TRIPP
“What’s your shop called, monster?” I call out to my niece, perched on the couch and impatiently waiting for me to join her.
My toes slam into the wheel of the double stroller as I pass it in the living room, the newest arrival delivered from my brother and his girlfriend. I think half of the store – or maybe all of it – is coming in, in a slow drip of packages.
The place is only as cleaned up as it is because Brody’s been coming by every morning since they got here to help us ‘maintain a certain level of cleanliness.’ Whatever that means.
“Ummm…” Her face twists, her eyes scrunching as she thinks. “Katie-cat cat tattoos by Katie.”
So she’s chosen a specialty, I guess.
Giving Drumstick a playful toss onto the coffee table in front of her, I gesture toward him with a flourish. “Your first client.”
A giggle flies out of her as she massages her fingertips into the side of his belly, which she helped me wash yesterday afternoon.
“Where’s my mommy?” She asks.
“She’s upstairs with Aunt Jules, helping her with some mom stuff,” I tell her, setting a bowl of water onto the table before taking the seat next to hers. Drumstick wanders toward it, helping himself to a drink, as if he doesn’t have three other bowls to choose from in this house.
“Where’s Brody?”
“He’s getting us lunch,” I answer. “And Uncle Connor is getting diapers for your cousins and your Aunt Jules. Anyone else we need to track down?”
Her lips purse, her face scrunching as she shifts her focus to the window at our side. With a hard shake of her head, she reaches for the stack of supplies in front of her.
“Alright,” I say with a smack to my thigh, “got your machine?”
“Yup!” She answers with a bob of her head as she waves her wash cloth in the air.
“Got your ink pots?”
“Yup!” This time, she reaches for a stack of temporary tattoos we printed at the shop last night.
Reaching for the boxes in front of us, I pull a pair of gloves from one for myself and another, much smaller pair from the box next to it, handing it to Katie. Watching my movements, she copies me – maybe with a little exaggeration – as we slip into them, and I offer her a firm nod.
Drumstick lets out a startled squawk as I pluck him off of the table and rest him in my lap, apologizing profusely to him in my head; but out loud, I’m laughing. This is going to be the highlight of my fucking week – aside from, you know, the birth of my children.
A close second.
Katie’s hands are busy as she carefully places each tattoo, dipping her wash cloth into the water before pressing it to the paper backing, and Drumstick has never been more annoyed in his life. His eyes shift to me, his little bald ‘eyebrows’ dipping, and I rub the pad of my finger behind his ear.
“You gotta talk to your client,” I tell the little artist at my side. “He needs a distraction.”
“Oh, oops,” she says, taking a moment to affectionately pat his backside. “Do you have a wife?”
Both of them startle at the cackle that roars out of me before I’m able to catch myself, shooting a glance to the video monitor that my sister sent to us.
Still sleeping. We’re good.
“Yeah,” I tell her, “yeah, he’s married with a whole litter.”
Within minutes, my cat has at least fifteen small tattoos on his skin, and my sides hurt from laughing as Katie dabs each one onto him.
She’s laser-focused, sticking out the tip of her tongue and rolling her lips together as Drumstick fights against every instinct in his body not to pop her on the forehead.
“Can I put ‘em on his belly?” She asks as she finishes covering his back and legs.
Drumstick’s eyes move to me, and I swear to god, If he could talk, he would be saying ‘say yes, and I piss in your shoes and tear up the curtains in the nursery.’
“Not if you like your face as is,” I chuckle. After snapping a couple of photos of the two of them together, I angle my head toward the stairs. “Should we go show your mom and Aunt Jules?”
With a hard nod, she hooks her arms beneath the cat’s, and I make a mental note to myself to let him eat as much tuna as he wants after they go back to their hotel for the night.
I hurry ahead of her to announce our presence with a knock on the door, only pushing it open after waiting a few seconds. Dangling the cat, Katie proudly displays him not unlike the way that a fisherman poses with an impressive catch.
“Katie! I—” Nia’s hand snaps over her mouth, her body pivoting toward the wall. She doesn’t turn toward us when she speaks, but her body is shaking with poorly-contained laughter. “Why would you two do that to him?”
Clawing his way out of the vise-like grip of the kid, Drumstick dives onto the bed, where Julia is resting beneath layers of bedding.
“Ohh,” she says sympathetically through laughter that looks like it’s painful, “what did they do to you, my poor baby?”
Massaging his paws into the duvet as he trots in a circle, his head raises and he drops with a huff out of his nose.
Julia’s gaze turns to me, and as hard as she tries to force a stern expression onto her face, her amusement cracks through every feature. “You owe him so much tuna,” she scolds.
“Can we get a mouse to put in it?” Katie asks excitedly, slapping her palms together.
“No!” Nia’s attention is turned to us now, her hidden laughter disappeared in half a breath. “No mice, Katie-cat.”
With a pleading look, my niece turns to me, so I offer her a wink and a thumbs-up hidden at my side.
I’m not actually going to let her get a mouse for him, but I’d let her pick out a mouse-shaped toy at the pet store, if she wanted to.
I chuckle at the idea that, by the time they leave here, Katie will probably be asking them to let her get a hairless cat of her own to draw on and cover with little stick-on tattoos.
And wouldn’t that just be full-fucking circle?