Chapter 2 #2
I beg your pardon? Chip lets out a scandalized meow. Are there release forms? Treat incentives? Is there a kidnapping hotline for cats?! His eyes widen in horror like I’ve just suggested we vacation in a dog grooming salon.
So much drama in one little orange loaf of floof. Okay, so he’s not so little, but you get the point.
“We’ll bring Fish!” Georgie shouts with glee.
Bizzy hesitates for exactly two seconds. “I suppose that would be okay. Just keep an eye on her. She likes to judge strangers silently and then hold grudges for lengths of time that would impress an elephant. And she also tends to assign Yelp ratings to strangers.”
She’s describing herself, not me, Fish mewls indignantly with her tail flicking back and forth like a tiny metronome. Although some people out there are clearly one-star hoomans.
“That’s fine.” Ree waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll just tell people she’s a feline food critic. It makes her judgmental stares seem professional.”
“Perfect,” I say, wondering what fresh chaos I’ve just agreed to participate in. “We’ll leave in twenty minutes. That gives me time to freshen up and mentally prepare for whatever adventure we’re about to embark on.”
“Perfect indeed!” Georgie rubs her hands together. “I’ll get my theme park hat.”
“You have a theme park hat?” I ask.
“Of course, she does,” Ree sighs. “It has a carousel sitting on top and lights up after dark.”
“It’s festive!” Georgie defends.
“It’s a safety hazard,” Ree counters.
“It’s practical” Georgie continues. “No one loses me in a crowd.”
They hustle back down the stairs in a blur of orthopedic sandals and chaos, leaving Bizzy and me shaking our heads.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Bizzy asks. “They can be a lot, especially Georgie when she’s this excited about something.”
“Honestly? After the last forty-eight hours, a little theme park insanity sounds like the sanest thing I’ve got going.
” I run a hand through my hair, noting that it needs more than a brush can fix but accepting that this is apparently my life now.
“Besides, having a cheering section for my job interview can’t hurt. ”
“True. Plus, they’ll keep your mind off things.” Bizzy gives me a quick hug. “I’d come, too, but someone has to run this place. Text me updates, and remember—no matter what happens, you’re not alone anymore.”
“I’ll remember.” I duck into my room, trying to fix the damage the last two days has done to my face and my psyche. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks… tired. But also like she might just be ready to fight back. Possibly with glitter and a little funnel cake.
From the hallway, I can hear the cats.
A theme park? With screaming kids and sticky fingers? You’ve lost your mind. Absolutely not, Fish growls at Bizzy, but it seems to fall on deaf ears—and minds in this case.
Chip chuckles her way. Scared you might actually have fun? You’re just mad you don’t have a hat that lights up.
I’m worried about your sanity if you think this sounds enjoyable. But perhaps that’s a lost cause, considering your hooman’s recent life choices. Fish bristles.
My hooman is having an adventure. I bet yours reads romance novels to you at bedtime and you pretend you star in them! I peek out in the hall to see Chip bat playfully at the air, clearly enjoying Fish’s growing agitation.
She does NOT, Fish hisses softly, clearly affronted.
She reads cozy mysteries about bakers who stumble over dead bodies.
I much prefer murder to romance. I’d tuck that into the back of your mind if I were you.
And now I’m worried about your mental decline.
But sure—let’s go watch you crash and burn while eating fried dough shaped like cartoon animals.
Fried dough? Chip perks up. I want to live there.
I’ve only been here for less than twenty minutes and already I feel less alone. I’m apparently not alone in my ability to hear animal thoughts. Transmundane. Telesensual. The words feel right, like finally finding the correct diagnosis after years of mysterious symptoms.
Twenty minutes later, I’m heading out to my car with Chip tucked under one arm like a judgmental handbag, Ree and Georgie flanking me like theme park bodyguards, and Fish reluctantly contained in a quilted tote bag that somehow screams both fashion statement and hostage situation.
The quilt pattern goes every which way and Georgie quickly explains it’s part of the wonky quilt collection that she and Ree sell at the shop they own and run on Main Street called Two Old Broads.
I like them better already.
“Huckleberry Theme Park, here we come!” Georgie announces, settling into my backseat with Fish in tow. “I hear they have the best cotton candy in three counties.”
“And a haunted house that actually made someone wet their pants last Halloween,” Ree adds. “Although I suspect alcohol was involved.”
Chip and Fish exchange a look—part solidarity, part we should unionize.
The things we endure for our hoomans, Chip sighs, slumping against the car seat with resignation.
Mine has lost what little mind she had left, Fish replies.
I start the engine, feeling an unexpected flutter of excitement.
Sure, my life has fallen apart like a cheap umbrella in a windstorm.
My husband is a cheating podcast guru who thinks enlightenment comes with a side of yoga instructor.
I’m temporarily homeless and about to interview for a job I’m completely unqualified for.
But I also have a name for my lifelong affliction, a potential new job on the horizon, and a car full of eccentric supporters who think I’m worth cheering for (some more enthusiastic than others).
I have a feeling whatever lies ahead will be better than what I left behind.
As we pull out of the Country Cottage Inn’s cobblestone drive, I catch sight of Bizzy waving from the front porch. She taps her temple and gives me a look that says you’ve got this.
And for the first time in a long time, I think maybe I do.
Even if I don’t, at least I’ve got backup. Four-legged, chaos-loving, sassy backup.
And let’s be honest, it’s only a matter of time before someone turns up dead.