“Yes, ma’am,” I’d replied.
“Huh.” She’d made a note on her clipboard. “That’s pretty loud for something that don’t move much.”
I liked Terri.
She was efficient and honest and didn’t waste words.
So when my phone rang at 7:15 a.m. on a Wednesday and her name came up, I answered, because Terri didn’t call unless there was a good reason.
“Mr. Loupier, good morning. I’m calling about yesterday’s water event on the fourth floor.”
“I heard the fans.” They’d been running all night, a low, industrial hum that was oddly calming to every beast in my household. I hadn’t thought much more of it.
“Multiple units were affected. Four tenants have been displaced, and we’re looking at a six-to-eight-week remediation timeline. The building is offering financial incentives to any unaffectedtenant willing to temporarily house a displaced neighbor for the duration of repairs.”
“I appreciate the call, Terri, but I’m not in a position to—”
“The incentive is full rent abatement for every month of participation.”
My mouth stilled.
Afullrent abatement?
My rent was $2,800 a month.
Six to eight weeks meant potentially two full months, $5,600 that I wouldn’t have to pay. I did the math the way I always did the math, because the math was always running in the background like a program I couldn’t close. Hiro’s orthopedic surgery was scheduled for next month. It would cost $4,200, of which the clinic covered half, leaving me with $2,100 out of pocket. The kittens’ vaccinations and spay/neuter appointments were partially subsidized, but still $350 to me. Shortcake’s post-surgical medications were $120 a month. The shelter gave me an allowance in the form of food and cat litter, but the remaining monthly foster supply costs were roughly $100.
I wasn’t broke.
I had a good salary and modest habits and no debt. David had seen to that.
But fostering was expensive in the way thatanything you do out of love is expensive. The costs were constant and cumulative and came from a part of the budget that was supposed to be savings but had been reclassified as “keeping animals alive.”
$5,600 covered Hiro’s surgery with room to spare.
It was months of foster supplies.
It was the difference between frantically checking my account as the end of the month approached and breathing easily, just for a little while.
“Mr. Loupier? Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” I looked at my apartment, at Hiro, who was watching me with those worried brown eyes. Then I looked at Potato, snoring on his bed by the couch. Finally, I looked up at General Tso, gazing from the refrigerator like a furry oracle who already knew what I was going to do and disapproved.
“Terri, I have animals. Multiple animals.”
“I’m aware of your situation, Mr. Loupier. You’re listed as an approved foster home with a standing pet addendum on your lease.”
“The person staying here would need to be comfortable with that. I have a dog with anxiety, a bulldog with a snoring condition, a cat with a temperament problem, five kittens, and a beagle in post-surgical recovery. My apartment is not a normal living environment.”
“I’ll make sure the displaced tenant is informed.”
“And I have quiet hours. I work early shifts and write when I’m home. I need quiet to think and create. I’m in bed by ten most nights. I don’t—” I paused, trying to articulate the thing I needed to say without sounding like a misanthrope. “I’m not a social person, Terri. I live alone for a reason. Whoever stays here needs to understand that this isn’t a roommate situation; it’s a temporary arrangement. I’ll provide the room, but I’m not going to be—”
“A friend?”
“Available,” I said.
A pause.
