Page 14 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

I see my cell phone sitting on one of the shelves next to the bag containing the cat stuff Logan gave me.

Reaching for it, I notice something that makes me frown. “Uh-oh.”

There’s another bag inside the one Logan gave me last night: kitty litter.

My heart sinks. “Shit.”

I don’t even want to think about where she may have peed during the night. Visions of yellow stains on my sofa and puddles in my shoes flash through my mind.

I open another can of cat food and put it on the floor. “If you want to eat, you can do it from the can. Consider yourself lucky I’m feeding you after the stunt you pulled last night.”

She looks at the can, then at me, then back at the can. Her whiskers twitch, and for a moment, I think she might turn up her nose and leave. But hunger wins out over pride because she approaches the can and begins to eat.

I unlock my cell and see the screen light up with notifications. Ten missed calls from Tom. My boss, the manager of Little Caesars, has called me at least ten times and left tenvoicemails. The most urgent thing on my plate right now is to go to him and beg him not to fire me.

“At least one of us is enjoying breakfast,” I mutter, heading for my bedroom.

Pulling on my clothes, I try to think of the best words to use with Tom when I see him. What excuse could cover missing a delivery, wrecking a company scooter, and disappearing without a word?

The truth is out of the question.

Of course, I haven’t done laundry in what feels like weeks, and the only clean outfit I can find is a pair of jeans with a mysterious stain on the thigh and one of those awful Christmas sweaters that no one wears willingly. It was a gift from my mom, featuring a smiling Santa with a pom-pom on his hat that lights up if you press it. Perfect professional attire for begging to keep my job.

With a sigh of resignation, I head for the door and grab my Little Caesars uniform jacket from the hall closet. It might smell of pepperoni and disappointment, but at least it’ll cover up Santa’s flashing face.

I cast a quick look around for the cat but don’t see her. Given her previous behavior, I have no doubt she’ll find at least twenty new ways to make my life even more hellish by the time I get back.

Closing and locking the door behind me, I step out onto the landing, uttering a silent prayer that I won’t run into my landlord. The last thing I need is another lecture about being late with the rent.

The stairwell is mercifully empty, and I manage to make it out of the building without anyone yelling at me or threatening to throw me and my meager possessions onto the street.

I heave a sigh of relief when I see my scooter parked next to the curb, right where Logan must have put it. It’s not in that badof shape, considering what it’s been through. Sure, it’s got a few scratches and dents, and the Little Caesars’ logo on the side is partially obscured by a scrape, but overall, it looks better than I remember.

I switch on the ignition, sending a hopeful prayer to whatever deity might be listening.

Nothing. Not even a sputter.

I try again, turning the key with more force, as if that might convince the engine to cooperate. Still nothing but silence.

“Come on, don’t do this to me,” I plead, patting the handlebars. “I really need you right now.”

But the scooter remains obstinately lifeless.

Defeated, I climb off. I’ll have to push it the five blocks to the pizza place. Uphill. Because, of course, it is.

By the time the garish yellow and orange sign comes into sight, I’m drenched in sweat and exhausted, and the Santa on my sweater is mocking me with its cheerful expression.

Tom comes running out of the store like a man possessed. His face is an alarming shade of red, and the vein in his forehead is throbbing visibly.

“What the hell happened?” he yells, his voice carrying across the parking lot. “Why did I have to deal with a pissed-off customer last night?”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I hasten to say, holding up my hands. “There was an accident and?—”

But his attention shifts from my face to the scooter I’m still pushing. His eyes widen, and if possible, his complexion darkens further.

“What the hell?” he shouts, gesturing wildly at the vehicle. Spittle flies from his mouth. “How did you manage to ruin the scooter? Not only did you lose us a customer, you destroyed one of our scooters!”

“It’s not that bad,” I say weakly, giving the handlebars a little pat.

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