Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

12. Chapter Twelve

“What do we do with the kittens? I didn’t know there would be a test,” I joke, stalling for time. Madison makes me want to find the solution.

“We can’t leave them here, right?” Before I can answer, her phone vibrates. She looks at it—it’s her dad again—but doesn’t pick it up.

“Want me to hold the kittens so you can get that?” I ask.

She gathers them even closer. “No takebacks.”

“I promise I’m not stealing kittens. But it looks like your dad is calling.”

She buries her face in her armful of fur. “He’ll leave a message.”

All right, then.

It gets too quiet. She’s probably forgotten that I’m there, but I’m feeling foolish sitting on the stockroom floor with no kittens and no purpose. I clear my throat. “We probably need to call animal control. Or a rescue.”

She gives a sharp shake of her head, then brushes her cheek over the kittens. “My job is cat now.”

“Cool. What does that look like for you? Will you live in this stockroom?”

“Yeah. I’m never moving. I’ll make the owners keep the club closed until these kitties grow up.”

“Solid plan.”

She nuzzles another one, her eyes looking like my youngest sister’s always did on Christmas morning. “How come no one ever told me cats are so awesome?”

“Have you met the internet? Cats are the whole reason it exists.”

The mama cat gets up and pads over to sit beside me, her eyes never leaving her kittens.

“How old do you think they are?” Madison asks.

“To be honest, I don’t know a ton about cats. I’ll ask Google.”

Madison finally looks up. “You seemed so confident about what the mama cat needed. I thought you might be a cat pro.”

“Not really,” I say, already typing a search into my phone. “We had a couple of feral barn cats, but my mom is super allergic to them so we never had any in the house. The barn cats ate mice and did their thing without much help from us, so I don’t know.”

“You lived on a farm?” she asks.

“Not exactly. But we had a barn.” I lived on a horse ranch, but unless you’re talking to someone who also grew up on a horse ranch, people don’t picture the right thing, so I don’t clarify unless there’s plenty of time to explain. We fall silent while I skim the info in a link. “Good news. I have read an internet article and now I’m a cat rescue expert.”

“Educate me,” she says.

“I’m going to need to look at the babies to be sure. I promise not to steal them.”

“Fine. Come look.”

I scoot closer and peer at the black-and-white kitten, which—according to the article—is called a tuxedo. Its head is resting on the back of one of the all-grays, and it’s easiest to see. I pick it up and check its belly. “Have you seen any of them open their eyes?” When she shakes her head no, I read through the guide I found, comparing Tux to the size chart until I have an answer. “Giant head and folded up ears. Umbilical cord still attached. It looks like that one is maybe between one and three days old. What do you think?”

She looks at my phone screen, which shows a chart with the progression of kitten growth by day. She glances between it and her arms a few times. “Yeah, they can’t be older than three days. Does it say what we should do with them? Do we need to do anything about these cords?”

“It says not to cut them. And if the kittens are all nursing well, you don’t need to do much. If not, they’re supposed to be bottle fed every two hours with a special formula.” It already sounds overwhelming. How would we know if they’re nursing well? Where do you get kitten formula? “Maybe I should call a rescue and find out more.”

“Good idea.”

I find the name of a local cat rescue and have a true expert on the phone in less than a minute. After I explain the situation, the volunteer tells me what to check for to see if they’re healthy. “Basically,” he concludes, “you need to watch them nurse, and then you’ll have more information.”

“Then I can call you back with more questions?” I ask.

He laughs. “Definitely. Their care isn’t complicated unless you fall for them. Then it’s stressful, but I promise, in most cases, mother cats do a pretty good job without our help.”

We hang up, and the mama cat gets up and walks over to Madison, climbing up to rest her forepaws on Madison’s leg so she can eye her babies.

“Maybe she’s saying she wants to feed them,” I suggest when I see some sleepy wiggling.

“Do I just put them down?” Madison asks.

“Maybe?” I glance around, then pull her towel out of the gym bag. It’s wedged in, and when I tug it out, a teal thong flies loose and lands on Madison’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

She glances down at it. “Not where I usually wear my underwear.”

This makes me think about where she does wear her underwear, which makes me tell myself to stop thinking about underwear.

“Let me see if the mama cat will lay down on this towel to feed them.” I arrange it into a nest and give her a soft “Here, kitty, kitty” as I pick her up and rest her on the towel. She sits, her eyes not moving from the kittens.

“What’s supposed to happen?” Madison asks.

“I thought she would lie down.”

Madison sighs. “I have to put down the babies, don’t I?”

“You can do it,” I tell her. “I have faith in you.”

“It’s just that I love them with my whole heart, and I never want to be parted from them.”

I reach over and rest a hand on her shoulder, looking deeply into her eyes. “I’m right here, ready to be your emotional support human. But let’s not let the kittens starve.”

Her lips quirk. “When you put it that way . . .”

“Permission to take a kitten?”

“Just know you’re tearing away part of my soul.”

“Got it.” I scoop one of the babies from her arms and set it down by the mama cat. The mama cat lies down, and I scoot the baby all the way up to her belly. The baby does some jerky head wobbling while it roots before little sucking noises start.

Madison’s eyes meet mine. “Is it me or is that big-headed baby cat making slurping noises so cute you want to die?”

“I don’t want to die, but that’s cute.”

“Like you almost can’t stand it cute?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Also so cute I can barely stand it? Madison. Madison with her big eyes full of wonder, her face soft as she watches the babies. This is not good for me at all, but a wrecking ball couldn’t move me from this spot.

I take two more and set them by the mama, and Madison moves the last kitten.

She grins. “That is a writhing mass of fur and weird noises, and it’s way more adorable than it should be for anything you could describe as writhing.”

Also not good for me: Madison using the word “writhing.”

This is ridiculous. Maybe I’m having a strong reaction to her because I’ve siloed her as off-limits in my head, and now I’m the victim of my own reverse psychology. It’s possible. I’ve never made a woman off-limits before because I’ve never been on such a high-stakes deadline before. Maybe I’m dumb enough to have made her harder to resist.

I have to think this through later, when I’m not catching that faint caramel scent. When that’s in play, I don’t think any logical thoughts.

“How long do they eat? And how often? And is the mama cat okay here?” Madison asks. “Do we need to take her to the vet, or let her go outside so she can get food? Wait, no, you can buy cat food. What kind do we get her? Do you know what breed she is? Does she need a specific kind of food for her breed?”

Right now, in this moment, Madison is not cool. Not even remotely. I’m so into it that it’s not even funny.

It’s really not. This is going to be trouble.

“I’ll google some more,” I say, “but you know Google is either going to give five hundred conflicting opinions or the most overcautious advice that only truly neurotic people can think of.”

“You google, I’m calling Mrs. Lipsky.”

She walks to the doorway to make her call, but she doesn’t step out. She’s not taking her eyes off the cats. I hear her entire conversation with whoever Mrs. Lipsky is, and from Madison’s side, it sounds like the information she’s getting matches what I find on Google.

“If the kittens are eating well, we can leave them here with the mama,” she says. “We want to make sure the mom has enough food and water.”

I’m still sitting near the kittens, and I glance up from my phone. “That’s what my extensive research showed too.”

“Okay, cool.” She plucks at the tie on her leggings and studies the nursing kittens. “How do we know if they’re eating enough?”

“It sounds like you’re supposed to watch them and see if they eat every two to three hours. And you weigh them. They’re supposed to gain about a quarter to half an ounce each day.”

Her forehead furrows. “Mrs. Lipsky says to leave them alone as much as possible because if everyone is healthy and the mama has food, she’ll know what to do. And we can definitely keep them here until Thursday. But then it’s going to get hectic because we have an event set up.”

“Question: who is Mrs. Lipsky, and why are we asking her about kittens?”

“My neighbor. She’s old and she has a parrot.”

This doesn’t clear up why we’re taking kitten advice, but I move to the next question. “The event, is it that mask thing I saw on those signs?”

She nods. “We always do a big party on the first Friday of the month, and those are our biggest nights, so it means extra setup on Thursday. We do a masked night in February for Mardi Gras, and this one in the fall with a different theme. Those are our wildest events. People get brave when they have masks on.”

“Why? Are these full-face masks?”

She smiles. “No. But give people a half mask and some liquor, and a lot of fives will take their shot with tens. And they should, because if the chemistry is there, it’s less about looks, so good for them.”

“What about the tens?” I ask. “You aren’t afraid you’ll be fooled by a five?”

She shoots me a smirk. “Did you just call me a ten, Oliver?”

“What? No, I—” I stop my backpedal. “Yes. That’s not news, is it?”

Her shoulder lifts and drops. “Not really. But any girl with expensive highlights who puts in the gym time will score at least an eight. Besides, a five with a good personality beats a ten without one every time.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Her answer is a mixture of cockiness and self-awareness. “So we have until Thursday to find a place for these kittens before the club becomes the second circle of hell?”

“One, it’s not that bad. Two, the tips are excellent. And three, yes. But I don’t want to leave them here unsupervised tonight.” She gives me a speculative look.

I smooth the hair at my nape. “Don’t look at me like that. It makes the hair on my neck stand up.”

“Look at you like what?” Her voice is way too innocent.

“That’s how my sisters look when they’re getting up to something.”

“I’m not getting up to anything.” Still too innocent. “I’m just thinking maybe you could take them to your place and watch them tonight.”

No way. I’m not a cat whisperer. “You found them. You’re in charge of this place. You should take them.”

She frowns. “I would in a heartbeat, but Ava is wildly allergic. Like, her eyes will puff up if she even walks into a room where a cat once lived in one of its past nine lives.”

“That’s pretty allergic.”

“Yeah, so how about you? Any allergic roommates?”

“No.” Her face brightens again, and I shut it down. “But I’m not bringing them home. They’ll be fine here. Cats have been having kittens on their own for centuries. Millennia, probably. But I’ll research cat rescues who can take them.”

She walks over and crouches near the kittens, resting her chin on her knees as she studies them. “Okay. That’s fair. You’ve already gone beyond the call of duty here.” She pulls out her phone and starts a voice text. “Hey, Ava. Ask Joey if he has any camping equipment I can borrow. Sleeping bag. Cot.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why do you need camping equipment?”

“I’m not leaving them alone. I’ll stay here.”

“Madison . . .”

“It’s fine,” she says. “The building is secure.”

She isn’t saying it in a martyr voice, like she’s waiting for me to sacrifice myself instead. She means it; she’s going to sleep here overnight.

I won’t sleep tonight if she does that because my conscience will keep me up, telling me what a jerk I am. “I’d rather take them to my place than make you stay here.”

“I already decided.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, like she won’t be discussing it anymore. “And now that I know there’s no ghost cat haunting this place, you should go back to work. I’ve distracted you enough.” She meets my eyes and adds a smile.

I want to argue with her, but I’ve been dismissed. Thoroughly dismissed.

Instead of saying anything, I send a voice text of my own. “Hey, Charlie. Will you ask Ruby if her brother has a sleeping bag I can borrow? Or a cot?”

“What are you doing?” Madison asks.

“Camping out here, I guess.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to. I got this.”

I lean forward slightly, stopping when the mama cat’s head turns my direction and she tenses. “You don’t have to either. I told you, I’ll bring her to my place and see how she and the babies do. If they’re fine, then we can make a better decision about what to do next.”

Madison opens her mouth like she’s going to protest, but I jump in. “This is exactly what you asked for the first time. Maybe take the win?”

Her mouth snaps shut. She narrows her eyes for a second then nods and picks up her phone. “Never mind about the sleeping bags.” She taps the screen and smiles at me. “Sent.”

I pick up my phone. “Never mind about the sleeping bags.” I tap it and smile. “Sent.”

“Thank you,” she adds. “How about you go back to the quiet time you’re paying me good money for? I’ll get everything together that you’ll need tonight.”

I look down at the kittens, who have settled into sleep, their tiny bellies rising and falling. The mama cat looks close to sleep herself. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Madison says. “Go have a productive day and forget I’m here.”

Yeah, right. Like that’s worked for even a single minute since the second I met her.

But I get to my feet and head up to my “desk” anyway. The only thing harder than forgetting Madison is forgetting the deadlines I have to meet, every single one of them even hairier than the furballs I’m leaving her with.