Page 50 of Resistance Training
“A towel. Got it. Thank you.” I feel really bad about lying to her earlier, but I guess this is my punishment.
Half an hour later, I’m standing outside the door to the parking garage. I don’t want anyone driving in or out. I can’t let Vivian park in my extra spot because it would probably scare the kitten. I see her driving up in a Toyota and direct her to park right in front of me. As luck would have it, there’s a space nearby. I’m holding two towels—a hand towel and a bath towel, because I have no idea what they’re going to be used for. Vivian parks and climbs out of her car, carrying a small pet kennel and smiling. Now I feel really guilty for lying to her and bolting.
“Hi,” she says quietly as she approaches me. “Where is it?”
“Inside. Thanks for coming.” I guide her by the small of her back and then, realizing what I’m doing, yank my hand away as fast as I did when the kitten hissed at me. I open the garage door for her, letting her in first, shutting the door as quietly as possible. Then I point toward the opposite corner of the garage and lead her to it.
“Awww, what a sweetheart,” she says.
And the cat doesn’t hiss at her.
“Yeah, this kitty’s old enough to be weaned, I’d say. Oh, I see you got it some water. That’s sweet.”
“It’s not sweet; it was the logical thing to do.”
“Okay, tough guy. Give me that bath towel. I’ll put it inside the kennel.” She places the plastic kennel down on the ground and opens the front of it. “You’re going to use that hand towel to pick up the kitten, and then I’ll help you wrap it up so it feels safe.”
“Got it,” I say, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. I hold the towel out in front of me like a lion tamer, slowly stepping toward the kitten. It gets tenser and tenser as I approach, hissing and spitting and swiping at the air, backing itself into the corner even though it can’t get any closer to the wall. It’s so fucking small, but my nervous system seems to believe that it could kill me.
“Okay,” Vivian says. “New plan. I’ll pick it up, wearing these gloves that I had in my car. You hold the towel out for me.”
“Good idea.”
And then she steps slowly toward the tiny creature, wearing leather gloves, cooing and lovingly telling it not to worry. She does, in fact, seem totally trustworthy and not at all capable of breaking hearts and ruining lives. The kitten hisses, but in a much quieter way than it was hissing at me, allows her to pick it up, even though it struggles. Vivian carries it over to me and the hand towel, holding it close to her breast, tells me to wrap the towel around the kitten. There is literally no way anyone could wrap the towel around the kitten without touching her breast, so that’s on her, and she smirks at me like she enjoyed it.
Then she somehow manages to wrap up the kitten with the towel, like a burrito, its paws tucked into the hand towel, unable to swat or wriggle around. Subdued. Still alert. Occasionally hissing just on principle. But resigned, for the moment anyway.
I personally wouldn’t give up so easily, but I am very impressed with how she handled this.
CHAPTER 14
VIVIAN
It is strangely comforting to watch this man wrestle with his emotions about accepting responsibility for a feral kitten, to the same degree I’ve seen him struggle with his feelings for me. But if I’m being honest, I’m just a little bit jealous of this little girl because Brad has decided to take her home with him. It was cute, but it hurt. Like being stabbed in the heart with a Hello Kitty knife.
The vet tech at the animal hospital confirmed that there’s no microchip, that it’s a girl, around seven weeks old—old enough to eat solid food and to be properly socialized. When she told him that black cats are less likely to be adopted from shelters, Brad frowned and huffed but immediately declared that he would look after her until he can figure out what to do with her. He had asked me if I could take her, but my landlord has a one-pet limit. The vet tech said he could put up a sign on their bulletin board in the waiting area, that there was a good chance someone would adopt her. But he just shook his head and said he’d figure something out, as he picked up the kennel and I followed him out of the exam room.
He said almost nothing as he drove to the pet supply store I directed him to. Anything he did say was grumbled while staring straight ahead. He had resolved to look after this kitten until some vague point in the future when he seemed to envision himself suddenly relinquishing her to another home, but he very much resented that he felt this responsibility. He also seemed really confused by how any female mammal could find him so off-putting, and that warmed my heart. Almost as much as I enjoyed watching him startle every single time she hissed at him.
When we drove back to his parking garage, he turned off the engine of his compact SUV and grumbled, “Can you come in and help me get her acclimated?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I replied.
The vet tech had given us some tips as well as a pamphlet on how to socialize a feral cat. I was, honestly, flattered and surprised that Brad had reached out to me for help, and I really do love this for him. Being a cat daddy. It makes my heart and ovaries ache, but the former best friend in me knew he would be amazing at it and that this little kitten has no idea how lucky she is.
And I have been dying to see where he lives. His condo is only a five-minute drive from my house. How have we never run into each other before?
He opens the car door for me and takes the kennel from me, holding his free hand out to help me out of the passenger seat. He’s still frowning and being a grumpy grumpster grumpyface, but his hand is warm and I give it a little squeeze as a silent thank-you. He holds the door to the lobby open for me and then leads the way. I’m still a little hurt that he didn’t want to hang out with me at Powell’s, but this is as good a way as any to spend time with him outside of the gym.
As soon as he opens the door to his condo and I walk in, my eyes get watery.
Not from allergies.
Because the first thing I see when I enter his open living room area is a wall of bookshelves. Floor to ceiling. The entire width of the room. With built-in spotlights under the shelves. And so many books.
“Should I let her out of the kennel?” he asks.
I sniffle and try to swallow a sob. “No!” I squeak out.
