Page 35 of Betting on the Brainiac

“I think you like Tabitha the best of all of them.”

“Just being a decent human.” But his half smile tells me I’m onto him.

He heads back to his desk, and I settle into mine to become an official Cat Lady and Rescue Diva.

The transformation takes about two hours, several Google searches, even more calls, and a cuddle with every kitten. Fine, two cuddles. Each. But at the end of those two hours, as a single woman who currently possesses five cats and a whole lot of information about what to do with them next, I’m definitely a Cat Lady.

Every time Oliver comes to pet the cats, he makes up a reason he’s there. First, he was “stretching his legs.” Then he was doing code enforcement on the acoustic ceiling tiles. By the time he shows up to inspect my Post-its for stickiness, I have some answers.

“The rescues around here are full, but I found one that will work on finding some fosters.” I explain everything I’ve learned, but the upshot is that it would be best if we could keep them until they secure a foster, which will take at least a few days and possibly up to a week.

“I’ll take them back to my apartment on Thursday before it gets busy here.”

I appreciate the offer, but his expression is half-distracted, and I get the sense that he’s already thinking through how that will complicate his weekend. “How about if we make that a backup plan and wait and see if any of the rescues come through?”

“Good idea.”

“Cool. Then it’s time to weigh the kittens. Want to help?”

He shrugs. “Cuddling kittens is unmanly, but I’ll do it if you need me to.”

“You can make grunting noises and drop pointless F-bombs if that will help you with the manliness.”

“I don’t like those things. Any other ideas?”

“Maybe puff up your chest like you just did a bunch of bench presses while you hold them?”

He pops his chest out, not that it makes much of a difference in his hoodie. “This will be manly enough.”

“You don’t have to cuddle the kittens. You can hold the scale while I weigh them.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s manly to handle wild animals.”

We both look down at the napping kittens and Tabitha’s lazily twitching tail.

“Scary,” I say.

Face grim, he nods. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

When they all weigh around a half ounce heavier, we high-five.

“We’re heroes. We need capes,” I tell him.

“Can I have a badge instead?”

“More manly?”

“Obviously.”

“Fine. You can have a badge.”

He tucks one of the tabbies against his chest and strokes its tiny ear with his thumb. “I’m invested in projecting tough manliness at all times.”

I smile and glance at the time on my phone. I’m due at the store to do some bookkeeping. “I need to run. You okay if I take off? You’re not going to try to take the kittens home again?”

“Will I get another badge if I do?”

“You’ll get another badge if you don’t.”

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