8. Chapter 8 #2
“No, no, it’s okay. Some grants need to be renewed annually; others every five years. The renewal process and finding new ones is a large undertaking, whether we’ve done it or not.”
Beatrix studies me for a long moment, her weathered hands drumming on the counter.
I wouldn’t be surprised if funding isn’t their only issue.
She’s the only person I see here, too. To train me is a task in and of itself, plus to trust me.
I may not be Creulla De Vil ready to take off with some puppies, but I might get keys, I might be in charge of making community connections with agencies such as veterinarians, I might have the ability to mess a lot up for the animal shelter.
“Most volunteers don’t last a week once they see what it’s really like here,” she says finally. “The cute factor wears off fast when you’re scrubbing kennels and dealing with sick animals.”
“I’m not looking for cute,” I reply.
Something in my tone must convince her, because she gives a short nod and comes around the counter. She’s shorter than I expected, compact and sturdy in faded jeans and a sweatshirt that reads “SKCAS.”
“Two hours,” she says. “Twice a week to start. We’ll see if you’re still interested after you see the disaster zone of paperwork I’m dealing with.”
“Thank you,” I say. “When can I start?”
“Right now, if you’ve got the time.” She gestures toward a door behind her marked “Office.” “Fair warning, it’s not pretty in there.”
“Mommy,” Leo whispers, tugging at my sleeve. “What about the animals?”
Beatrix’s stern expression softens almost imperceptibly as she glances at my children. “The friendly cats are in the socialization room down that hallway. First door on the right. Rules are posted on the wall. Follow them exactly.”
“Can we, Mommy?” Meredith asks, already pulling me toward the hallway.
I hesitate, looking from the children to Beatrix and back.
“Go ahead,” Beatrix says with a sigh. “Get that out of the way first. I’ll wait.”
I follow the children down the hallway, my mind already categorizing the shelter’s needs.
The office makes our apartment look bare.
Every surface disappears under stacks of paper, folders, and donation envelopes.
Three mismatched filing cabinets stand against one wall, their drawers partially open with files spilling out.
The 1990s desktop computer on the desk has sticky notes framing the monitor and that distinct whirl where I just know it freezes every ten minutes.
After letting the children spend ten minutes in the socialization room—just enough for Leo to cautiously pet a sleeping tabby and for Meredith to declare she wants “the orange one with only one eye”—Beatrix has brought me here to see what I’m really getting myself into.
Meanwhile, the children are safely next to me, playing with a stack of papers and pencils.
“So,” she says, arms crossed, watching my face for signs of regret. “Still interested?”
Veterinary bills here. Adoption applications in that corner. My fingers itch to start.
“Absolutely,” I reply. “But you’ll need to explain your current system before I can improve it.”
Beatrix snorts. “System? What you see is what you get.”
I move toward the filing cabinet marked “Medical,” pulling the top drawer open to inspect its contents. “Do you keep digital copies of the animals’ records?”
“On that,” Beatrix says, nodding toward the computer. “When it works.”
Understandable. Hard to keep digital files when I’m pretty sure I had the exact same computer in middle school.
“And backups?”
She gives me a look that answers the question.
“Okay, first priority is backing up your data,” I say, making mental notes. “Then setting up a proper filing system for both physical and digital records. After that, upgrading your current system.”
The door bangs open. A woman with bright copper hair, cut in a choppy bob, storms in, immediately positioning herself between me and Beatrix.
Her paint-splattered jeans and faded T-shirt with “OVERCOME” across the front couldn’t be further from the coordinated outfits I wore as Julian’s wife, but she carries herself with a confidence I envy.
“Beatrix, for God’s sake!” The woman’s voice fills the small office. “Are you terrorizing another volunteer? We’ve talked about this!”
“Sarah—” Beatrix starts.
“No, don’t ‘Sarah’ me.” The woman—Sarah—plants her hands on her hips. “Last month it was that college kid, and before that, the retired teacher. If you keep scaring everyone off, who’s going to help when you finally collapse from doing everything yourself?”
I stand perfectly still, fascinated.
Beatrix sighs deeply. “If you’d let me speak, I’d tell you that Ms. Fallinger here has volunteered to help with administrative work.”
Sarah turns to face me fully, her expression transforming from righteous indignation to surprised delight so quickly it’s almost comical.
“Administrative work? Voluntarily?” She looks me up and down, her grin widening. “Either you’re a saint or you have no idea what you’re really getting into.”
“Probably the latter,” I admit, finding myself smiling back. “But I have experience with organizing chaos.”
Then, she spots the kids in the corner. “Is the little boy and girl going to be in charge of the feces?”
Leo mouths “Feces?” while Meredith asks, “What’s that?”
“Poop,” Sarah says.
“Eww,” they say in unison.
“No, no,” I promise. “I’ll find proper childcare for them moving forward. They’re only seeing the place with me today.”
“Well, you’ve found the right place then. I’m Sarah O’Malley.” She extends a hand covered in freckles and what looks like blue paint. “Volunteer dog walker, occasional foster parent, and Beatrix’s unofficial translator to normal humans.”
I shake her hand, noticing the strength in her grip. “Elowen Fallinger. And these are my children, Leo and Meredith.”
Sarah’s gaze shifts to where my children sit on the carpet, watching this unexpected exchange. Her entire demeanor softens as she crouches down to their level.
“Well, hello there,” she says, her voice gentler but no less enthusiastic. “I was kidding about the feces. Are you guys helping your mom today?”
“We saw kitties,” Meredith announces. “I like the orange one with only one eye. He’s perfect.”
Sarah’s laugh is full and uninhibited. “Cyclops? He’s one of my favorites, too. Grumpy old guy, but once he trusts you, he’s loyal forever.” She glances back at me. “Your daughter has excellent taste in cats.”
“I’m seven,” Meredith informs her solemnly, holding up the correct number of fingers. “And I’m not scared of anything.”
“I can tell,” Sarah says, equally serious. “That’s a very important quality around here.” She turns her attention to Leo. “What about you, buddy? Did you meet any cats you liked?”
Leo shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “The gray one was sleeping,” he offers quietly. “He didn’t hiss or anything.”
“That’s Milo. He’s super chill,” Sarah confirms. “Would you guys like to meet some more of the friendly cats while your mom and Beatrix talk boring grown-up stuff? I know all the best ones.”
Meredith bounces on her toes. “Yes! Can we, Mommy?”
I look at Leo, who gives a small nod, despite his obvious hesitation. “That would be nice, thank you,” I say to Sarah. They’ve already seen most of the cats, but it would be nice to focus for a few minutes. Plus, I’m sure the kids would agree that ten minutes was not enough cat time.
“Awesome!” Sarah stands and offers a hand to each child. Meredith grabs hers immediately, and Leo takes it after a moment’s consideration. “We’ve got some new kittens that came in last week. Still too young for adoption, but old enough for gentle love.”
As she leads them from the office, her voice carries back to us: “You’ve got spunk, kid. I like that.” And I heard Meredith’s delighted giggle in response.
I watch them go, a small smile playing on my lips.
“O’Malley’s good with the kids,” Beatrix concedes, drawing my attention back. “Adults too, usually. She’s been volunteering here for five years, and she never misses a shift.”
“She seems passionate,” I say.
“That’s one word for it.” Beatrix moves to the desk, shoving aside a stack of papers to reveal a dusty keyboard. “Don’t expect miracles. I’ve been running this place by myself since my husband died eight years ago.”