CHAPTER 22

EMERY

Fucking Peter. I’d spent the last couple of days searching for the right owner, but he didn’t like anyone. The level of distain he had for people was surprising even to me, and I’d seen a lot of crazy shit during my career.

Three out of the four people who had come to meet him ended up leaving the apartment with a big ‘hell no.’ And the fourth was just too polite to say it.

I had no idea how I was going to find him a home.

He’d spent the past two nights isolated with the crystal box, but we’d gotten nothing from him. Either he was holding it, or he was peeing in the tub just to spite me.

Someone on the crew had been assigned to watching the twenty-four-hour playback from the camera in the cat room—a mind-numbing job—but so far, there’d been no footage of anyone peeing outside of the litter boxes.

Frustrated, I went to the tiny RV bathroom to bandage up my injury from the most recent encounter with Peter.

This morning I thought I was finally getting somewhere with him. He seemed to enjoy my petting until I reached his tail. Then he lost his shit. Apparently that was a no-touch zone, and he let me know it by sinking his claws into the back of my hand.

Mental illness was rare in cats, but it did exist. As much as I hated the idea, I was starting to think a long-term anti-anxiety medication was the only option for him.

The plus side to Peter’s dick-ish behavior was getting more time with Estelle.

I should’ve been upset with our lack of progress, but I’d happily stay at a standstill if it meant I got to spend my days with her. My nights with her. Laughing, talking, fucking. Riding in that death trap she called a Jeep.

Didn’t matter what we were doing—if I was with Estelle, I was happy.

My phone buzzed with a text and I pulled it from my pocket.

Estelle: I found the pisser!

Well, I’ll be damned.

Since it was Halloween, Estelle was supposed to handle business at the costume shop, and I had planned on making a few well-check visits to the adoptees. But a new development called for some impromptu filming.

I sent a text to Joel.

Me: How fast can you get here?

Joel: Ten

He didn’t ask what it was about and he didn’t need to. That was Joel—always ready.

Three minutes later, I was freshly showered. I threw on some jeans and my gray T-shirt. Joel rolled into the parking lot shortly after and had the camera on his shoulder in record time.

Just as we made it to the front entrance of the apartment complex, Estelle stumbled out, holding a cat carrier and wearing the most hideous costume I’d ever seen. If she wanted to scare small children, I suspected she was going to succeed.

“What the fuck?” Joel breathed out in horror at the same time I said, “What the hell happened to your eyebrows?”

“Eyebrow stamps,” she replied, waggling the brown caterpillar shapes. “I’m a crazy cat lady for Halloween and I figured someone who spends every waking moment with their cats doesn’t have time to tweeze.”

I laughed.

My eyes traveled down her body. She wasn’t kidding about taking this holiday seriously.

The pink threadbare robe was tied at the waist, bunching around her hips. She had several small stuffed cats pinned to her outfit. She even wore a headband that had a kitten attached, making it look like the animal was clinging to her frizzed-up hair. Instead of shoes, she had on fuzzy cat house slippers. With the over-the-top eyebrows and the smeared red lipstick, she looked nothing short of deranged.

An angry screech came from the carrier, and I peered through the bars. Peter.

“How did you figure out it was him?” I asked, walking back toward the parking lot.

“He peed on the TV remote this morning. Right in front of me. And the worst part? When some of it got on my couch, it was tinted pink, not yellow. That’s a bad sign, isn’t it?”

Wincing, I gave a nod. “Blood in the urine. Not abnormal with a UTI, though it must be more than just a mild infection if it’s changing the color that much.”

“I already called the clinic and they’re expecting me.” The urgency in her tone and her pinched facial expression told me she felt guilty, probably for not figuring out Peter’s problem sooner.

“Do you want me to bring him in since you have to work?”

She shook her head. “No. I want to be there for him.”

“We’ll come with you,” I offered, taking the crate from her hands.

After we piled into her Jeep, she pulled a red foam clown nose from the middle console and handed it to me.

“It’s just not right for y’all to not be wearing costumes on Halloween,” she said, grabbing a bushy glue-on mustache. Reaching for Joel, she halted with her arm halfway stretched between them. “Well, I guess you’re already covered in this department.” She motioned to her upper lip, then pointed at us. “You guys switch.”

And that was how I ended up sporting a ’70s porno ’stache in a pink Jeep with a crazy cat lady, a howling feline, and a clown to document it all.

I tossed a glance over my shoulder. “Hold onto your tits, Joel.”