I tried looking through my latest text messages instead, trying to remember if any of these people had a cat. Conner and Shani would probably give me advice based off their experiences as goldfish parents to Hank, which was exactly how Conner would phrase it, I could already tell. I’d texted a few times with another woman in my graduate program, but it had been more about the paperwork we needed to turn in if we planned to walk in December. It would feel awkward to break into that conversation now with a random question about a cat.
Then there was the recent text chain with Alison, from when we’d exchanged numbers at the library. My thumb lingered over her name for a moment, before I clicked to open the new message box. If I thought too hard about it I wouldn’t do it, so instead I just typed my question fast and then clicked “send” before I could have second thoughts.
Hey do you happen to know anything about cats?
Her response came back almost instantaneously.
You think because I’m a lesbian librarian I must also be a cat lady? [cat emoji]
Then:
Yes, I have two cats. [two cat emojis] Why?
I explained the situation as briefly as I could.
She’s probably hungry!Alison replied.Do you have a can of tuna you could open? Don’t let her eat out of the can. Put a couple spoonfuls on a plate and set it in the middle of the room to lure her out.
When the Golden State Killer was breaking into people’s homes, he didn’t get this kind of hospitality, but okay. I guessed I could see how this situation was a little different. I leaned down to check if the cat was still there—yup, glowing yellow eyes—and then got up to check the pantry for any cans of tuna.
No luck.
I considered my options for a minute. I could try to She-Ra the bed up, but even then I wasn’t confident in my ability to hold it up and somehow convince the cat to come out. I could get a broom and start swiping under there, but that seemed needlessly mean. I could just give up, lock the house and leave and let the cat have squatter’s rights.
Finally, I headed next door to Sam’s.
It was unfortunate that he only saw me at my very worst—coffee-stained pajama pants orBatman ForeverT-shirt. Today, I’d dressed for cleaning, which meant I was wearing old ripped jeans and a Metric shirt from college that was just this side of too small. I’d even wrapped a bandana around my hair because that was what people who cleaned on TV always did.
“Hey,” I said when he opened the door, barely taking a breath. “Can I borrow a can of tuna?”
He tilted his head. “I thought it was supposed to be a cup of sugar.”
“Cats shouldn’t eat sugar,” I said, appalled. “That can’t be good for their digestive tract.”
“Wait,” Sam said. “What are we talking about?”
“Just grab the tuna and come over,” I said.
I didn’t wait for him, but left the door ajar so he’d know it was okay to come in. I was worried Lenore would’ve moved already, making it that much harder to figure out where she was now, but when I peered under the bed, there she was.
In my pocket, my phone vibrated with another message.Well???Alison had typed.Did you get her to come out? And if so, when are you sending a pic???
I didn’t bother replying yet. Better to wait when I actually had an update to share.
Sam appeared in the doorway of my room, hesitating at the threshold like he was a vampire who needed to be invited in. “I brought the tuna,” he said, holding up a can, and then another implement in his other hand. “And a can opener. Just in case.”
I gestured him in, and he joined me down on the floor. I’d already brought a fork and plate from the kitchen, and I opened the can of tuna and scooped a little bit out onto the plate, hoping it looked appetizing enough for Lenore to venture out. It certainly smelled strong enough.
“Is this a satanic ritual?” Sam asked. “Because I like to be asked for affirmative consent before I participate in one of those.”
“Shh,” I said. “Maybe we should back up, give her some space.”
I withdrew, sliding back on the carpet until my back was against the closet. Sam joined me, angling his head to try to see under the bed. I could’ve reached out and tousled his hair—he was so close. It took massive self-control—and me sitting on my hands—but I managed to resist the temptation.
“How’d she get under there?” Sam asked.
“She’s been trying to come in the house lately,” I said. “Today I left the door open and she just darted in. Now she won’t come out from under the bed, and I don’t want tohurther, but you know... what if she takes a dump under there or something? I don’t want to have to deal with that.”
“You should hope for poop,” Sam said. “The alternative might be harder to get the smell out.”