Imprisonment
Rox was crouching behind her desk, shaking the bag of shrimp treats. The fishy smell wafted out of the bag because she had probably pulverized the treats inside with her insistent shaking. “Come on, you cats! I have treats?” she begged.
Midnight had wedged himself behind the filing cabinet and latched all his claws deeply in the carpet, locking himself to the floor. Speedbump had crawled into her desk and kept slithering between the drawers no matter how she tried to catch him. Pirate just bolted away whenever she got near and hissed his worst insults at her.
Her office door rattled.
She popped up, looking over the desk.
In the tall, narrow window beside the door, Cash’s face was visible above the potted plant. One of his eyebrows was lowered.
She stood and unlocked the door for him, cracking it open a scant inch to talk.
He said, “I’ve got my car waiting downstairs.”
“I can’t get them into the carriers,” Rox admitted.
“Why not?”
“They hate the carriers. The only time that they get shoved in the carriers is to go to the vet or to go live in the car, a decision that was highly unpopular among the masses.”
“Just shove them in.”
“I can’t catch them.”
“Let me in. Animals love me.”
She glanced behind her, but all three cats were hiding in her office somewhere. When Cash had come in earlier, they had been sleepy and sluggish, but now they were riled up and might try for an escape. “Okay, come on.”
With the door just barely open, Cash turned his broad shoulders and slipped in. He stepped close to Rox, so close that she could have stepped forward into his arms again.
Pirate slammed into Rox’s leg and dodged between their legs, trying to sneak out.
She grabbed the scruff of his neck and yanked, dragging him backward.
Pirate yowled.
Outside the office in the cubicles, Mel and Daffodil poked their blond heads up over the blue-padded walls, prairie-dogging, as Rox slammed the door. “Dang.”
“Such language.” Cash stooped, looking under the chairs.
Rox still clutched a handful of cottony ginger fur and pinned Pirate to the floor. “I’ve got one. Grab that carrier.”
Cash picked up one of the plastic carriers and swung the door open.
“On the floor,” she told him, crouching beside the cat and holding the fur on his back, too.
Pirate hissed so hard that he spat.
“Hold the door open.”
Cash swung the steel bars aside.
Rox shoved the cat at the carrier.
Pirate grabbed the sides of the opening with three paws and held on with his claws, wedging himself outside as he howled his rage, an ascending screech that raked her ears. As Rox pushed, trying to shove him in, the whole carrier scooted across the carpeting.
Pirate twisted, almost getting loose.
