But approaching the front steps, my limbs are heavy, and not just because of my hip condition. The weight of the world is on my shoulders, with sadness for my little clients clinging to me like plastic wrap.
As I stretch my aching hips and take the first step, a loud, mournful meow vibrates through the wood underneath my feet.
Chapter 9
Charlotte
Ijumpofftheporch and back onto the sidewalk. Where is this cat? And is it a giant? Because it sounds huge.
I inspect the green wood, my heart pounding. I like cats, but I don’t own one. Turning on my phone’s flashlight, I shine it through the dark under the stairs, and startle when I see two, tiny amber eyes staring back up at me from under the porch.
I shine my light further in between the painted green board planks of the porch. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, so I can see that it’s tiny, grey, and white. And it’s meowing loudly. It could be sick or hurt.
“How did you get down there, you little thing?” Moving around to the latticework on the side of the porch, heavily painted in mint green, I get a better look at him through the crisscrossing slats. On my hands and knees, I peer through the lattice. His little eyes blink at me before he meows again.
“Okay, you’re breaking my heart. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.” I walk around to the other side of the porch. It’s completely sealed off with the same lattice board as the other side. I can’t see any loose boards, and the holes in the old-fashioned lattice work are far too small for a kitten to fit through.
At least I think so.
“How did you get down there?”
The kitten just meows back, even louder than before.
I raise my hands in surrender. “Look, I have no idea how you even got in there in the first place, but I feel like my hovering is making things worse. Maybe you’re scared of me. So I’m going to quietly go inside and leave you to it, and you just go out the way you came, okay?”
Once inside, I peel the blasted oatmeal-colored blouse off, take a quick shower, and get dressed straight into my pajamas.
“Is that the kitten?” I say, after hearing shuffling. I live alone, okay? Of course I talk to myself sometimes. But before I even reach my front door, I hear him again, meowing at me for help.
“Poor little guy,” I say to him. I check the porch again for any opening I might see and then plop down on my behind on the thin, patchy grass near the lattice. “I got nothing,” I tell him.
Or her. It could be a her.
“I hope you can figure out how to get out the way you got in,” I say, pressing my hands against the lattice. The cat meows inresponse, like she’s trying to explain what happened and why can’t I understand her?
“If only I spoke kitten,” I grumble, peering at her again through the thin slats. I guess I could figure out how to detach the lattice board and let her escape that way, but it sounds like way too much work.
If I tell her about my day, she can get used to my voice, and she might feel comfortable enough to eventually come out. Maybe?
After I depress myself even more by telling her about the events of this awful day, I tap the lattice lightly. “I’m going back inside.” My stomach matches her cries with a gurgle. “I’ll eat and then come back out and hang with you, okay?” I stand, wiping my pants off. “But hey, if you can get out and go find your family, by all means, go for it!”
What if she doesn’t have a family, though? Where did she come from?
I go back inside, do some hip stretches, and make some pasta and jarred sauce for dinner, and I’m heavy on the parm. It’s the least I can do because I’m freaking going to lose my job. Might as well drown my sorrows in salty flakes of cheese.
After I wash the dishes, I check the cat again, and he’s still down there, meowing up a storm. I sit down on the top step as the low moon rises in the sky.
“Well, little guy…or gal…I’ll just hang out with you for a minute while I call a few people. Might as well let them know I’ll be entering the job market.”
I’ve never lost a job before. This is the only job I’ve had since I graduated from college, and before that, I did my internship at the same center. The center has become my home and now I’m losing it.
The work environment there is cozy and frustratingly, perfectly in-your-face. Willa’s been my best friend since I started there. Tracy’s like a kind aunt. Ron’s like a second father.Skyler’s…well, he’s not bad, you know? My coworkers are funny and they’re good OTs. We fight, though. We get on each other’s nerves; Ron never cleans the microwave when he warms up curry, and Skyler gives me TMI on his dating life.
But they’re sort of my family, so this hurts.
I don’t even want to think about how much this is going to affect those kids.
I call my sister and a couple of friends from my OT program when I was in school. They ask me if I’ve gotten a cat, that’s how loud the meowing is.
