Page 38 of Betting on the Brainiac

Whoops. “Sorry, what?”

She repeats herself. “Let’s figure out if we can even make an exit for Tabitha, and if we can, we can move them out here and test the sound.” She points to the far wall and a vent cover a few inches below the ceiling. “What about that vent up there? It backs up to the property wall, which is probably about six feet high. If we uncover the vent and make it easy for Tabitha to get to it, can she do whatever cat mama things she needs to do?”

“You want me to set that up or do you want me to research if Tabitha would even use it?”

“I’ll call Mrs. Lipsky,” she says. “How about you be Bob the Builder?”

“On it.”

I move toward the vent while she steps outside to call Mrs. Lipsky. By the time she comes back in, Madison’s stomach gets loud. I politely ignore it and gesture for her to inspect my engineering. Tabitha has a ramp straight up to the bins below the vent, and it’s an easy jump from there to get out. It’s only about a foot down to the outside fence, so she can come and go as she likes. I’m not sure why I have faith in a cat who got her own babies stuck halfway between the ceiling and floor inside the club, but I do.

We do a sound test. I shuttle the kittens out in the carrier. Once we’re in the shed, I text Madison. A moment later, I feel more than I hear a soft rhythmic thumping. When I close my eyes and imagine sleeping, I don’t think it would be an issue forme, but it’s Tabitha that matters here. She’s sitting beside the carrier, her tail twitching, eyes fixed on me.

Too loud or okay?

Watching Tabitha. Give it a few minutes.

Madison changes the song, which changes the beat. Smart. Tabitha doesn’t show any reaction. After another minute, she gets up to explore the shed, sniffing around the edges of the bins.

Seems okay. Bring kibble?

Madison taps on the shed door a couple minutes later before opening it. I can hear the music slightly more, but it’s almost like hearing the shape of a sound more than the sound itself.

She closes the door behind her and tilts her head, listening and watching Tabitha conduct her exploration. “It’s not bad at all.”

“She seems fine with it,” I say. “Kittens are asleep. I want to get her up the ramp so she knows how to get in and out.”

“Good plan.” Madison holds out her clenched hand and I meet it with mine, cupped so she can drop the food into it. Her fingertips graze the heel of my hand, and the touch shoots straight up my arm like an electric current.

She walks over to Tabitha, like she didn’t feel a thing.

“I’ll give her a couple pieces while you make a trail to the vent,” she says, crouching to offer Tabitha the food.

Three minutes later, Tabitha is at the top of the ramp, sniffing the outdoors through the uncovered vent.

“This should work,” Madison says. “I’ll put some kibble on the wall outside, and if it disappears, we can assume she’s got it all figured out.”

“How about leaving the back door of the club cracked so she can wander in if she wants? Or do you have to worry about theft?”

She watches Tabitha examine her penthouse exit. “I’ll risk it. We have security cameras, so if anyone does sneak in, at least the police will know who murdered us.”

“Probably an honor killing to avenge Itsy-Bitsy.”

She turns to glare at me. “I’m telling you, she had it coming.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “You’re a reasonable woman. I believe you.”

“So anyway, when I called Mrs. Lipsky, she said I have to make the shed an environment no cat would ever want to leave so Tabitha won’t move the babies again.” She takes my shoulders and turns me, pointing me toward the shed door. “You are going back inside to work while I figure that out.”

I obey for about ten minutes until I hear her talking in the storage room and go to investigate.

“—so I’ll be using the shed for the kittens, Heinrich.” She sees me, points to the phone at her ear, and holds up her finger to indicate she’s almost done. She nods, and finishes with “Of course I’ll send a picture for Ilsa. Yes, I’ll include mama cat. You too.Tschüss.”

She lowers the phone. “Back to work, Oliver.”

“You’re not my boss.”

“I know that, but if I keep letting you get distracted, you’re not going to want to work in here anymore, and I like having you here.”

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