Page 82 of Hold the Pickle

“I don’t know.” Her voice is tear-filled. “They’ll have to let us pack.”

“We’re going to lose the deposit.”

“I’ll scrape up another one.”

I’ll have to scrape, too. I lie back on the carpet and stare at the ceiling. I don’t begrudge Nadia for saving the kittens, not in the least. But they sure have made our situation much more complicated.

27

NADIA

Dalton and I call everywhere for two days, looking for a new place. Everything is too expensive, or they won’t let us keep the cats.

I consider trying to part with them and call the rescues again. I even offer to volunteer in their offices, do administrative work to help pay for them.

One of them is willing to take only the kittens, and another only the Mama Cat, but I can’t bear to separate them, so I do nothing.

I’m alone in the apartment on the 16th when I get a hard knock on the door.

I peer out the blinds. It’s Evan from the office, plus a man from maintenance.

They’re here.

What if I pretend I’m not?

I text Dalton as I sit quietly on the sofa, pausing only to occasionally snatch a kitten before it can mess with the blinds and show itself.

Me: Evan and a maintenance guy are here. What do I do?

I don’t expect an answer, but as the time lengthens and there’s another knock, louder this time, I panic a little more.

Me: I know you won’t get a message while you’re with patients and I don’t expect an answer. I’m nervous. They have keys to get in here. That’s probably why Evan brought maintenance.

Miraculously, I get a message back.

Dalton: Grab the cats and go in the bathroom. Turn on the shower. They’ll back out even if they come in.

That’s a good idea. I snatch up the open crate and dump all the kittens and a surprised Mama Cat into it. Catzilla is startled by my sudden movements and dashes under the bed.

Close enough.

I race into the bathroom and set the box down, lunging for the faucets.

I’ve barely got the spray going when the kittens leap out and start sniffing around.

I lock the door and sit by it, listening, petting the cats so they won’t make noise.

Maybe the front door opens. Maybe it doesn’t. The spray is loud.

It’s possible I hear voices. But maybe not.

I wait until it gets steamy and uncomfortable in the bathroom, then I twist off faucets. I’m wasting water.

And I wait some more.

Dalton: Hiding in the supply closet to check on you. What’s happening?

Me: Also hiding. Still in the bathroom.

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