Page 28 of Passenger Princess

“I saw her scurry across the sidewalk," she says with a cringe. "I know, I know you told me to stay, but just look at her. She's so sweet.”

"We have to call a shelter," I say.

Her eyes go wide and pleading, a hand reaching out as she grabs me, stopping my hand from moving anymore. “No, Jaime. No! Please. I love her. I need her. She was meant to be mine! She fits the entire aesthetic.”

I take a deep breath. “You can't just keep a stray cat because she fits your aesthetic.”

"Why not?"

“Because...you can't. And what if she’s someone else’s cat, Ava?” I ask, my voice a bit softer because she's getting upset now, eyes going wide and watering, and I don’t need a crying woman on my hands.

It’s absolutely not because she’s endearing and I don’t like that sad look on her face.

“I’ll bring her to a vet tonight! We’re off anyway, we don’t have a rush. You said we won't leave for the next stop until tomorrow afternoon. I'll bring her to a vet, and they’ll scan her for a chip or whatever. But just look at her, Jaime. Do you really think this is someone’s house pet?”

The kitten is underfed, dirty, and has a cut on her ear. It’s clear, at the very least, she’s been out on the streets for a good part of her short life.

“Please, Jaime?” Somehow, her big blue eyes go wider, her pout getting bigger, and it's like she’s putting a spell on me.

I sigh, my entire body going loose. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, but this time I ask it to the sky.

God doesn’t answer.

I tip my head back down and look at Ava for long moments, trying to weigh my options before I sigh again and speak. “Find a vet.”

“Really!?” she says, excitement filling her face.

“We’re on the road by 4 p.m. tomorrow,” I say with a glare, my attempt at being stern that I’m sure goes right over this woman’s head. “If you can’t get that…thing situated by then, she goes to a shelter.”

“Jaime, I can’t just give her up. Look how much she loves me.”

“And she’ll love whoever gets her from the shelter if you can’t ensure she doesn’t have any kind of fucking disease.”

One hand goes to her hip, the other holds the cat, and she stares me down. “But if she doesn’t, you’re saying I can keep her?”

I feel as if she's a little kid who found a stray and is begging her parents to let her keep it, but I guess that's what's happening. I stare at her, her eyes wide with pleading, then to the kitten, somehow already asleep in her hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I shift my gaze back at her once more, her face full of excitement and hope.

I can’t crush her.

And really, how much work could a kitten be?

“Yeah. You can keep her if she's healthy,” I say with a begrudging sigh.

She jumps, waking the cat in her arms, squealing and looping one arm over my neck, holding me close. The smell of brown sugar and vanilla swirls around me as she presses her body to mine, then her lips to my cheek.

“Thank you, Jaime.”

FIFTEEN

AVA

By some kind of magic, I get a vet appointment that night. Jaime drives us both to the office, where I’m told to leave her overnight for some tests and to get a few cuts cleaned and stitched up. Some of the tests won’t be in for a few days, but the vet agreed to expedite any she could, promising she’d let me know if it was safe to take Princess Peach on tour with us by noon.

Luckily, she gets cleared for our big adventure. It turns out she’s actually a very sweet, very undernourished six-month-old kitten who was probably born on the streets but, to her trained eye, seems relatively healthy otherwise.

When we walk out of the vet smiling (me) and purring (Peach), Jaime glares as he opens the door for me.

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