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Parker gives me a look. “I shave twice a week.”
Kitty chuckles. It’s the first time I’ve heard her make that sound. For some reason it reminds me of adorable birds from a princess movie twittering in the background. Oddly, I think Parker managed to defuse the escalating situation between me and the Kitty Whisperer.
“She’s laughing.”
“Don’t tell him that! You’ll hurt his feelings,” Kitty chastises.
“He makes three million dollars a year as a rookie and flirts like a fiend. He’ll be fine.”
“Why you doing me dirty like that? Ask her if she’s seen Great-Grandad O’Toole lately.”
I’m annoyed that Parker is out here, making it impossible for me to finish this conversation with Kitty.
“Oh! He’s Mr. O’Toole’s great-grandson? Tell him I just saw him this morning, and he couldn’t find his pants. I think he needs to get his eyes checked again. Or maybe some new glasses.”
And now I’m annoyed that she’s already friendlier with Parker than she is with me. Granted, I have been a dick.
“I’ll pass the message on.” I wave Parker away. “By the way, you always tip to the right when you’re about to take a shot on net. That’s why the opposition steals the puck from you just before you take the shot.”
His jaw drops and he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
“Now let me finish my conversation in peace, or I won’t tell you how to fix the problem.”
Parker disappears back into the restaurant. “Sorry about that.” I sigh. It’s not just data that I analyze. It’s assessing the plays, too, and figuring out what works and what doesn’t. It’s my absolute dream job, but sometimes the ego and the player antics can be a lot to handle. “Kitty? You still there?”
“Yeah. Yes. Here.” She exhales softly. “Did you just give advice to an NHL player?”
“Sort of. My role is to look at the numbers and watch players so I can help the coach build on their strengths and understand their weaknesses as individuals, and as part of their line. Like who works best together. That sort of thing.” I rub the back of my neck.
“I’ve never seen a hockey game live, but I used to watch it on TV with my dad sometimes. He was a big fan. If he couldn’t watch it, he would listen to the games on the radio.” She makes a humming sound. “Funny that of all the things my dad loved, my mom never actually sat down and watched it with him.”
I realize she’s talking about her dad in the past tense, and it makes me want to ask questions. But I don’t have the chance.
She clears her throat, and her voice takes on that sharp edge I’ve grown accustomed to. “Anyway. I need to get Prince Francis’s litter situation handled, and I’ll try to keep the costs down.”
“Should I send you money up front for that?” I don’t even know how often she bills yet. But from the rates on her site, it seems like cat sitting is a lucrative job.
“I have a couple of litter boxes on hand, so it’s not out of pocket.”
“If that changes, let me know.” I should stop griping about money so she can be less annoyed with me.
“Of course. Well, I need to handle this litter box before Prince Francis decides to leave another poop bomb on the floor. Tell Parker I said good luck!”
“You too!” I say, like an idiot.
“I have cats on my side. I don’t need luck.”
She ends the call, and I stand there for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly it is about Kitty that makes me want her to hate me less. Maybe because I’ve already made a terrible first and second impression with her? Or because our crappy intro is an echo of the rest of my life? Who knows?
But apparently I suck with people.
And cats.
And Kitty.
chapter seven
THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY
Kitty
After five days of caring for Prince Francis, I can conclude that a clean litter box doesn’t make a lick of difference where his destructive behaviors are concerned. Which means I was right about the real issue being the lack of snuggle time and missing his human.
Miles is back from his trip, and I’m meeting him at his mother’s house so we can go over a plan of care for Prince Francis. I’m also hoping to get a bit more information on how long I’ll be making double daily visits. Constant cat care can be costly, and currently I’m giving him my short-term fee, but if I’ll be checking in on Prince Francis for an extended period, I’ll adjust to my long-term rates.
Money conversations always make me nervous. I love what I do, so much so that I would do it for free. But that’s not savvy business practice, and I can’t earn a living on smiles and love. Plus, I help my mom with the household expenses, and I’m trying to squirrel money away so one day, apparently in the next two years, I can buy a place of my own.
