Page 74 of We Can Stay
“Maybe she’s downstairs,” Sebastian suggests.
My heart rate picks up. “We would have seen her. She’s always meowing.”
A sick feeling takes over. Did she slip out the front door when Sebastian and I entered? No, she was in the kitchen with us. Sebastian fed her.
“It’s okay. We’ll find her.” Sebastian is already heading out the doorway. “I’ll check downstairs. You look in the bathroom.”
“Okay.” I hate the way my voice shakes. She’s just a cat.
But she’s my cat. And she’s also a helpless kitten. One who has already been lost once. If she?—
Gasping, I stop in the bathroom doorway. The window is open about six inches and my heart jumps in my chest. My first thought is the stalker, but then I remember I cracked it this morning to let in some fresh air. With everything going on I can’t believe I forgot.
Luckily, it’s not open enough for a person to crawl through, but it is enough for a kitten to get out. She must have noticed and squeezed through.
Rushing to the window, I yank it open the rest of the way. Rain sloshes into the bathroom, but I stick my head out, inspecting the trees next to the window. The branches scrape the bricks, which means that Cat could have easily climbed onto one of them and made her way to the ground.
“Sebastian!” Whirling around, I run downstairs. “I left the window open. She got outside!”
His eyes widen, but he nods calmly. “Okay. She couldn’t have gone far. Especially not in the rain. Let’s go find her.”
But I’m already throwing open the front door and rushing along the corner of the building. At the bushes that line the bottom floor, I get on my hands and knees in the damp earth and study every nook and cranny. I found Cat under a bush once, so maybe lightning will strike twice.
But she isn’t there. She isn’t anywhere in the yard.
Sebastian comes out with an umbrella. “Any luck?”
“No.” My voice cracks.
“We’ll find her. Let’s split up. Take the umbrella.”
I don’t have time to protest his chivalry. Grabbing the umbrella, I speed walk down the street, calling her name with every other step.
“Cat! Cat!” Hot tears fill my eyes, and for the first time, I feel ridiculous for not giving her a proper name. I must look like a terrible pet owner, calling for my kitten named Cat after stupidly leaving a window open.
She deserves so much more than that name. So much more than being lost in yet another storm. She deserves nothing less than being one hundred percent wanted and cherished.
I’ve treated her like a thorn in my side, and now she’s gone. Maybe forever.
CHAPTER 21
Sebastian
“Cat!” I cup my hands around my mouth, raising my voice against the morning drizzle. “Kitty, kitty! Cat!”
The wet pavement reflects the gray sky, puddles from last night’s storm still pooling in the uneven spots of Pine Island’s streets. I pause at the intersection of Harbor and Third, straining to hear anything beyond the distant foghorn and the splash of tires through water on the next block over.
Nothing. Just like the last three hours of searching. The kitten is nowhere to be found.
My chest tightens with each passing minute. After spending most of the night scouring the neighborhood with Flick, I’d finally convinced her to get some rest around midnight. The rain had been coming down in sheets, turning visibility to near zero. Her hands had been shaking—from cold or exhaustion or both—and the way she kept blaming herself had carved something hollow in my gut.
“Cats know how to survive,” I’d told her, guiding her back inside, my arm around her trembling shoulders. “She’ll find somewhere safe to wait out the storm.”
The devastation on Flick’s face had nearly undone me. She’d kept repeating how it was her fault—the open window, themissing screen she’d meant to fix. Nothing I said seemed to penetrate her guilt until I promised to call out of work and search for her.
Now, trudging through the aftermath of the storm, I hope to God I was right about cats and their survival instincts. Cat might have her moments of attitude, but she’s still tiny. Still vulnerable.
Water seeps through the worn spot in my left boot as I navigate around a particularly deep puddle. “Cat?”
