But working up a sweat only takes up a fraction of my time. Lola watches me from her perch on the seat of the Peloton. With contempt.
I don’t blame him. He wants to run free, the way he did back when he was a young cat, before I dragged him home and started a fight between Mom and Daddy. I was allowed to keep the cat, probably because Mom thought I’d grow out of my rebellious, pain-in-the-ass phase.
But I never did. And Lola is awesome.
As we leave the gym, I spy two dogs watching us out of the corner of my eye. A big German shepherd with kind, intelligent eyes, and a small, I don’t know what breed, with bright red and green wheels attached to her lower body. They wait at the edge of the stairs, clearly wanting to go down, but the German shepherd eyes Lola suspiciously as he walks past, tail swishing.
Lola growls as a small white cat inches over to greet him. The cat yowls in response, and a black cat launches itself at Lola in its defense.
The big dog looks at me, picks up the dog with wheels in his jaws, and hurries down the stairs. I catch the little white cat as it gets ready to launch into the fray.
“Lola!” I cry when he crouches into his fighting stance, ready to attack the black cat. “No!”
I stamp my foot and get a slash of his claws into my dance pants. “Ow!”
Lola takes off and I bend down to check on the black cat. He draws back, hissing until I put down the white cat that he immediately shoves behind him.
It’s cute. He’s protective of the little one.
I hold out my hand, letting the cat sniff me.
He thinks about it, then butts my hand with his nose. I carefully pet his head and get a short burst of purrs as a reward.
Progress.
“Hi…” His glittering collar has a name, and I know instantly who gave it to him. A smile lifts my lips. “Hi, Clawzilla. I’m Marlowe. Prisoner and owner of Lola. Don’t mind him, he’s had a hard life.”
The small white cat peers around Clawzilla and scampers toward me. I read the name on the collar. “Hi, Bruiser.”
Together, we walk downstairs. We’re not alone, I can feel other people here in the brownstone, but this floor is quiet. At least until I reach the main living area. Then, a sharp scream followed by a baby crying pierces the air.
“Raffy!” A loud voice yells.
The small chubby powerhouse darts into the living room and slams right into me. He’s shocked as he raises his head.
“Show dus your tids!” he says.
His mom, whose name I forgot, rounds the corner, a crying baby nestled against one shoulder. “Raffy, no! We don’t saythings like that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Pepper has always been a hit with kids. That is whenever I was allowed to have any over during school breaks.
Again, almost never.
“Sorry about Pepper.”
“His language is cleaner than most who live here, but we try not to teach Raff bad habits.”
“Had babits.” The kid laughs.
Her eyes meet mine and a kind smile lifts her glossy lips. “You dance beautifully.”
But the sentiment’s a little lost since she’s distracted by Raffy making eyes at a hissing Lola.
He doesn’t scare Raffy, though. The kid swoops in and puts the cat in a loving chokehold. Then, with a satisfied smile on his chubby face, he carries Lola into the hallway.
“Thanks. I’ll watch him if you like, um…”
“It’s Lucie,” she says, her shoulders sagging with relief. “And that would be wonderful.”
