As I signed the documents, several burly men hustled up the stairs with tape, boxes, and padding.
“Watch out for the—”
Two of the movers screamed as Fergus launched himself at them.
“…Cat.”
“Demon!”
“It’s possessed!” they yelled as Fergus chased them down the hall.
“Call animal control.”
“Don’t!” I yelled, trying to find Fergus’s carrier. After stuffing the big Maine Coon inside, which earned me scratched arms and angry kitty death wishes, I finished signing the paperwork. It didn’t take the movers long to pack up the tiny apartment.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Williams,” Carl said when I handed him back his pen and the papers.
I picked up Fergus’s carrier and followed Carl Svensson downstairs. He locked the door to my former home behind us then stapled up a notice of demolition.
“Just give them the address,” he said, pointing to the idling moving truck.
“I guess…” I sighed. “I guess I’ll go to Amy’s.”
Fergus stuck one clawed paw out of the carrier and swiped at Carl as he returned to his large black Tesla.
“Shit!” he cursed. “That cat shredded my suit. I think I’m bleeding!”
“Sorry,” I said, not meaning it, as Carl scowled at me.
“Good kitty,” I whispered to Fergus.
I took the subway to Amy’s while the movers drove over.
“Oh, Ivy!” she exclaimed, hugging me as the movers unloaded my things. Her miniature pony, Baxter, nuzzled my side.
“I have officially failed to make it in New York,” I said, trying to smile as the tears rolled down my face.
“It’s okay! We can be roommates! You can live here with me.”
“Where?” Grace asked. Amy’s apartment was even tinier than mine. She rented a space in an old industrial area for the small courtyard, which she had landscaped and planted within an inch of its life.
“She can pitch a tent,” Sophie suggested as the movers looked around, unsure of what to do with my bed. Amy’s apartment was long and narrow. She slept on a cot next to the tiny kitchen, and the bathroom was at the end of the skinny space.
“I think you should donate the bed frame and mattress,” Grace suggested, throwing a few more sticks on the fire that was going in the fire pit.
“We can take it to Goodwill,” the mover offered as his buddies unloaded the last of my meager possessions, being mindful to give Fergus in his cat carrier a wide berth.
“Okay,” I said, dejected. “Take the bed, the lamp, and the desk, please.”
“But that’s all your furniture!” Brea protested.
I shrugged unhappily. “Can’t do anything with it now.”
One of the movers came out of the truck with my mother’s suitcase.
“Just leave that there. She can come pick it up,” I said.
I sagged on the tiny bench and stared into the flames as Brea poured me warm grog that Elsie had made. I sipped the steaming cup of alcohol, tea, and spices then coughed.
