Page 37 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

Harrison: That’s fine. Walter will let them up to the penthouse.

Fallon: Thanks.

Harrison: And Fallon…happy holidays.

I’ve just settled onto the couch to watch a murder mystery, armed with a bowl of popcorn mixed with Sour Patch Kids and a bottle of Diet Coke, when I hear a strange mewling sound.

What was that?

I shake it off, attributing it to my imagination running wild after a long day of preparing for the catering event I have scheduled for tomorrow.

My forehead creases when I hear the unmistakable sound of a cat meowing. I’m ready to dismiss it as my mind playing tricks until I hear it again.

I scramble off the couch, gripped with fear, as I follow the noise into the kitchen. My overactive imagination runs wild with potential headlines:

Woman Found Ambushed by Psychopathic Cat in Penthouse.

Penthouse Horror: Woman Attacked by a Ruthless Feline.

Cat Burglar Strikes Again: Woman Finds Feline Thief in Penthouse.

This is what I get for watching horror movies and listening to true crime podcasts—my mind running off the rails at the slightest noise.

When I round the corner, I come to an abrupt stop when I see a black-and-white cat on the kitchen counter, devouring the leftover salmon from dinner that I had set aside for a test recipe.

The cat is a pitiful sight, with a wiry coat, barely covering its bony frame. Its fur is matted with dirt and grime, and one of its ears is jagged and half-missing. A striking black patch of fur surrounds its left eye, lending the cat an edge of mystery. If you look past its disheveled appearance, it’s kind of cute.

As I inch forward, the cat lifts its head mid-bite, fixing me with a glare and letting out a low hiss, warning me to keep my distance.

I hold up my hand in a show of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I vow. “Just curious how you got in here and when.”

Great, now I’m talking to a cat.I really should get out more.

I rest my chin in my hand, unsure of what to do next. Then, an idea hits me, and I dash into the living room to grab my phone and send a quick message before heading back to the kitchen.

Lila’s tied up with a wedding today, so I text her to avoid interrupting her if she’s busy.

Fallon: Help! There’s a cat in Harrison’s kitchen and I have no idea what to do.

Lila: Is that a kinky metaphor I’m not familiar with?

Fallon: Very funny. There’s a literal cat eating my leftover salmon.

I snap a photo and send it to her.

Lila: He’s a little straggly but still adorable. Why didn’t you tell me Harrison had a cat sooner?

Fallon: Because he didn’t tell me.

Lila: Are you sure it’s even his? It looks like a stray.

Fallon: He lives in a penthouse, forty floors up. How would a stray cat get in here?

Unless…

Fallon: Oh my god, I think Harrison found a cat and left it here for me to deal with while he’s in Aspen Grove for the holidays.

Lila: LOL

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