When we finish up, Waylon believes we’re heading to dinner, but instead, we pull up to a nondescript building. He’s too busy texting Cam about what games they should play to realize what the sign out front was.
When he finally does look up, he glances around nervously. “Where are we? I’m afraid.”
“This is where you’ll stay until we get back. In that little dog cage, right there,” I tell him. “They’ll take good care of you here.”
“With you, I literally never know what’s real and what’s not,” Waylon says as he gets out of the car and follows us to the front door where he sees a little picture of a cat on it. He hesitates before hurrying inside.
“Am I really getting a cat?” he asks.
“You can have a pony too if you want it,” I assure him because how couldn’t I when he looks so happy over a cat?
“We already talked about this,” Jackson says.
“I know, but look at his face. The moment he looks happy, I forget everything,” I explain.
The woman at the counter smiles. “Welcome. You can go right on back and look at the cats and kittens. You’re allowed into any of the cat rooms as long as you sanitize between them.We also have a lady in the back to help if you want to hold any of the kittens,” she says before she waves us on back.
Waylon goes into one of the cat rooms and kneels down. Only one of the cats comes to sniff him and the rest continue to snooze away. So he heads out and into the next. He pets them all, even if they refuse to so much as open their eyes to look at him.
“They’re all so lonely; we should take them all,” Waylon says.
“If that’s what you want,” I reply.
Jackson raises an eyebrow. “Leland.”
“Just don’t forget Jackson is the evil one,” I say.
He goes from room to room, holding cats, playing with cats, petting cats. I start to wonder if we’re going to still be here when they open tomorrow morning at this rate.
A young woman must notice because she smiles at us. “Hey, come in here. You need to meet this little guy,” she says as she leads us into another room. This one has small cages of kittens, and among them is an older half-grown kitten. She pulls him out and hands him over to Waylon.
The cat falls against him, rubbing and purring, immediately in bliss.
“He had a shattered leg that went too long without medical care, so it had to be removed. Because of that he’s been stuck here with us until it healed up, but he just got approved to be up for adoption today,” she says.
The three-legged cat is in love and it’s quite clear so is Waylon. It’s all black and lanky, with short hair and all of the love.
Waylon looks up at us. “I can really have him?”
“Whichever cat you want, you can have,” Jackson says.
“I want him.” He sits down on a bench, but the cat has no interest in leaving his lap. He rolls and purrs and rubs all over Waylon. So we leave him to it while Jackson and I fill out the paperwork.
EIGHTEEN
LELAND
Instead of taking the cat home for one day and then taking him to the place Waylon will be staying while we’re gone, we go straight there, picking up food and cat stuff on the way. The cat doesn’t seem to be fazed by anything (well, unless you stop petting him), so I’m not too concerned about his adjustment. He’s just happy and Waylon is more than happy.
“Did you see him meow?” Waylon asks, like a cat meowing is the most mystifying thing he’s ever seen. He was so fixated on the cat, he could barely eat.
“I’ll leave you two here and go get some stuff to spend the night,” I say. “Waylon, text me a list of everything you need.”
Jackson shakes his head. “You’re not going alone.”
“You have to stay with Waylon.”
“I know, but someone else can go with you,” Jackson says as he shoots off a text to the group like I need a babysitter. I was doing this shit alone and with finesse long before I even knew him.
