Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
R ayna ignored the pounding on her front door as she searched through the kitchen junk drawer for batteries for the good flashlight.
“C’mon,” she snarled, yanking the drawer open further as a flurry of pencils, receipts, and tape dispensers fell to the ground. She pawed through the contents, her heart thudding and her stomach churning. Where the fuck were the batteries?
The pounding grew louder, and she shouted, “Fuck!” before stomping down the hallway to the front door. She yanked it open. “Can I help… what do you want?”
She glared at Stark, who glared right back. “I found your stupid cat.”
“What?” She went still, relief washing over her. “You found Molly?”
“Yes. She’s in my goddamn house.”
“You let her into your house?” she said, confused.
“I didn’t let her into my house,” he snapped. “I have no fucking idea how she got into my house, but you need to come get her immediately.”
“Fine,” she said. “Christ, you don’t have to be such a dick about it.”
He didn’t answer, just turned around and stomped down the porch stairs. She shut the door behind her and followed him silently into his house. She didn’t say a word when he led her past the kitchen and living room and down a narrow hallway papered in horrible wallpaper that featured oversized shiny pink roses and… were those sparkles?
He opened a door, and she paused on the threshold. “Is this your bedroom?”
“Yes, why?” He gave her an impatient look.
“I’m not going into your bedroom,” she said. Butterflies were flapping around in her stomach, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring at his bed. Stark slept there. He slept there, maybe naked, and it was way too easy to picture herself in that bed, definitely naked and riding Stark’s face to the best orgasm of her life.
Rayna!
“If you want your damn cat, you’re coming into my bedroom,” he growled.
Her stomach still quivering, she stepped into the room, following him toward a closed door near the far end of the room. He opened it, and she blinked in surprise.
“Holy shit.”
“You need to take your cat home immediately,” Stark said.
Ignoring him, she sat cross-legged in front of the closet and reached out to pet Molly. “Hello, sweet girl.”
Molly purred loudly before bending her head to groom one of the three tiny kittens sleeping against her belly.
“Look at your sweet babies. What a good girl,” she said.
“No,” Stark said. “Not a good girl. There is blood and… goo … all over my favourite cashmere sweater, Ms. Abrams.”
She studied the dark grey sweater that Molly was nesting on. Feeling nearly giddy with relief over Molly being safe, she said, “Maybe you should learn to put your clothes away.”
“I did,” he snarled. “It was on that shelf, and your dumb cat must have pulled it down to give birth. Do you have any idea how much that sweater cost? It’s ruined.”
She laughed. “Yeah, go ahead and bill the rescue for it. I’ll get my accountant on it asap.”
Stark sighed before squatting beside her. He watched silently as she carefully picked up each baby and examined them. They looked perfect, with bellies already round with milk, and Molly had cleaned them well. She placed them back against Molly, smiling when they started meowing and squirming. Molly meowed back, and Rayna gently rearranged the babies until they were each at a nipple.
They began to nurse, and she petted Molly again. Stark made another sigh of impatience. “How exactly did your cat escape your house and get into mine?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “Did you leave a window open?”
“In the middle of winter?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be letting your cats roam like this.”
“Obviously, I wasn’t,” she said. “Molly is an escape artist.”
“Maybe you should have been watching her better,” he said.
Anger washed over her. How dare he judge her when he had no idea what it was like to keep a cat determined to be outdoors inside. He was such an asshole.
“You need to get them out of here, Ms. Abrams,” Stark said.
She stared at the purring Molly, scratching lightly at her chin as a truly diabolical plan took hold in her head. She hesitated for only a few seconds before deciding that fuck it, Stark deserved to be messed with.
“Sorry,” she said briskly. “I can’t move Molly or the babies.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I move them from the area Molly chose as her nest, the babies will die,” she lied.
He blinked at her. “They’ll die?”
“Yes,” she said. “Molly will abandon them if we try to put the babies in a different nesting area.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely serious,” she said. “The most we can do is change out the birthing bedding. Any more than that and Molly will leave her babies to die.”
“Christ, this is why I like dogs and not cats,” he snapped.
Feeling bad only that she was besmirching Molly’s good name, she shrugged. “It’s biology. I’m afraid you’re stuck with them for now.”
“For how long?” he asked.
“Not that long. Just eight weeks,” she said.
His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and she had to fight hard not to start laughing. “Two months? I have to have this cat and her babies in my closet for two months?”
“Afraid so,” she said. “Unless you want to be a kitten murderer?”
He muttered another curse. “I am not set up to take care of a cat.”
She grinned at him. “It’s no problem. I have everything at my house that you’ll need to be a foster.”
“I am not a cat foster,” he snapped.
“You’re not not a cat foster,” she said.
His face suggested he wanted to murder her, and Rayna couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy.
She stood and gave him another megawatt smile. “Come back to my house, and we’ll get all the supplies you need for Molly and her babies.”
“Ms. Abrams, I cannot…”
She stared silently at him as his gaze dropped to Molly and her babies. He raked his hand through his hair. “I was supposed to go away this weekend.”
“Oh, I can check in on Molly and the babies while you’re gone,” she said.
“I am not leaving you alone in my house,” he said.
“Do you think I’m going to booby-trap it?” she asked before rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know how to look after kittens,” he said.
“You don’t have to. Molly will do all the work,” she said. “You just have to feed her, give her fresh water, and clean her litter box.”
His face turned green. “Her litter box?”
“Yes, she shits in a box,” she said cheerfully.
“Fuck,” he whispered before he stared at the kittens again, and his body slumped. “Fine. Let’s get the damn supplies.”
* * *
Acutely aware of Stark and his annoyed sighs behind her, Rayna stepped inside her house. Bea waited at the door, tail wagging happily and her nose sniffing the new scent in the house. She nosed past Rayna and made a soft, welcoming woof before bumping her face against Stark’s legs.
Stark bent and stroked her head and long, silky ears, studying her white muzzle. “Hello, old girl.”
“Her name is Bea,” Rayna said. “Follow me, and we’ll get the supplies.”
She led him to the back of the house, past the kitchen and the laundry room. Freddie was sitting in the doorway, and he gave Stark a suspicious look, his tail lashing back and forth.
Always unhappy about new people in the house, the cat turned and disappeared into the laundry room as Stark made a loud grunt and a muttered curse. She turned to see him bracing his hand against the wall, frowning at Bea, who, now that he had stopped, immediately plopped her ass onto his feet, panting happily and grinning up at him.
“Your dog just tried to trip me.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Rayna said. “She’s mostly blind.”
“Off my feet, Bea,” Stark said.
Bea didn’t move, just continued to pant happily and Rayna said, “She didn’t hear you. She’s almost completely deaf.”
“Christ, how old is she?” Stark said. Despite the annoyance she could hear in his voice, he was infinitely gentle when he reached down and nudged Bea’s shoulder. “Move, Bea.”
She stood obligingly, letting out a loud fart as she did so.
“Oh my God,” Stark said as the smell washed over both of them. “There is something seriously wrong with your dog, Ms. Abrams. Nothing healthy can make that smell.”
Despite herself, Rayna laughed. “She’s actually very healthy.”
“I don’t believe it,” Stark muttered. “Can we please get out of this hallway before your dog’s flatulence kills us both?”
“Such a drama queen,” she said but started walking again. She opened the door to her home gym/storage room and headed to the far side of the room. Large metal shelves were braced along one wall. Plastic bins filled with various dog and cat supplies, cans and small bags of both dog and cat food, toys, and empty litter boxes filled the shelves.
Larger bags of food and boxes of kitty litter were piled neatly on the floor, and she reached for a bin labeled ‘neonate’ supplies and pulled it from the shelf with a loud grunt.
She set it on the ground and searched past the cans of kitten milk replacement, bottles, and nipples for a small kitchen scale, half a dozen towels, and a few small soft blankets. She added food and water dishes, a flat of wet food and a bag of dry food to the pile before grabbing an empty litter box, a litter scoop, and a big box of kitty litter.
“Okay, this should get you started. I’ll also need you to fill out our foster form application and submit it. It’s on the website, but if you give me your phone number, I’ll text the link to you. I’ll be your point of contact for Molly and the babies. If there are any issues with Molly or her babies, text me immediately, it doesn’t matter what time it is.”
There was no reply, and she turned around to see Stark on the other side of the room, examining her gym equipment with a look of disgust on his face.
“Stark, are you listening to me?”
He reached out and poked at the single stack home gym she’d picked up for free. “Christ, was this thing made in the seventies?”
“It’s not that old,” she said defensively.
“It’s falling apart,” he said.
“It’s fine.”
He gave the machine a shake. The home gym rattled wildly, and when a screw fell off and rolled on the ground to hit Stark’s foot, he gave her a ‘told you so’ look that set her teeth on edge.
“It’s a death trap,” he said.
“You’re being a drama queen again.”
He studied the small rack of hand weights against the wall before examining her stationary bike. “This was definitely made in the seventies.”
“It still works,” she said.
“Does it?” He pushed at one pedal with his foot.
It snapped off and hit the floor with a thud. Bea wandered over and examined the pedal with interest as Stark stared at Rayna.
“You’re paying to fix that,” she said.
“Bill me,” he said. “I’ll have my accountant get right on it.”
He moved on to her ancient treadmill before she could think of a snarky reply. He turned it on and grimaced when the motor started with a loud squeal. The belt moved at a turtle’s pace, and when smoke started to seep from beneath it, Stark shut off the treadmill.
“It’s fine,” she said before he could say anything.
“The belt is smoking,” he said.
“It only does that for the first couple of minutes,” she said.
“Do you have a death wish when you’re working out, Ms. Abrams? Is that why you use this crap?”
She sighed and said, “Not all of us can afford the fancy-ass equipment at your personal fancy-ass gym, Stark. Some of us make do with what we have. Now, if you’re finished judging me on my home gym, do you think you can use those fancy gym equipment muscles of yours to carry the litter?”
She loaded the other supplies into a reusable bag as Stark picked up the box of litter. She snagged a cardboard box from the laundry room, and without speaking, they carried the supplies back to his house. She got to work setting up the litter box and filling the dishes with food and water.
“C’mon, Molly,” she coaxed softly. “Come have a bite to eat so I can change your nest.”
Stark had disappeared, and she made some psp, psp, psp, sounds until, with a soft meow, Molly left the babies and joined Rayna. She petted the cat a few times, and when Molly started to eat, she moved to the closet.
Stark returned holding a black garbage bag, and she picked up the kittens, placing them on a towel before picking up Stark’s ruined sweater. Without speaking, he opened the garbage bag, and she put the sweater inside it.
Working quickly, she placed the box on the closet floor and set up another nest of towels and soft blankets inside of it. By the time Molly finished eating and returned to the closet, the babies were in their new nest. Molly jumped into the box and inspected each of them, grooming them lightly before settling in next to them so they could nurse again.
“Good girl, Molly,” Rayna crooned, petting the calico cat gently. “You’re being such a good mama.”
She closed the closet door halfway and climbed to her feet. “The box will keep the babies contained but allow Molly to come and go from the nest. Molly should be fed three times a day with the wet food. She needs more calories now that she’s nursing.”
Looking uncharacteristically uncertain, Stark said, “Will it upset her if I reach into the closet to get my clothes every day.”
“No,” she said. “She’s very friendly, and while she seems protective of the babies, she’s not crazy psycho mama protective.”
She pulled out her phone. “Can I get your phone number?”
He hesitated, and she rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I won’t text you unless necessary. But I need you to fill out the foster form, and you need to be able to reach me in case of emergencies. Things can go wrong with babies this small.”
He tensed. “How am I supposed to know if something’s wrong?”
“The best way is by weighing the babies daily.” She pointed to the scale. “Use that to weigh the babies every day at the same time. They should gain seven to ten grams a day, and if they don’t, text me. If you’re not sure if there’s something wrong, text me. It’s better to be safe than sorry, and it’ll be easy enough for me to pop over and check the babies.”
“This would be much easier if you would just take them to your house, Ms. Abrams,” he said.
“Wouldn’t it?” she said breezily. “But unfortunately, unless you want to be known as the town kitten murderer, the babies and Molly need to stay here.”
God, she really should feel guilty about lying, but she didn’t. Not one bit. She needed a foster for Molly and the babies anyway, and it wouldn’t kill Stark to have a few cats in his house for eight weeks.
He grimaced before reciting his phone number. She added it to her phone. “Perfect. I’ll send you the foster form. Are you still planning on going away this weekend? If so, I’ll need a key to your house so I can feed Molly and check on her and the babies.”
“I’ll be staying home this weekend,” he said.
Enjoying herself way too much, she gave him a cheeky grin and a wave. “Have a great weekend. I’ll show myself out.”