It isn’t actually surprising that someone is making similarlythemedpet costumes. The shocking part is that these designs aren’t merely similar. They’re almost identical, until you look closely.
I make my way back to the counter and retrieve my laptop from beneath the register. A few jabs at the keyboard, and I’m on the Farm & Holm Supply website, ready to assess the damage.
Usually, I ignore their site. Mom always said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”
But today, Farm & Holm is clearly the thief, and I’m not feeling any joy whatsoever.
It is impossible to live here without knowing about the Holm family and their flagship company. The Holms are the most successful residents to emerge from Ephron, the town’s biggest claim to fame.
But Farm & Holm Pet Supplies is everything Celestial Pets is not. They don’t treat pets like family members, they treat them more like possessions. Like livestock.
“To each their own, Georgia,” my mom had said. She was never bitter about the Holms. “There’s plenty of room for us to coexist. The universe is abundant.”
My mom was so kind, so caring, so …naive, I think.
I straighten the flyers on the counter as I take stock of the situation. The same unscrupulous company that booted the shelter and spiked my rent is now knocking off my designs.
The rent hike affecting all the tenants may just be “business.” We all feel the squeeze. But this part? This feels personal. I can’t coexist like this. I can’t even exist.
“How do you expect me to do this alone?” I shout at my mom in the moon.
I click through to Farm & Holm’s pet costumes page and flinch. There are a dozen options, and each of them—every last one—appear to be copies of one of my designs.
“So, what should I do, Mom?”
The winking woman in the moon remains mute. But of course, I know what she would say.
“Breathe, Georgia, just breathe.”
I attempt to take a deep, cleansing breath. I try to use it to push back my anger, frustration, and feelings of helplessness. I tell myself I am not helpless. I just need to remain rational to come up with a plan.
I’ll talk to the bank. Maybe they’ll give me more time?
Perhaps there’s a way to send a boilerplate cease and desist letter? I have design notebooks with fabric swatches. Would this be enough to prove the designs were knocked off? Where would I even send the letter?
I click on the “About Us” link at the top of the Farm & Holm website and land on a page with the story of the company. There’s a link to an article about the warehouse conversion. No mention of the animal shelter that they booted from the site, I note.
Another article suggests that Walker Holm is considering stepping aside and passing the torch to his son.
Blah, blah, blah, bullshit PR, blah. I scroll down to the bottom. Who’s in charge of Farm & Holm right now? That is what I need to know and all I care about!
Please don’t let it be Bryce, I think, feeling like gagging.
At the bottom of the Farm & Holm Supplies home page are a bunch more links, including customer care, which I am pretty certain will be useless. The “Contact Us” link dumps into a form.
Damn. I’m not getting anywhere.
I resume my pacing until another idea comes to me.
“Alexa,” I say, calling up the one helper I have no guilt about tapping on a regular basis. “Who is the current head of Farm & Holm Supply?”
“Here’s what I found on the web,” Alexa says in her robotic voice. “The current COO of Farm & Holm Supply Co. is Hudson Holm. Hudson Holm was born in 1986. He attended the Wharton School of Business. He lives in Washington State.”
Alexa pauses before asking, “Does this answer your question?”
I run-hop the five steps back to my laptop and type Hudson Holm into Google. Who the hell is this Hudson? I haven’t heard the name before. If Hudson is thirty-five, he would have been done with high school before I even showed up here.
Could he be the missing son from Walker Holm’s mysterious first marriage? Kenna mentioned something. She might know. Or her uncles certainly would.
