“Kitten therapy!” Maeve yells. “My favorite.”
“Kitten therapy?” Travis asks, raising an eyebrow.
I sigh. “You’ll see,” I tell him. “Just come inside.”
Kitten therapy consistsof sitting in a chair while a handful of wriggly, friendly kittens are placed in a person’s lap.
It’s a new tradition Maeve started, and it’s possibly the best idea anyone has ever had.
“We got these three while you were gone,” Maeve announces, handing me three squirming calico kittens. “They’re cuddly and love to snuggle.”
Travis sits in the back room with me, his chair next to mine while the kittens mew and climb all over me. Tiny claws dig into my stomach and chest, and little snuffles fill my ears.
They’re absolutely adorable.
“Here, you take one,” I tell Travis, handing him the loudest, squirmiest one. “Everyone can benefit from kitten therapy.”
Travis tenderly holds the kitten, who immediately tries to chomp on his chin. He huffs out a laugh and smiles softly, stroking its furry head.
“You never told me about her,” he says after a few moments of kitten shenanigans. His voice is soft, but there’s a deadly edge to it.
“Annette? Yeah. She’s awful.”
“And she put those things in your head,” he continues. “The idea that it was all your fault.”
“I wouldn’t say she put it there, but she added fuel to the fire,” I admit. “The guilt was already there. She just confirmed my fears.”
“With lies,” he says sharply.
I bury my face in a pink kitten belly and inhale.
‘Huffing cats’ as Maeve calls it, is quite calming.
“I’m proud of you,” he adds softly. “For saying what you said to her.”
It wasn’t my fault.
It had felt true in that moment.
When I could finally see how absurd Annette was, surrounded by the people that cared about me, I started to believe she was wrong.
“She’s a hateful bitch,” is my only response as I pet the kittens. One has curled into a little shrimp shape and is falling asleep peacefully on my thigh. The other continues to dig its tiny claws into my sweatshirt, kneading on my stomach.
Travis nods in agreement.
“So, the sewing,” I add, trying to change the subject. “I can’t believe it was you the whole time. And you’retalented, too. You should have said something.”
He shrugs and gently strokes the kitten he holds. “I’m not sure how you would have felt if I told you all the blankets were from me, especially when we were still just friends.”
“I would have been honored, Travis. Truly. They’re stunning.”
“You should have seen my mother’s. They were amazing.”
My ears perk up. Travis has mentioned his father before, alluding that he had passed away, but never his mother.
“You said she taught you how to sew,” I say.
The kitten has fallen asleep in his hands, gently pressed against his chest. “Yes.” He strokes the kitten’s head gently, observing its sleeping face. “She did. She would have liked you, a lot.”
