Diego offers an endless string of commentary, telling me their names and any personality quirks he’s noticed. He tells me about the social ones and even has nice things to say about the most antisocial of them, seeming to genuinely believe that each of these cats will open up and become the perfect pet if they go to a kind, loving home.
I don’t know at what point I start crying, but Diego notices it before I do.
“Hey, it’s okay. I know it’s kind of overwhelming to see them all locked up in cages like this, but we get a lot of volunteers in to help socialize them, play with the ones who want to play. We do our best here, really.”
Between feeling sorry for Ruthie and feeling sorry for all these cats I never would have thought about had I not been so determined to find Ruthie, I’m sobbing. I grow embarrassed, my cheeks heating, as I realize I’m breaking down in front of this total stranger.
It’s a good cry, the kind where I let out all my pent-up emotions. The kind that would have left me feeling relieved afterward if I weren’t in a public space and if it felt like there wouldbean afterward. I keep crying and crying, and Diego stands next to me, quiet.
Once the tears finally ebb, I spare Diego a glance. He stares straight ahead at one of the cats, a small orange tabby, his fingers scratching the tabby’s neck through the bars. Giving me the closest thing to privacy he can under the circumstances.
I realize this is the first time I’ve cried in a while—since the night I died, probably—and the way I cried really shows that. Even though my tears have stopped flowing, I feel like they’re still right there, waiting to come to the surface at a moment’s notice.
I clear my throat and mutter an apology, unable to look him in the eye. How am I supposed to get through the rest of this interaction? I focus on the cats, trying to rush through seeing them. I start to doubt I’ll have any luck.
Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea.
“I get it,” Diego says. “That’s why I work here. It’s sad, all these animals without a home, and I’d adopt them all if I could, but I figure working here and trying to make their lives better, getting them to the right families—that’s good enough for me. Have any of these fur balls caught your interest?”
We reach the end of the row of cages, and Ruthie is nowhere to be found. My tears have mostly dried, so I take a deep breath and push forward with my real reason for coming here.
Finally looking him in the eye and trying not to think too hard about what he must see—I’m an ugly crier, always have been—I’m struck by the thought that Diego is a really good guy, caring so much about these cats. And probably one of the few people I’ve met who seems to have found a job that he loves, one that’s rewarding and where he makes an actual difference.
I’m glad he was probably one of the first people Ruthie met. Or will be, depending on the timeline of things. Which brings me to…
“You haven’t seen a tortoiseshell tabby cat come through here this year, have you? Long-haired, looks brown in some lighting. Could easily be mistaken for a Maine coon because of her coat but doesn’t have the grumpy-looking face or the tufted ears. Yellow eyes with a green ring around the pupil?”
“You lost your cat?” Diego asks, his voice full of sympathy.
I nod, then remember that Ruthie would have come in here at no more than a few months old, not yet vaccinated or spayed or any of those fun things that cats have to go through before they can be adopted, so I lie. “Notmycat. I took in a stray kitten, but she got out a few days later, and now she’s all I can think about. I know it’s silly, but… I really want to get her back.”
I can tell by the look on Diego’s face that I’ve played this right. He doesn’t even blink at my lie about knowing Ruthie for only a few days, just warmly asks, “What was her name?”
“Ruthie.”
“Can you describe Ruthie to me again?”
I do, hope fluttering in my chest, but once I’m done, Diego shakes his head and says, “I haven’t seen a cat like that pass through here recently. How long ago did you lose her?”
Uh-oh. Okay, how to play this? “It’s been a while,” I start, which elicits the surprised reaction I expect it to. I land on a lie that is both careful and a bit of a spiral. “A few months, actually. I was living up in the Valley at the time, so I checked all the rescues and shelters up there. I know the odds of her getting all the way down here are slim, but—”
“Hey, you never know. Cats are impressive creatures.”
“I should probably give up, but I just wanted to check. You know?”
“I get it. Can’t say I blame you. I have three cats at home, and if any one of them got out, I’d tear this city to pieces searching.”
Diego walks me out with a promise to keep an eye out for a cat matching my description.
I’m almost through the door when I catch sight of a flyer. I turn back to Diego.
“You guys are hiring?”
17
October passes with lightning speed. I get the receptionist job at the shelter, and despite my determination to live this life differently, it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of school and homework and work. Different job, different classes, but the same cadence.
The biggest difference is Alex. Physically and emotionally, things between us build at dissonant speeds.
