Page 39 of Betting on the Brainiac

A warm feeling floods my chest. “You do?”

“Yeah. Go to work.”

I nod at the phone. “Your boss is okay with the kittens being here?”

She grins. “When are you going to believe me when I tell you that I make the decisions around here?”

“Okay, okay, I’m starting to.”

“Back to work.”

I obey for another two hours, but when Tabitha walks past my table, I take a break to check on the kittens.

Madison has turned the shed into a cat habitat. A crowded one. Maybe she had another delivery, or maybe this was all hiding in her car, but now a scratching post sits in one corner next to a soft cave-looking cat bed with cat ears on top, several bright toys strewn in front of it. Two futuristic-looking machines now face each other from opposite sides of the shed, one about the size of an office wastebasket, the other more like a Keurig machine.

The kittens look sound asleep except the one Madison named Tuxie, who stirs.

“Pspspsps,” I call, and his noggin wobbles as he slowly lifts it. “Come here, little man.” I scoop him up before I examine his new robot overlords. They’re white and sleek with round lines, but one has a large circular opening, and I have a guess what it is. I peer inside: yeah, cat litter. I’m about to investigate the other one when Madison appears at the shed door.

“I needed a break,” I say. “This is not a distraction. I like what you’ve done with the place. Question, though.” I point to the other machine. “Did you get them an espresso maker?”

“Automatic feeder,” she says. “The pet store will deliver anything for you. And that other one is a self-cleaning litterbox.”

It’s none of my business how Madison spends her money, but it seems like overkill for animals that will only be around for a few more days. “You’re still planning to give them to a rescue, right?”

“Of course.”

“Didn’t the stuff kind of . . .”

She tilts her head at me.

“Didn’t it cost a lot?” I finish.

She shrugs. “I figure it’ll sweeten the pot for a rescue to take them if they’re getting cool cat gadgets to go with it.”

That’s generous. “Makes sense. But the bed, Madison?”

She beams. “So cute, right?”

“They have to climb into a giant cat mouth to go to sleep.” I pretend to shudder.

“It’s luxurious. Tabitha is a lady. I can tell she’s used to nice things.”

Tabitha is not a fluffy white angora princess. She is, at best, two steps above a feral alley cat. But sure, let the lady have nice things. I decide not to tease Madison about it anymore. “I need to take off soon. Want help weighing them before I go?”

“Yes, please.” She pulls out the food scale, and in a few minutes, we verify that they’re still growing.

“Are you kitties or piglets?” she asks one of the striped babies, gently tickling its tummy. It gives a sleepy meow. “Guess that answers that. Good job of growing, babies.”

She settles them all down and we leave the shed again, Madison pulling the door shut softly behind us.

“I’m going to install a camera and a motion-activated sensor for the light before your coworkers get here. I won’t be here tomorrow, and I can check the camera on my phone, but do you mind if I text you to check on the kittens?”

“No,” she says. “How come you won’t be here?”

“Meetings.” I hate meetings, but some I can’t miss, and tomorrow we’ve got investors coming to do their due diligence.Prospectiveinvestors, which means I have to spend the day acting like a corporate guy instead of a developer, talking about the product instead of building it. It’s not my favorite, but my partner is adamant that I can’t miss these.

“You won’t be back until Monday?”

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