AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Mrrrrooww.”
The grumbled complaint sounds directly in my ear. I smirk, turning my head slightly to meet her beautiful green eyes.
“Yes, Queen of the North?”
The eight-year-old tabby is such a deep orange she almost appears red. Hence the name I chose for her when she was abandoned at the shelter. I’d been the first to arrive at work that day and found a cardboard box waiting outside. People abandoning animals on our front steps isn’t out of the ordinary.
When I pulled open the top flaps of the box, I prayed that the animal inside would be alive and in not too bad shape. Luckily, the russet tabby only appeared slightly underfed and didn’t even try to swipe at me when I reached a hand out for her to sniff.
Just over a month has passed since that morning, and Sansa was recently cleared for adoption. I doubt it will take long, so I enjoy her clingy-ness while it’s still me she clings to. If it weren’t for my doesn’t-play-well-with-others cat at home, I might have considered claiming her for myself.
She rubs her head on my cheek before letting out another grumpy meow.
Cats. Never clear about what they want, but will make sure to punish you if you don’t figure it out.
“Let me finish here,” I murmur, reaching for the disposable litter box with my gloved hand and shoving it into the trash bag with all the others. The amount of litter we go through in a single day is staggering when I think about it. But I try not to get too concerned about the cost of materials this place requires. Money is not my responsibility. Keeping the cats clean and comfortable, and from going insane in their confined spaces, is.
I know how they feel, locked up all day. There was no one around who cared about my mental health during that dark time in my life, and these innocent animals don’t even understand why they’re kept in such tight living quarters.
Just as I’m tying up the bag and considering if I have time to play with Sansa before moving on to my next task, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Sansa isn’t one for bolting, so an open door to the rest of the shelter isn’t a flight risk like it might be with another of the animals.
My boss, Cheryl, walks in, her sharp eyes resting on the cat lounging across my shoulders. Her serious mouth twitches.
“You have something on your shirt,” she deadpans.
“Really?” I pretend to glance down at myself. “Where?”
Cheryl sighs then, and there’s a defeated note in the exhale. I try not to tense, wanting to keep the feline on my shoulders relaxed.
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Yes.” I pride myself on my ability to keep my emotions from showing, so the word comes out flat. Probably too flat because Cheryl’s gaze narrows as she examines my face.
Normally, when people narrow their eyes at me, they’re judging me. Worrying about what I might do. People think I’m dangerous.
I guess I am. Or, at least, I used to be.
But when Cheryl looks at me this way, I know she’s more concerned than anything. She’s the one who brought a collection of rescued dogs to the prison where I was incarcerated, looking for nonviolent prisoners to work with the animals. To learn how to be responsible for the health and happiness of another living creature.
She gave me a chance, a path out of the darkness, and I’ve been grateful ever since.
So now I don’t put up a wall between us. But I also don’t spill my soul.
“How are things going?” she asks.
One of my eyebrows creeps up, and I decide to answer her question in the only way that makes me feel comfortable. “Everything is on schedule for the day. Just finished cleaning the adoptable cat enclosures. I’ll move on to the strays’ cages next.”
She’s shaking her head before I’m even done.
“No, I mean in your life. Outside of here.”
“Fine. Good.” Other than the woman I’m obsessed with going on dates with a button-up douche bag.
“You’re spending time with friends? With Dash?”
“Yes.”
