I was the sibling that would go from screaming in a fit of rage to weeping on the ground, tearing my hair out.
I feel alot,but now I have better ways of handling it.
One of those ways is pampering my cat.
Pets Expresshas a shit ton of cat supplies, more than enough to spoil Ash.
Which is exactly what I plan on doing.
Another thing I learned? Put negative energy into something positive, and eventually, those feelings fade away.
At least for a little while.
I grab a cart from the front of the store and wheel it down the main aisle, scowling when I see the message scrawled in chalk on a black sign.
Kitten Adoption Event this Saturday! Furs and Purrs Rescue 11:00-4:00
Hopefully by Saturday, I’ll at least be on speaking terms with Blair, so I don’t have to avoid a damn pet store at the request of my pack leader.
Travis isn’t wrong, and neither is Ryland, which is why I haven’t openly gone against what they said.
But I’m still pissed as hell about it.
I travel down the cat toy aisle, picking up anything I think Ash might be remotely into. There’s a crinkly computer shaped plush toy and a catnip-filled ghost. I pick up a laser pointer and a remote-controlled mouse, then head down the treat aisle.
Soon, the cart is full of enough treats and enrichment to keep Ash entertained for a long time.
I also add another cat tree, because why not?
By the time I exit the store, my chest is lighter, and the overwhelming loneliness and frustration has settled. It’s manageable now, and I’m hoping I can get through the rest of the day without lashing out at my brother.
Maybe I’ll even apologize to him, too.
Just as I load the purchases into my car and shut the door, high-pitched, stressed cries fill my ears.
At first, I think it’s a bird, but I narrow my eyes and continue to listen.
The cries don’t stop.
I follow the sound behind the pet store building and warily approach a dumpster.
Did some piece of shit put an animal in the dumpster? I’ll kill them.
Panic rises in my chest, unraveling the calm that I worked so hard to achieve.
I turn the corner, ready to dumpster dive for whatever creature is in there, but stop abruptly.
The cries aren’t coming from the dumpster.
They’re coming from an open empty case of soda, where furry heads peek up and let out shrill, needy sounds.
A box of kittens sits in front of the dumpster.
Pets Express tellsme to go to Furs and Purrs, but not before one of the cashiers hands me a small paper bag with a can of kitten formula.
“We can’t do much here,” she says, “but tell Furs and Purrs we sent you, and they’ll take care of you.”
My throat tightens.
