Chapter 4
4
CADENCE
I wake up to the familiar beeping of the microwave, signaling that Nan's already started on breakfast. The scent of instant oatmeal wafts through our cramped living quarters at the back of the rescue. I stretch, feeling the kinks in my back from another night on the camping mat. I keep thinking I'll get used to it. That one morning I'll spring out of bed, completely free of aches and pains, but so far, I'm shit out of luck.
With a groan I push to my feet and wander out toward the kennels, straight for the little kitchen nook. Or what we've created as our kitchen.
"Morning, Bunny," Nan greets me, her eyes crinkling with a smile as she sets down two steaming bowls on our makeshift dining table - a folding card table wedged between towers of dog food bags. "Eat up." Ignoring the oatmeal, I pull her into my arms for a hug and kiss. I know she won't be with me forever, but she's here now, and healthy, so I'm getting in all the love I can.
Her arms come around me squeezing me tight. Not as tight as she used to, but it still feels the same. Safe, grounded, home.
She pats my back, then nudges me to the table. "Eat up kid."
I nod, shoveling a spoonful of the oats into my mouth. It's not gourmet, but it's fuel, and the cinnamon and raisins she threw in it makes it feel a bit more like a treat.
After we're done, I watch Nan as she moves about our tiny kitchenette - though maybe kitchenette is a little generous for a sink and a microwave. Her hands are thin, skin papery and liver-spotted with age, but they never stop moving, never stop giving.
She deserves so much more than this. More than microwave oatmeal and a granddaughter who's barely keeping a roof over our heads.
"I'm sorry Nan," I say softly. But the woman has bat hearing, and turns the water off, resting her hip against the counter.
"Sorry for what?"
"I'm sorry we're here. I'm sorry I couldn't hold onto the house."
She scowls at me. "Don't be a dumbass Cady. You didn't make me sick. Cancer sucks, and I don't need any of that stuff anyway. I have you. That's all I need."
"But still —"
"But nothing. It's done. All we can do is move forward. And you know…"
"Good things will come. I know Nan."
"But do you believe it?"
Do I believe that everything's going to be okay, and that we'll end up in a far better place soon?
"Yeah, I do. I was just having a moment. I'm done now."
"Good," she mutters, then shakes her wet hands. "Now get off your butt and dry these dishes."
We make quick work of the breakfast dishes before heading out to the kennels. The dogs greet us with a chorus of eager barks and whines, their tails wagging in frenzied excitement.
"Alright, alright, I hear ya," I laugh, grabbing a scoop to start doling out their breakfast. Nan falls in beside me, filling water bowls. We move through the morning routine with practiced efficiency.
As the dogs settle in to eat, Nan glances at her watch. "I better get a move on if I'm gonna catch that bus."
I pause, a bag of dog food hefted on my shoulder. "You sure you don't want me to drive you? I can spare a few minutes."
Nan waves off my offer. "Nonsense. You've got adoptions today. Those families need you here." She grabs her purse, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. "I'll be fine. You just focus on finding these pups their forever homes."
I watch her go, her steps slow but determined as she heads for the bus stop. My throat tightens. She's always been my rock, my anchor in the storm. I just wish I could give her the life she deserves - a real home, real comfort for whatever years she has left. But for now, the rescue is all I can offer.
But she’s healthy, I remind myself. She's stubborn. And I pray that doesn't change. She's going to take the bus until she physically can't anymore, determined to keep her independence. It wouldn't matter where we lived. And I want her to stay healthy, and part of health is community. That's what those seniors at the community center are for her. They rallied around her during her treatments, making sure she was supported and entertained. They were a godsend.
And in the end, she's still here with me. I couldn't ask for more.
I wave at her, standing outside the rescue until I see she’s safely on the bus, then take a deep breath, unlock the doors, and let the morning bustle of the rescue wash over me. It's going to be a busy day, but the best kind of busy. We've got several adoptive families coming in to pick up their new furry family members. And as always, there will be walk-ins. I have a pretty thorough vetting process, but I've learned to trust my gut about adopters, and most of the time, I get it right.
The first to arrive is the Hernandez family, a young couple with two adorable little girls. They've been waiting a week to bring home their new pup, a playful golden retriever mix they're naming Sunny. As soon as they walk in, the girls squeal with delight and rush over to Sunny's kennel.
"He's perfect!" the older girl exclaims, her face pressed against the bars.
I grin, unlocking the kennel. "He's been waiting for you."
Watching Sunny lick her entire face, his tail wagging a mile a minute, warmth blooms in my chest. This is why I started all this. Pets enrich everyone's lives.
The day continues in a flurry of happy tears and wagging tails. There's the retired couple who adopt a pair of bonded senior pugs, the single dad and his son who fall in love with a goofy boxer mix, and the young woman who finds her perfect match in a shy terrier.
With each adoption, my heart swells a little more. This is my path, my purpose. Nan always said I had a gift for matching hearts, for seeing the potential in the overlooked and the abandoned. Running this rescue, I get to live that gift every day.
But I'm not actually the secret sauce. At least not all of it. Because while I might have an idea of a good fit between an animal and a family, sometimes, magic happens. A little girl will walk past the gnarliest meanest looking dog, and fall in love. And that grumpy, snarly old thing turns into a complete marshmallow for her, letting her dress him up for tea parties.
There's a little magic in everything if you leave room for it.
As the last family leaves, their new pup nestled in their arms, I lean against the front desk, a contented sigh escaping my lips. I'm exhausted, my feet aching and my shirt covered in dog hair, but it's the best kind of tired. The bone deep, satisfied kind of tired.
Not to be confused with the fucked so good your bones are tired kind of satisfied. It's been a long while since I've enjoyed a good fucking, and I gotta be honest, I miss it.
Desperately.
And it's not like I've had many opportunities to take care of business myself considering I've been sharing a room with my grandma for months. I really have to find us an apartment. I guess technically I have enough now to get us someplace cheap, but I won't settle for cheap. Nan deserves something safe. She deserves a home. And if it means another month here, then I think that’s a tradeoff worth making.
For now, we're making do. Heading to the back to hand out scratches to the dozen dogs remaining, I take a minute to appreciate the empty kennels. They'll fill again sooner than I wish because there are always more dogs in need of a second chance. And I'll never turn them away.
I wander back to the front desk, and drop into my chair. Would it be bad to just lay my head down here and take a little nap? Between the late nights at The Escape, my days here, and Nan's habit of talking in her sleep, I'm tired. Bone tired.
Checking the clock, I realize I should have at least half an hour before my volunteers get here. Bree and Nick are both coming tonight. But until then, it couldn't hurt to take a little nap.