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I try to maintain my composure while I attempt to lure Prince Francis down with treats, and Wilfred tries to appeal to him by barking and whining. But Prince Francis refuses to budge from his safe perch more than fifteen feet above us. There’s no way for me to get to him. And the longer I stand here, trying to cajole him out of the tree, the more people stop to watch. A few attempt to help, but it’s proving futile, and I have a feeling the crowd is making Prince Francis less likely to make the descent. I politely ask if they can give us some space, and a few people comply, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Eventually I give up and call the fire department. Which gains even more attention. My mortification levels are at an all-time high. Falling up the stairs on the first day of high school has nothing on the enormous group of people gathered around the tree while three firefighters approach, carrying a ladder. They’re dressed in full firefighter gear, and the truck sits directly in front of the park entrance, lights flashing away.
I still haven’t been able to recover my glasses, and I’m almost grateful that anyone more than twenty feet away has a blurry face. I’m dressed in a winter coat and a hat with cat ears. I didn’t bother with makeup, assuming this would be a quick stroll around the park, where Wilfred would watch the squirrels and Prince Francis would wish for wings so he could catch birds.
As soon as the firefighter reaches me, I apologize. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to call you. I know you have much better things to do with your time, like fighting actual fires and saving people, but my cat is stuck in that tree, and I think this horde of humans is giving him climbing fright, like the cat equivalent of stage fright.” I point to the branch where Prince Francis is lounging.
He’s repositioned himself. He’s now lying on the branch, his legs hanging on either side of it. He does not look the least bit stressed by the audience.
“Is that cat wearing a leash?” the firefighter asks.
I clasp my hands so I won’t fidget. “He is. Cats are very trainable. And they love walks if you can get them comfortable with the leash and harness.”
“Bernick, you want to do the honors?” One of the other fire-fighters claps a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. He gives me a curt nod and turns to Bernick, but then his gaze slides back to me. “Holy crap. You’re Kitty, the Kitty Whisperer. Dude—” He nudges Bernick with his elbow and repeats. “This is Kitty, the Kitty Whisperer.”
Bernick gives him a questioning look, then mutters, “Don’t advertise your porn watching habits in a public park with a hundred people standing around, Hopkins.”
Hopkins rolls his eyes. “She’s a cat whisperer, you dirtbag. She trains cats. Sorry, ma’am. My partner here lives in a gutter apparently.”
“It’s okay. I get that a lot. I should have taken it into account when I named my business, but it didn’t occur to me until after I started getting inappropriate messages, and by that time I already had an established following.” No one needed that explanation, but apparently I haven’t sustained enough embarrassment today, so I added to it myself.
He nods a couple of times. The third firefighter sets the ladder against the tree. “One of you want to stop with the flirting and hold the ladder?”
“We’ll be right back, Miss Kitty.” Bernick touches the brim of his fire hat and inclines his head.
“Wait! Here!” I pull a baggie of treats out of my pocket and pass it to him. “These might help.”
I wait with Wilfred while the third firefighter holds the ladder for Bernick. Prince Francis is clearly wary, and he hisses and swats at Bernick until he pulls out the treats. It’s too much of an enticement, and Prince Francis finally relents. As soon as he’s in my arms, he climbs onto my shoulders and burrows his way under my hair, then settles into his living stole position, most of him hidden under my curtain of hair.
I want to leave as soon as I have Prince Francis, but Bernick asks for a picture, and my autograph, which is a little weird, especially when he has me sign his son’s second grade wallet photo.
Finally, we can leave. I don’t make any stops on the way back to Miles’s apartment. I keep my head down, but I swear people are whispering and glaring as I pass. I convince myself that I’m being paranoid.
But when I get back to Miles’s place, I make the fatal mistake of checking my messages. I have one from Miles telling me he’s on his way home. Based on the time it was sent, he should be arriving any minute. I also have messages from Kat and my sister. On top of that, I have countless tags and notifications on all my social media accounts. While it’s not uncommon for me to have a lot of notifications, the number is exceptionally high, and every few seconds my phone lights up with more notifications. I’m afraid of what this means. It’s clear people were filming and taking pictures of what happened at the park.
