“No.”
She watches as I stride to the door and pull it open.
Mrs. Patterson stands at my front step, with a young Black guy in a uniform who’s holding a duffle bag. Between them, there’s a big cardboard box that comes up to their hips and sitting on top of that is a cat carrier.
With a yowling, pissed-off Bartholomeow in it.
“Grandma.” Rory comes up behind me, a warning note in her voice. “I was just on my way to pick you up.”
“Good. Terrence saved you the trip.” Terrence is, I assume, the young man on my porch. “Where’s my room?” Rory’s grandma pushes into my house, and I fall back, opening the door wider to give them space. Princess hops on her front paws, her whole body wiggling in excitement. An angry noise comes from the cat carrier.
“Princess, bed,” I command.
She whines and barely even glances at me. I put more authority into my voice. “Bed.”
Princess obeys, but not without looking over her shoulder four or five times on her way to my room. I follow and close her in.
“Your room?” Rory’s voice is rising as I approach. “What room? And why the hell is Bartholomeow here?”
The cat in question hisses.
“You said when the time came, you’d take Bartholomeow. Well, the time has come. I need you to take him.” Mrs. Patterson wobbles on her cane into the room, and it seems like she’s purposefully avoiding Rory’s gaze.
“Grandma,” Rory growls. “Some warning would have been nice. I didn’t mean you could just drop by with the cat. Did you even think about Morgan?”
She doesn’t answer.
Terrence clears his throat and leans in. “She’s had to call the staff a couple times to help take care of the cat,” he says quietly to Rory. “She’s not supposed to spring things like this on you, but . . .”
But she’s a stubborn and prideful old lady is the subtext.
Rory sighs and closes her eyes. “Grandma, you’re supposed to tell me when you need help.”
“It’s better this way,” Mrs. Patterson says, which is probably as close to an admission as she’ll get. “That way I can still visit him.”
Rory looks at me. She looks at her grandmother. She squeezes her eyes tight and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m getting a headache,” she mutters.
“Uh, what’s this about a room?” I ask.
Rory stands up straight and glares at her grandma.
“I’m staying the night. It’ll help Bartholomeow get acclimated.”
“Grandma!” Rory shouts. She flings her arms up in exasperation. “You can’t just do things without asking!”
“Okay, okay, hold on,” I say. “Let’s take a few moments to calm down.”
Rory grumbles but folds her arms over her chest and shifts her glare to me.
“Why don’t we put Bartholomeow’s stuff in the den and you can get the guest room neatened up for your grandma?” I arch an eyebrow. And move ALL of your stuff over to my room.
Rory sighs and stomps off. Terrence and I carry the box and the carrier into the back room. I tell Terrence I’ve got it from here, and he departs. Mrs. Patterson follows me, sitting on the couch and ordering me around while I unpack food bowls, toys, and a kitty litter box.
I take my sweet time unpacking and we try to coax the cat out of the carrier but he refuses to budge. That’s fine, we’ll have to introduce him carefully to Princess anyway.
I stand, leaving the cat carrier open. “We’ll close the door and leave him alone.”
Mrs. Patterson’s hands are resting on her cane, her eyes on the carrier. I dust my hands off, thinking I should probably get dinner going, when she speaks.
