Page 71 of Pack Scratch Fever
The smellof sardine juice permeates the shopping center.
You would think by now I would be used to the fishy smell, but it’s still awful.
It’s the best bait to catch feral cats for a reason—the scent is pungent and it carries.
“So gross,” Blair murmurs. “Why are cats always attracted to stinky things?” She sets the final trap and steps back, admiring our handiwork. “I texted Nora—she knows to check on the traps in a few hours and drop them off at the clinic. We should be able to catch that tomcat right away and hopefully the two girls.”
I nod. “Yeah, as soon as possible. I don’t want to deal with any more kittens.”
The cat cycle is never-ending, but thankfully, we have people like Nora who help us trap and can transfer the animals to the clinic we use.
The cats have been spotted in the same strip mall as the rescue, and while they’re skittish when they see us, they don’t hiss.
Hopefully, there’s adoption potential for them, and once they’re fixed, we’ll have room for them at the rescue.
“This place is a shithole,” Blair comments, surveying the building. “It needs to get fixed up.”
The only business left in the strip mall is Furs and Purrs. The other buildings are empty and have boarded-up windows.
It’s not the best-looking area, but the rent is cheap for a reason.
“Don’t curse it,” I mutter. “The last thing we need is someone buying the building and quadrupling our rent.”
I try not to think about it, but it’s one of many worries that keep me up at night.
I pay for my portion of the rescue’s rent with my inheritance—the rest comes from Blair and donations. The price is a steal. The landlord is a cat person themselves, supports our cause, and is more than lenient with what they charge.
But that doesn’t mean it will be like that forever.
Eventually, my inheritance won’t pay the bills.
Blair snorts. “If they try that, the whole town will revolt. Besides, you know I can cover more rent. My shifts at the bar have beeninsanerecently. I think I’ve been perfuming more, and customers are eating it up.”
“Hell no. Save that money and buy yourself something nice.”
Blair rolls her eyes and glares at me. “Piper. This isourrescue. You know that, right? Not all of the financial responsibility has to fall on you.”
“I know.”
She pokes my arm. “Not all of this is on your shoulders. We’re a team, right? You and me.”
We’ve had this talk before. There are days when I don’t want Blair to have to worry about anything—I want to run the rescue, handle all the cats,andrun operations. There are weeks when I bury myself in it, staying up all night calculating spreadsheets or working on community outreach.
Those are the times when Blair reminds me that I’m only human and that I need to eat and sleep.
There are times when I simply pass out at the front desk, Alvin content in my lap as he makes biscuits. Blair has to shake me awake or slam another cup of coffee onto the counter.
I nod. “We’re a team,” I murmur.
But the worries are always there.
If the rescue fails, then my parents were right.
“You have other things to concern yourself with,” Blair adds as we head back to the rescue. “You know, like your dinner date.”
I smile.
Of course, I told Blair what happened with Maddox at the pet store, and she’s thrilled.
