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Here’s where I hit another snag—I had zero clue what a cat needed. None. I didn’t even know what food kittens had.
Groaning loudly, I searched around for a sales assistant, unable to stop my finger from stroking the top of the purring kitten’s head. Okay, it was cute, I admit it. What’d started off as me getting out to stop it from getting squished had quickly morphed into something else, and the cute purring made me feel like I was getting shit right.
Finally spotting someone with a shirt on with the store’s logo on it, I made my way over to them, skirting around some small dogs who tried to trip me up and big dogs who looked like they’d eat the kitten.
“Excuse me, I need your help.”
The assistant turned and looked up at me blankly. “With what?”
I blinked. “Animal shit. I’m not looking for the math equation on the impact the Titanic hit the iceberg at.”
My mom would have kicked my ass, but the guy was fucking rude. What else was I meant to do? Smile?
In the most monotonous voice I’d ever heard, he replied, “We have lots of animal shit. Go to the section for the animal in question. We’ve even color-coded them to help you out. Have a nice day.”
Short sentences had never been more irritating.
“Dude, I don’t think you realize, I have a flea-ridden kitten inside my hoodie. For all I know, those fleas are having sex and creating baby fleas that’ll drain the cat and me dry. The kitten could also be shitting all over it, and my mom does my laundry.” My irritation moved to anger when he looked me over from head to toe and up again. “Like I care if you judge me. At least I use different tones when I talk.”
Apparently that wasn’t the way to persuade him to help me because he just pointed behind him. “Cat stuff’s that way. Thank you for shopping with us. Have a nice day.”
I’d just opened my mouth to reply, when the person who’d gotten me into this situation by making me so distracted I’d chanced death to save the baby in my arms spoke behind me. “Canon, what are you doing here?”
Spinning around, I held the hoodie out to her. “I saved a kitten from getting popped by a car, and now I’ve got fleas fucking and having baby fleas. And I’m sure it’s shitting in my hoodie.”
Jacinda took the bundle and peeked inside it. “Aw, it’s so cute. Hey, little guy. Did the big, bad man scare you?”
How in this scenario was I the big, bad man?
She glared at the sales assistant, who was now looking at her blankly instead of at me.
“You could at least give him an idea of what he needs to get for it. Is that vet guy in today? The one who helped my sister with her parrot last week.”
“Yes.”
Her nostrils flared, but amazingly, she kept her temper. “I’ll just go find him, then. I wouldn’t want you to break a sweat actually doing something.”
Grabbing my arm on her way past, Jacinda dragged me behind her as she walked through the center of the aisles, checking both ways as we passed them for the vet guy she’d been talking about, presumably.
“Was it just me, or was that guy the biggest twat in history?”
She snorted as she checked to her left. “I wouldn’t say in history, but he’d definitely rank high on the list. I’ll send Tara in tomorrow. She could get even the most Zen person to break into a sweat and lose their shit. It’s a gift.” She frowned and squinted, then pulled me down an aisle. “Finally. Excuse me, do you have a moment to help us, please?”
The guy—who had a tag that said he was a vet and was here to answer questions—listened as we explained the issue, then he looked the scrawny little kitten over.
“I think this one’s about eleven weeks old, but I can’t be one hundred percent certain. It’s slightly undernourished, definitely covered in fleas as you said, and”—he paused as he checked the kitten’s crotch—“it looks like it’s a boy.”
“Thanks, Doc. What do I need to get for it?”
“It’ll need to be dewormed, have a flea treatment done, and if you just get….”
Here’s a lesson to the wise—of which I wasn’t one—when someone says, “If you just get,” don’t assume it’ll be two or three things. There’s no ‘just.’
As the vet reeled off everything, I realized: a) I was going to need a cart, and it’d have to be one of the big ones. b) I’d never have guessed it needed any of this shit. c) Tiny kittens needed a lot of stuff.
Then, as I zoned out, hoping Jacinda was still paying attention, the last realization hit me.
d) I may be thirty-one-and-a-half—and I might sound like a kid adding the half, but it was pertinent to my argument—but my mom did my laundry because she was awesome, and I had zero intentions of changing that.
