiny black head pokes around the doorframe, and I get a look at the big green eyes, my heart melts. “Oh, baby!” The kitten blinks at me and scoots into the room, hop-jumping across the floor toward us. I hold my breath, hoping it picks me to play with, though I can see it looking at Bjorn. It pounces near our feet, peering up at us. When it starts to climb my pant leg, I exhale in relief, ignoring the sharp pain as its little claws slice right through the denim and into my skin. “Oooh, that’s not a good idea.” I carefully detach the sharp claws, then brush my cheek against the soft fur of its face. “Hello, sweetheart.” The kitten purrs, and I’m in heaven. After a quick snuggle, I do a gender check.

Brad laughs. “She’s a girl.”

“Well, young lady, it’s time to put the claws away.” I deposit her on my shoulder, and her soft purrs rumble in my ear.

Kaino reaches out and strokes her. “She likes you.” They’re looking at the kitten with such a soft expression, and for one very brief moment, I consider putting her on their shoulder. I don’t actually do that, though. She picked me, and I’m not going to second guess her. She ducks under my bun and creeps to my opposite shoulder, batting at loose strands as if they’re bits of yarn or string. Kaino snorts. “It’s a built-in cat toy. How convenient.”

I glare at them. “Shush.” They grin and scratch under the kitten’s chin. It brings their face close to mine, and I inhale the spice of their cologne, ignoring the impulse to nuzzle behind their ear. Not only might it not be welcome, this is not the place for that. I can let them know I like their cologne, though. “You smell good.” My voice is soft and even so I don’t scare the cat. Or Kaino.

They turn their face, and our lips are only inches apart. “Thanks.” Their mouth quirks up at the corner. “It’s my shower gel.”

Bjorn leans in. “Feeling left out over here. Anyone want to mumble soft things in my direction? I wouldn’t mind. And who is this little beauty?” He strokes the kitten’s back. “Does she have a name?”

Brad answers. “We’re calling her Sid. Short for obsidian.”

I gasp. “Oh my god, that’s perfect!” She bats at my hair again and gets a claw stuck. I wince and Bjorn comes to the rescue, detangling her before placing her in my outstretched hands. I bring her to my face and nuzzle into her soft fur. “She’s so sweet.” I look hopefully at Bjorn. “Do you think she’d get along with Bingley?”

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