Fed Up (10 page)

We watched
Veronica Mars
on DVD while Ade began blowing out my hair. “Oh, ick, Chloe! Look at your roots!” My highlights had grown out enough to horrify the bride-to-be. Consequently, after my hair was thoroughly dry, she started covering my head with foils and lightener. “And you need a trim. Your hair has got no shape left in it.”

I resigned myself to sitting in one spot for the next few hours while Adrianna brought my hair up to her wedding standards. After toying with a variety of complicated updos involving curls and twists pinned to my scalp, Adrianna decided on a looser, more flowing style with gently shaped curls that would work beautifully with her simple veil. When the predicted hours had finally passed and I was finally allowed to look in the mirror, I was speechless. I’d almost forgotten about the veil affixed to my head. I’d never before worn a veil, and I have to say that all of a sudden, I was a princess! I was about to start twirling when Ade saw me wide-eyed in the mirror. “Don’t get all dopey on me now. Let’s get through
my
wedding first. You look like a lovesick puppy.”

“It’s just so fun to wear a veil. There’s really no good excuse for wearing a veil except for when you’re a bride, so let me enjoy myself for two minutes. Please?” I was
so
not taking off the veil. A short headband piece that had been wrapped in bright white material was affixed to the top of my head, and sheer layers of fabric fell to just below my shoulders. I looked at my reflection and imagined myself traipsing down the aisle, headed toward wedded bliss with my chef.

“All right,” she agreed. “But don’t get anything on it.”

I crossed my heart with my finger. “Promise. Hey, I’m going into Simmer for dinner tonight. You want to come?” I leapt up and down the narrow hall, letting the veil fly out behind me, while Adrianna shook her head at my lunacy.

“No, thanks. Owen is going to be home soon, and I want to take a nap, and then we’re finally going to put the crib together.”

The baby’s room was actually a walk-in closet with a window and a radiator. Once a crib was in there, it would occupy so much space that there might not be room for an adult to stand. To get the kid into the crib, Adrianna and Owen would be able to open the door and toss the baby in. But how would they ever get the baby out?

“Come here,” Adrianna said. “Let me do your makeup, too, and then you’ll really knock Josh’s socks off tonight.”

I reluctantly let Ade remove the veil. By the time she’d painted my face with M•A•C cosmetics, I was ready for this in-home salon to close. I hugged her good-bye, thanked her for the spectacular job she’d done on my hair, and rubbed her belly.

I went home and admired my newly blonde-streaked hair in my own mirror. My scruffy clothes looked silly with my fancy hair and makeup, but I didn’t care. Adrianna had certainly cheered me up and distracted me from dwelling on Francie. And tonight I would see Josh! I tried to take a short nap, but visions of Francie danced unpleasantly in my head. The ringing of the phone rescued me from the atrocious images. Caller ID showed my favorite number.

“Hi, Josh,” I said happily into the phone. “How’s it going there?”

“Good. Good,” he answered. “Um, how are you?”

“You know, as well as can be expected after yesterday.”

“So . . . what else is going on? You know . . . you doing anything?” Josh sounded strange.

“No,” I answered hesitantly. “Josh, is something up?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s just, um, do you want a cat?”

“A cat? No, not really. I already have Gato. Why? Do you know someone giving away a cat?”

“Sort of. Yeah. This guy is giving away this Persian cat, and . . .” Josh’s voice trailed off.

“Spit it out, Josh.”

Josh coughed. “When I went out to get a coffee on my break, I walked past this guy outside the T station who was stopping people and asking them if they wanted a cat. He stopped me, too. He said he just broke up with his girlfriend and moved, and he didn’t want the cat anymore, so he was trying to give it away.”

“Josh, I’m sure someone will take it. Especially a Persian. Or he’ll take it to a shelter.”

“Maybe,” Josh said skeptically.

“Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Josh, did you take the cat?”

There was a long, long pause. “Yeah.”

I sighed. As much to myself as to Josh, I said, “You took the cat.” Turning practical, I asked, “Where are you? You didn’t bring it into the restaurant, did you?”

“No, I’m sitting in my car behind Simmer, and it’s in a cat carrier next to me.”

“Oh, my God.” Josh was hardly ever at his own apartment. He certainly wasn’t there enough to take care of another living creature. In other words, I knew whose cat this was going to be.

“Chloe, I asked the guy what he was going to do with the cat if nobody took it, and he said he was going to throw it in the river! The Charles River is only a few blocks from here, and I think he was serious.” Josh was talking a mile a minute now. “He was a totally normal-looking guy, too, which was weird, but he said it was his ex-girlfriend’s cat, and they broke up, and he didn’t want to deal with it, and so I took it. Her, actually. She’s a girl. And she is so beautiful. She’s got white fur and orange ears, and she’s just sitting here looking at me, and I feel so bad for her.”

I was momentarily torn. On the one hand, I was irritated with Josh for taking in this strange cat that would end up with me. On the other hand, I felt overwhelmed with appreciation of how sweet and adorable my boyfriend was. How many men would even have stopped to listen to some idiot on the street trying to give away a cat? And Josh hadn’t just listened but had gone on to rescue the cat from her heartless owner.

“Do you know how old she is? Has she been to the vet?” I asked.

“He said she’s not even a year old. And I don’t know if she’s been to the vet, but I sort of doubt it. Her fur is all matted, Chloe, and she looks so scared and sad. I had to take her.”

I smiled. “Of course you did. Should I come get her?”

“I guess I could take her to a shelter if you don’t want—”

“No!” I cut him off. “We are not taking her to a shelter. Do you know how overcrowded those places are? Who knows what would happen to her! I’ll come get her.”

I was suddenly excited. In the wake of Francie’s death, I suddenly had a new pet, a rescued cat to smother with love. I kissed my quirky black cat, Gato, and did my best to explain to him what was about to happen. “Now listen, mister. Someone is moving in with us, and you’re not going to like her right away. I accept that. But I expect you to be on your best behavior nonetheless.”

Gato rubbed his head against my cheek, swatted my hair, and then ran off. Maybe a feline companion was just what he needed.

I flew down Newbury Street into the heart of Boston, my heart racing with eagerness at the prospect of meeting my new housemate. I pulled into the alley behind Simmer and parked next to Josh’s car.

“Hi, babe.” He grinned sheepishly at me. “You’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best. I love that you saved her from a Sopranos-style death. Let me see her!” I demanded happily.

Josh reached into his car, lifted out a beige plastic cat carrier, and gently lowered it to the pavement. I bent down, peered through the little wire door of the carrier, and found myself looking into the round blue eyes of a small white cat with a darling little smooshed-in face. Eager to get a better look and also eager not to get scratched, I asked, “Do you know if she’s friendly?”

“Oh, yeah,” Josh said with a smile.

Careful to avoid giving the little cat the chance to escape, I eased open the wire door and tentatively reached in. After giving the cat a few seconds to adjust to the presence of my hand, I stroked her face. When I reached in and gently touched her back, my hand encountered a heartbreaking combination of thick mats and palpable bones. “Oh, Josh! The poor cat!” I said angrily as I removed my hand and closed the carrier door. “Look at her fur! She’s never been groomed. And she’s starving. What kind of monster would do this? That bastard!”

“I know. I know. That’s why I had to take her. But look at her gorgeous blue eyes! She’s so sweet, too, Chloe. I took her out and let her walk around in my car, and she let me hold her. She even started purring a little bit.” Josh’s eyes were glistening. “So, you’ll keep her?”

“Yes, I’m going to keep her! This poor thing has had a rotten life so far, and we’re not going to let anything else happen to her. Ever! I’ll take her to the vet and get her checked out and make sure she’s okay.”

“I’m really sorry, but I have to get back to work. Gavin is going to kill me as it is for taking such a long break. I’ll still see you tonight, though, right?” Josh handed me the cat carrier and kissed me, lingering just a bit. “Thanks, Chloe.” He turned and bounded up the back steps to the restaurant.

“Hey, Josh,” I called, “what’s her name?”

“The jerk didn’t say. But she told me her name was Inga.” He grinned and disappeared into the restaurant.

I lifted the carrier up to eye level and looked into those amazing blue eyes. “Inga, huh? It actually suits you. Come on, Miss Inga, let’s get you out of here.”

I called Gato’s vet as I maneuvered my way through the downtown traffic. Once I’d given the receptionist a capsule version of Inga’s story, she agreed to have the vet see the cat right away. As much as I wanted to take little Inga home immediately, I knew it would be unfair to Gato to expose him to whatever bizarre cat disease the neglected Inga might be carrying. And if she had fleas? Well, neither Gato nor I wanted them.

An hour later, Inga and I arrived at my Brighton condo. Aside from being severely underweight and in need of spaying, Inga seemed to be fine. When the vet had subjected her to shots and had taken a blood sample for tests, she’d peed all over the vet’s assistant and squirmed so much that she’d pulled out one of the needles and spattered herself with blood. The tests were still being run, but for the moment, she was given a clean bill of health, and I’d been told that it was safe to take her home.

When I arrived in my apartment, opened the carrier door, and released Inga, Gato acted downright furious. He took one look at Inga, put up his hackles, leapt to the top of the fridge, and positioned himself in his favorite pissed-off Halloween-black-cat stance. I sat the frightened Inga on a towel in my lap and tried to work on getting the knots out of her fur. After only a few minutes with a metal grooming comb, I gave up. Her body was covered in matted snarls that almost seemed to grow like tumors from her skin. I imagined that she must be terribly uncomfortable; I knew how I’d feel if some mean person were yanking my hair twenty-four hours a day. “You will have to go to a groomer tomorrow, my little friend.” Unready to get up and explore her new home, Inga remained motionless in my lap.

I ran my hand across the top of her head and scratched under her chin, the only places without tangled clumps. “I couldn’t help Francie, but I can help
you
.” The little cat rewarded me with a small purr. In spite of a disapproving glare from Gato, I offered Inga a small dish of his dry cat food. When she had eaten hungrily, I carried her to the living room, flicked on the television, and held her until it was time to get ready to go out for dinner.

Newbury Street, where Simmer was located, isn’t just any old ordinary Boston street. Especially around Simmer, near the Boston Public Garden—home of the Swan Boats and the setting of
Make Way for Ducklings
—it’s lined with art galleries, high-end clothing stores, fancy cafés, and trendy restaurants. On my graduate-student budget, I couldn’t afford the outfits that would’ve let me be mistaken for one of the beautiful people who spent money on Newbury Street, but I did change into something more worthy of Simmer’s fancy location than the hanging-around-and-grooming-a-cat clothes that I had on. In other words, I wore black. Because I was hesitant to leave Inga alone with my cranky Gato, I’d put her in my bedroom with food, water, and a litter box, and shut the door. I wouldn’t be gone all that long, and I hoped that she’d eat and take a good nap while adjusting to her new, safe home.

Then I drove downtown and scanned the street for a space. Parking in this congested area of Boston was always a challenge, but it was a bit easier on a Tuesday night than it would’ve been on a Saturday night. It had been a while since I’d eaten at Simmer, but with Josh’s work schedule what it was, visiting him at the restaurant was sometimes the only way to catch a glimpse of my overworked chef. I had Inga to thank for the rare chance to see him twice in one day. Since the parking garages and lots in the area were breathtakingly expensive, I’d gotten good at spotting legal spaces on the street, at finding spots on side streets, and at squeezing my car into miniature spaces. Tonight I snagged a place around the corner from the restaurant. I had to pin myself between two BMWs, but getting an actual metered space at all was a good sign.