"Zmeya would destroy this in five minutes," she announced when I caught up.
"So we don't—"
"Perfect." She tossed it in the cart. "She needs to destroy things. It's her nature. Better toys than your furniture."
I thought about arguing that my furniture had survived fifteen years of my temper and could probably handle one small kitten, but Maya was already moving on, pulling packages off hooks with the efficiency of someone used to making quick decisions under pressure.
"Catnip mice," she said, adding three packages. "Different sizes so they can choose their prey. This ball with a bell inside—Malysh will either love it or be terrified, only one way to find out. Oh, and this—" She held up something that looked like a tiny fishing rod. "Interactive play. Important for bonding."
"Doc, they're cats, not—"
"They're babies," she corrected, giving me a look that suggested arguing would be hazardous to my health. "Traumatized babies who need structure and enrichment and—oh my god, look at this."
She'd found the beds. An entire wall of them in every conceivable shape and color. She ran her fingers over the fabrics, testing softness, and her expression was so serious I had to bite back a smile.
"This one," she said, pulling down a bed shaped like a shark. "For Zmeya. Look, it has teeth and everything. Perfect for a warrior princess."
"It's a bed," I said. "She sleeps on my chest."
"She needs options. And this—" She grabbed another bed, soft gray fleece formed into a cave. "Malysh needs somewhere to hide. Somewhere that feels safe and enclosed."
She kept adding things. A scratching post that looked more like modern art than cat furniture. Treat dispensers that would "provide mental stimulation." Food and water bowls in stainless steel because "plastic harbors bacteria." The cart was filling up with the artifacts of a life I'd never imagined having—domestic, ordinary, centered around two cats we'd found by accident.
An employee in a blue vest appeared at the end of the aisle, probably sent by management to make sure I wasn't about to rob the place. He was maybe twenty, trying to look professional despite the fact that his hands were shaking.
"Can I help you folks find anything?" His voice went up at the end like he was asking permission to exist.
"We're good," I said.
He scurried away like I'd pulled a gun.
"You're terrifying them," Maya observed, but she said it absently, like it was just a fact.
The weather is nice, the sky is blue, you're terrifying innocent retail workers.
"I'm just standing here."
"You're looming." She held up a bag of treats, squinting at the ingredients. "You have resting murder face."
"Resting what?"
"Murder face. You look like you're calculating how many bodies would fit in the trunk of your car."
I narrowed my eyes. "Sedan or SUV?"
She laughed—that real laugh I was already addicted to—and tossed the treats in the cart. "See? That. That right there. Normal people don't have an answer ready for that question."
She moved further down the aisle, and I watched her compare two different types of cat litter with the intensity of someonedefusing a bomb. The fluorescent lights made her skin look paler than usual, highlighted the shadows under her eyes that hadn't quite faded despite a full night's sleep. But she was smiling, really smiling, and she looked . . . alive. Present. Not running probability matrices about threats and escape routes.
"What about this?" She held up a package containing a tiny collar with a bell.
Something cracked in my chest. The collar was fucking ridiculous—soft pink leather with a tinkling silver bell and a breakaway clasp for safety. It was meant for something precious, something loved, something that belonged to someone.
"For which one?" My voice came out rougher than intended.
"Malysh, I think. The bell would help us know where he's hiding." She studied the package. "Though maybe it's too soon. They need to feel secure first, before we mark them as ours."
Mark them as ours. Like they weren't just strays we'd found. Like we were building something together, even if that something was just a safe space for two abandoned kittens.
