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Alanna yelped and released her grip. Scooching back toward safety, she slammed her head on the metal bed frame before finally extricating herself from the recesses of darkness. Blood dripped down her forearms and she stared at the tattered sleeve of her blue-and-white striped Chloé silk blouse.
The glinting blue eyes retreated further beneath the bed, like a dragon slithering into its cave.
“You…. BITCH!” Alanna screeched. She clenched the collar so hard the rhinestones bit into her palm. “This isn’t over!” She hurled the collar across the room. It thunkedlightly against the wall and fell to the floor.
In a moment, Alanna’s rage emptied from her body, replaced by a hollow sickness. She pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on the top of her knees.
It all hit her again like a windup punch to ribs already cracked.
Betrayed by Sabrina.
Outwitted by Chip Rupert the Third.
Unceremoniously kicked out of her own company.
Responsible for the firing of her closest lieutenants.
And now she couldn’t even put a collar on her own cat?
Alanna glanced at the windowsill where her wilted plant looked moments from death. She could practically hear the poor thing wheezing with an emphysemic rattle.
How had this happened?
She leaned against the side of the bed. There was something else, wasn’t there? Something she’d been trying to ignore, trying to avoid. One more worry to add to the pile.
Her mother.
Dede had struggled her whole life and had sacrificed everything to raise her two daughters. Alanna had felt so proud that she could finally give her mother the stability she deserved. A house. The ability to work at a job she actually liked. And now when things were finally looking up for her mother…
Alanna’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. She’d done the research and now knew that there was no cure for osteoarthritis. Only management. The crippling pain and stiffness would only get worse throughout the rest of her mother’s life. Cortisone shots might help in the short term. Surgery to fuse finger joints could eliminate pain but would steal mobility. It was a devil’s bargain no matter how you looked at it.
And her mother was too damn young to be dealing with this. What would happen if she couldn’t grip the banister and fell again? If she couldn’t live by herself?
Alanna let out a long breath and touched the colorful quilt on the bed with her non-bloodied hand. Like most of her mother’s decorating choices, it looked like it’d come straight from a farmer’s market.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, then smiled a little to herself. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay, Petunia? Can you at least do that for me?”
No response under the bed.
Alanna gathered herself. She wasn’t one to sulk for long… or ever.
She had to deal with one problem at a time.
“You first,” she said to the hidden cat. There was no saving her pride anymore. She needed help with the hell demon. Her first instinct was to call Layla. Her sister would know what to do. Alanna grabbed her phone and unlocked the screen, but she couldn’t force her fingers to move.
Apparently, she still possessed a little pride after all. She couldn’t go crawling to Layla begging for help, not after her sister had warned her about Petunia. For a moment, she wistfully considered returning Petunia to the shelter. But that would mean admitting defeat. Alanna Sandoval never admitted defeat.
Maybe she could call the local vet clinic.
Hard pass.
Layla worked as the receptionist for the only vet in town and had a nauseatingly sweet father-daughter relationship with her boss, Dr. Goldman. Even if Alanna consulted the vet about her new problem pet, word would get back to Layla.
What options did she have left?
A faint scent of peppermint tea wafted from the bottom floor of the house. Eventually, Alanna knew she’d have to go downstairs and allow her mother to tend her wounds. But first, she needed a solution.
Scrolling through her phone, she found endless videos and articles about dealing with problem cats, but each entry seemed focused on a single issue. What was she supposed to do with a pointy-eared hellion who possessed every behavioral problem known to man and a few new ones she’d created all on her own? Alanna didn’t have time to read a bazillion articles. She needed personalized, Petunia-centric advice.
