Untamable

by Jamie Schlosser

  I liked that they had children. Not every cat did well in a family with young kids, but Mike had a lot of energy. If he was going to be happy living indoors, he’d need constant stimulation.

  “It says on your application you have a screened-in porch?” I asked. Because of Mike’s specific needs, creating the illusion of being outside was important for his well-being.

  “On the back of the house, yeah,” Mr. Carter answered. “We spend a lot of time out there.”

  “We also have a large bay window where he could sit and watch the neighborhood,” Mrs. Carter added, scratching Mike behind the ear. “He can be our guard cat.”

  The boys laughed.

  Estelle and I locked eyes, and an unspoken communication passed between us—the Carter family was perfect.

  At this point, I was pretty sure most of the crew knew about Estelle and me; we hadn’t exactly been covert about it today. The sexual tension was impossible to miss.

  After Agatha left with Carol, I almost kissed Estelle in front of Joel during active filming. Showing her affection was just natural and automatic. I’d been a few inches from her face when I realized what I was doing, then I tried to play it off like she had a piece of fuzz in her hair.

  But I didn’t want to hide anymore. Part of me wanted the whole world to know she was mine, no matter what the consequences were.

  And no way in hell was I spending one more night in that RV.

  “We’ll need to keep Mike for one more night,” I told the Carters. “He needs to be tested for a possible UTI before he can come home with you. Once he gets medically cleared, he’s all yours.”

  The parents grinned as their kids cheered. Mike showed his enthusiasm by chewing on one of the twin’s shoelaces.

  A loud hacking sound came from Steve. He sent a look that said, ‘absolutely-fucking-not.’ I sent one back that said, ‘fuck you. I’m doing it my way.’

  “You all right there, buddy?” I asked him, pretending to be concerned. “If you need something to drink, I recommend Estelle’s homemade sweet tea.”

  Mike staying one more night wasn’t hindering the process, and I refused to send him out the door without a clean bill of health.

  Obviously pissed that I’d gone against his wishes, and that I was being a smartass, Steve stormed out of the room. Good riddance.

  But I didn’t like the look he sent me before he walked out the door. Because that one said, ‘I’m going to get back at you for this.’

  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.”

  CHAPTER 23

  ESTELLE

  “Ms. Winters, while this is a serious procedure, Peter shouldn’t have any long-term complications if it’s successful.” The middle-aged woman delivered the news with a reassuring smile.

  We’d been at the clinic for over an hour while Peter was sedated for an exam, X-rays, and
other tests. The diagnosis: He had the worst case of bladder stones the doctor had ever seen in a cat so young. Our only option was to have them surgically removed.

  “How did this happen?” I asked, distraught.

  Emery put his hand on my knee in a comforting gesture, probably because he could tell I was one step away from losing it. My chin trembled, and I blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

  “It could be genetics combined with the fact that his urethra is quite narrow, which is usually the case with male cats. When an infection persists for a long period of time, crystal formations can build up in the bladder, and that’s how stones are made.”

  My face flushed, but unlike the first day of filming, I didn’t have to wonder where the sudden heat was coming from—it was good old-fashioned shame. The truth was, I had no idea how long the infection had been going on. Possibly most of his life.

  Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I asked, “What if the stones come back?”

  “There’s another procedure called perineal urethostomy where we reconstruct the opening of the urethra to make it wider.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “Like, you reconstruct his penis? That sounds painful.”

  “It isn’t pleasant,” she confirmed. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. He’s young and otherwise healthy. With medication, dietary changes, and monitoring, I think he should bounce back from this fairly quickly.”

  “Can I see him before I leave?”

  The doctor nodded. “Of course. He’s still pretty out of it from the anesthesia, though. We’ll be performing the surgery as soon as possible, so try to make it a quick visit.”

  “Emery, can you wait outside for me? Joel too?” I was grateful to have him with me, but I needed a moment alone with Peter.

  “Yeah,” he said, reaching for me, like he wanted to touch my face. But he thought better of it after a quick glance at the camera and dropped his hand. “We’ll be right outside.”

  The vet tech Emery used to work with led me to the pre-op room. The walls were stacked with floor-to-ceiling kennels, and several of them were occupied. My nose wrinkled at the strong sterile smell of disinfectant.

  “We’ll take good care of him,” Christine said, stopping outside Peter’s cage. “We do the best we can for all our patients, but anyone who’s a friend of Emery’s gets top priority.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

  After she left, the tears I’d been trying so hard to hold back finally fell, making hot tracks down my cheeks while I mentally beat myself up over the whole ordeal.

  How long had Peter been in pain? He’d been suffering and I didn’t even know it. I should’ve seen it. Looking back, I realized there were signs—the biggest one of all being his irritable personality. Hell, I’d be grumpy too if I had a bladder full of stones.

  If only I’d paid more attention. If only I’d fed him the right food. The list of all the ways I could’ve been a better pet owner went on and on in my mind.

  Sticking my fingers through the metal bars, I traced the soft orange stripes on his head as the guilt ate away at me.

  “I’m so sorry, Peter. I let you down.” I swallowed down a sob and wiped my eyes. “I promise to do better. We’ll get you fixed up, and Emery is going to find you the best home ever.”

  I ripped a paper towel off a nearby roll and blew my nose. Knowing I needed to keep my visit short, I willed away my emotional breakdown while I fanned my face.

  Tossing one last look at Peter, I took a deep breath and went out to the lobby. With a shaky hand, I signed the consent form, then shelled out the hefty payment to the receptionist.

  I walked out of the double doors in a daze, eyes red-rimmed from crying and still looking like a lunatic in my costume. I pulled my robe tighter, trying to ward off the late-morning chill of the air.

  Emery immediately drew me in for a hug, dropping the platonic act we’d both been trying to pull off. I relished in the feel of his strong arms engulfing me, warm and comforting.

  This wasn’t a simple hug between friends with a pat on the back. This was an embrace—the kind where it was obvious that two people had known each other intimately.

  Burying his face in my hair, Emery just held on to me, one hand gripping my waist while the other went to my ass.

  Yeah, definitely not platonic.

  I was vaguely aware of Joel’s presence, but when I glanced over Emery’s bicep, he was sitting on a bench with his camera down while pretending to look the other way. I knew I liked that guy.

  “My poor baby.” I sniffled. “Peter had an infection for months? No wonder he was pissed. No pun intended. I’m the worst cat owner ever.”

  Cupping my jaw, Emery forced my eyes up to his. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. UTIs and behavioral issues are extremely common in cats, and the two don’t necessarily go hand in hand. These things happen all the time.”

  “I just wanna go home,” I murmured, burying my face in his chest. “But I can’t. Today is the busiest day of the year at the shop.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he offered.

  Surprised, my gaze bounced up to his face again. “You will?”

  “Yeah. Well, I don’t know anything about costumes, and I might just be in the way… But if you want me there, I’m there.”

  I grinned wide. “I want you there.”

  Just then, a white news van drove by at a snail’s pace before hitting their brakes.

  “Shit,” Emery breathed out, stepping back. “I’m surprised it took them this long to track me down.”

  “Maybe because you chopped off your man bun,” I wondered out loud. “Or because no one gives a damn about Meemaw’s Rodeo and Cattle Show.”

  Clearly bothered by being found, he raked a hand through his hair. “I wonder if someone inside the clinic tipped them off. Christine wouldn’t do that… but anyone else would.”

  “Is it paparazzi?”

  “No, just some local press. But paparazzi won’t be far behind once they give away my location.” Emery didn’t take his eyes off the van. The sliding doors opened and two female reporters emerged with a camera man close behind. “You and Joel go wait in the Jeep. I’ll handle it.”

  “Mr. Matheson! How does it feel to be back in your hometown? Are you here for personal or professional reasons?” The questions started immediately. Those people were hungry for a story.

  Emery strode confidently across the grass, meeting them halfway, and I climbed into the Jeep. I watched in fascination at how cool and calm he seemed when he answered.

  “Filming for season three is underway,” he said vaguely. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you anything about the case we’re working on because I’m under a confidential agreement. Be sure to tune in on January third to see the most dramatic season yet.”

  “We noticed you got a new haircut,” they persisted. “And the mustache is interesting. Are you starting a new trend?”

  His hand went to the hair above his lips that he’d obviously forgotten about. I snorted and Joel let out an amused chuckle.

  “Who’s the woman with you? Do you have a new relationship to report?”

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said politely with a parting wave. “I’ve got pussies to tame.”

  One of the women blatantly stared at his ass as he walked away, and I had the sudden urge to go over there and punch her in the face.

  That would be one hell of a headline: Catfight of the Century! Reporter Gets Mauled by Crazed Pussy Tamer Fangirl.

  Deciding it wasn’t worth it, I stayed put.

  A second later, Emery got into the passenger seat and sighed. “They’re going to follow us, I guarantee it.” He nodded his head toward the crew hurrying back to the van.

  One of the women got her stiletto stuck in the grass and almost fell. I smiled, because I’m kind of a bitch like that.

  “I can lose them,” I said confidently.

  “I’m sure.” Emery braced himself by grabbing the
door handle. “But I’d like to live to see another day.”

  “I take it I’m supposed to hold onto my tits again?” Joel piped up from the backseat.

  Cranking up the radio, I laughed. “Definitely.”

  CHAPTER 24

  EMERY

  “A drag queen? Really, Estelle?”

  “Hush. You look pretty.”

  We were in her small office at the back of the shop. Just like her apartment, splashes of yellow decorated the tiny space in the form of wispy curtains over the window, a picture frame above the desk showcasing the two Estelles side by side, and a canary paperweight holding down a stack of wrinkled papers.

  I could hear the commotion of customers outside of the door—footsteps, voices chattering about what to wear, and kids yelling. It was a warzone out there, and I was about to walk out in the craziest costume ever.

  Estelle had been right about losing the reporters. Those high-speed police chases I’d seen on TV had nothing on her. If there was one good thing that came from her reckless driving, it was her ability to make people want to avoid her on the road as much as possible.

  And if there was one good thing about being dressed up like a hooker celebrating every holiday all rolled into one, it was watching Estelle’s face while she made me ‘pretty.’

  While she was concentrating on getting my look just right, I had a front row seat to every expression she wasn’t even aware of.

  When she applied the foundation, her tongue poked out between the right side of her lips. When she put on my blush, her nose scrunched up. When she did my eyes, a wrinkle appeared between her caterpillar eyebrows.

  So fucking cute.

  A blond strand came loose from her kitty headband, but she didn’t bother to move it out of the way. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to wear makeup.”

  “I do wear makeup for the promotional shoots,” I pointed out.

  She shook her head slightly, being very careful to keep her hand steady as she applied a bright blue eyeshadow above my fake lashes. “Doesn’t count, because then it looks like you’re not wearing any.”