Chapter Eleven

F*ck-Ups Three Hundred through Three-Hundred-Seven

Lying to Cats, Yash, Achilles, Brooklyn and McKatee

 

 

 

While we waited for Mel to arrive, Yash retreated to the corner to hide from the beasties. A pretty little calico followed him. He backed up. She followed. He slid down to sit in the corner. She lay down right in front of him. He frowned up at me while I laughed. Served him right.

Achilles vacillated between glaring at me from afar and sending smitten smiles to Yash. Yash’s job of being a writer had been well received, as had his bulging biceps.

After five minutes or so, the calico placed one paw on Yash’s knee. His big brown eyes widened. He stared pointedly at his phone, but didn’t move the cat. She jumped into his lap, and my heart grew three seizes. Sizes.

300. Heart seizing

His shoulders at his ears, his elbows pointing straight out, he didn’t touch her for five solid minutes while I just watched. Ever so slowly, he lowered his phone and deigned to look at the bundle of adorable in his lap. Finally, he gave her a slow head pet and she started purring.

301. So did I

He turned his eyes to mine and said, “Oh, sod off.”

Mel kicked me in the leg. “Hello, Giselle! It’s me, your roommate who is real and who works from home at my unspecified job and who has come to adopt a cat with you.”

The calico bolted at Mel’s loud outburst. Yash’s shoulders fell. Achilles swayed as if he were about to faint.

I forced a laugh and stood. “Oh, Mel, you’re so funny. Of course you’re real.”

“You’re really scaring the cats,” Achilles hissed.

I yanked on her arm and drew her to the side, Achilles at our…heels. Before we could collaborate stories even a little bit, he said, “You will be interviewed now. This way.”

He led us down a side hallway with several doors to the right. We were taken into the third interrogation room. Interrogation because it sat windowless and dark, save one sad light bulb in the ceiling. A cold metal table and chairs were set out for our comfort.

We sat on one side of the table, and two other women came in and shut the door behind them.

“Should I call my lawyer?” Mel joked.

Neither woman laughed. One of them narrowed her eyes at Mel and wrote something down in her notebook.

I flashed a look to Mel that said ‘shut up.’

She rolled her eyes so hard they click-clacked.

Lady with Narrowed Eyes, a Latina woman in her forties, spoke. “I am Brooklyn, this is McKatee.” McKatee, a tall Asian lady, was Brooklyn’s sister by another mister—they were the same height, weight, identical droopy ponytails and disapproving expressions.

I kicked Mel to silence her.

302. We had a running joke about bad names

303. You could call them our…Achilles’ heels

304. I’ll stop now

Brooklyn said, “I understand that you, Giselle, are a flight attendant?”

I smiled my most responsible cat mom face. “Yes.”

“Airline?”

Uh. Ugh. Ugk? Why hadn’t I prepped this before now? Um…what were some airline names? My brain wiped itself clean, like a dry erase board.

I turned panicked eyes to Mel, who broke into a slow smile.

She said, “Giselle flies with Lufthansa.”

McKatee’s nostrils flared. “Lufthansa? Is that Swiss?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Mel’s head dropped to her hand. “No.”

Brooklyn narrowed her eyes, of course, and said, “Which one?”

I cleared my throat. What the hell had she said? What the hell had I said? Holy crap, when I lied, my whole head went fuzzy! My cat scratches began to sting anew. I said, “Lufthansa is German.”

Mel slowly turned her head to stare daggers in my direction, but I bit my lip and stared at the interrogation table.

“Really? You fly with a German airline?” asked McKatee.

Better to double down—Lufthansa had to have at least one American flight attendant, right? It was a big, wide world. “Yes. Why not? Guten tag.”

Their mouths dropped, but apparently neither one could figure out how to elaborate about why not, so I won that point. Pretty sure the poor airline lost, though…

“How often are you traveling away from the apartment?”

“I-I spend about forty percent of nights away.” Was that the correct amount? “Right, Mel?”

“Yeah. I—”

“Mel’s a stay-at-home writer, like my guy Yash,” I blurted. They liked writers. “So she can definitely teach the cat her ABCs.” I laughed at my joke. Brooklyn and McKatee did not. Brooklyn made another note.

I turned to Mel. Mel blinked, started an eye roll, aborted the eye roll when I kicked her, and said, “Yes. I’ll be home to spend lots and lots of time with the cat.”

“The cat?” McKatee sneered. “This ‘cat,’ as you so snidely put it, will be your child!” She punched the table and we both jumped. “Now…how many hours a day will you two spend with the cat—nurturing her, teaching her, ensuring that she has high self-esteem in her pouncing and hunting?”

Mel put her hand over her mouth and I knew she struggled not to laugh.

“We will devote every day and night to the ca—our new child’s developmental goals,” I said. I kicked Mel for good measure.

“You won’t!” Brooklyn yelled. “You have a job outside the home! You might as well feed the cat meat!”

“Cats are carnivorous,” Mel said.

The two interrogators stood as one. I kicked out to find Mel’s legs, but she quickly moved away with a snotty glare.

McKatee huffed and puffed. “They are not meat killers! Cats are gentle, loving creatures who would never hurt a living being unless they had to, because some trampy air whore neglected them!”

My mouth dropped, and I, shocked, clutched my bosom, and the gentle, loving cat scratches located thereon.

I closed my eyes and pictured the little Scottish fold’s mournful face—sad, no doubt, because of a protein deficiency. Biting my tongue was one hundred percent against my new oeuvre, but I’d never rescue that cat unless I played nice with the Feline Fanatics here.

I opened my air whore mouth. “Brooklyn. McKatee. I will quit my job to take care of our new daughter. I haven’t named her yet because I believe that children should name themselves when they’ve developed their own personalities and…and feline dreams.”

Mel piped up, “And I’m magic with salmon-flavored tofu.” I reached out to her and squeezed her knee. She grunted. I suspected that I would receive a great deal of kicking in my future.

Brooklyn sat back down. “Quitting your job would be a good start. You swear you won’t feed the cat meat?”

“Of course,” I lied. Those poor cats… Maybe I could adopt them all? But how would I feed them once I quit my fake job with Lufthansa?

Brooklyn and McKatee retired to the corner to whisper.

Mel leaned over to me and whispered, “You are cleaning my bathroom four times for dragging me here to listen to the rantings of Dumb and Dumber. In addition, we need to figure out a way to rescue every cat in this building. Maybe a midnight raid.”

“There’s no way that illegally herding cats could go wrong,” I said.

Brooklyn returned to the table. “We have decided to give you a trial run. You may have the cat for a month during which time we will make random home visits. I’ll just need both of your driver’s licenses, Giselle and Mel.”

Mel whipped her head to me.

My mouth fell open, unable to concoct a story…anything… Oh, hell, the cat of my dreams was slipping from my grasp!

I stood. “Okay, look. You remember that guy out there I came in with?”

“The super hot one?” McKatee asked.

“That’s the one. When I met him, I was at a club, and I was just having fun for the night pretending to be a flight attendant named Giselle. In reality, I’m a barista named Dagmar, and I know the truth will come out eventually, but he is seriously the best lay of my life, and I was recently dumped by my family, my boyfriend, and got fired all in the same day. My boyfriend cheated on me and got a job in L.A. without telling me.”

McKatee gasped. “That piece of crap.”

“I need to climb Yash like a tree, okay? And I need a cat to love. I will take such amazing care of her, I swear it. I’m going to be a crazy cat lady!”

McKatee placed a hand on my arm. “You won’t regret it. It’s really working for me.”

305. Not the recommendation I wanted to hear

“I’ll help too, of course,” Mel piped up. I figured there was no reason for her to stop pretending. She had come all the way down here.

“So,” Brooklyn said, “you’re not out of town forty percent of the time?”

I shook my head no.

“And you’re just pretending on the name thing to keep that dude in your bed?”

I nodded yes.

Brooklyn looked at McKatee. McKatee looked at Brooklyn.

“You can have the cat,” McKatee said. “I’d eat meat to eat that man.”

We shook on it.

“We’ll bring your paperwork in here, Giselle.”

Those two women were as different from me as could be, but the call of quality dick is universal to hetero ladies.

I jumped for joy. “I’m getting a cat! She’s so sweet, Mel. You’re going to love her!”

“How do we explain the fact that the address on my license doesn’t match yours?”

“Nobody goes to the DMV to get their address updated. Mine is from two apartments ago.”

We filled out the paperwork. I didn’t know what to think about the surprise home visits, but Mel was over there all the time, anyway. Heck, maybe she should just move in…

It took an hour and three more lectures about talk-therapy discipline for the cat, the non-patriarchal home rules we’d need to abide by for her benefit (my house was a brand new matriarchy, thank you very much), and the acceptable brand of vegan foods and toys she’d be allowed to play with.

Mel and I ran out to grab a litter box and supplies, brought them to my place, and went back to pick up the cat. Yash tagged along, but stayed in the cab when we got to my place. Whew.

“I guess I need to get this little girl home,” I said. I cradled the cardboard carrier she was in, nearly crying with happiness and excitement. I’d always wanted a cat!

306. Remember, kids:

307. Lying does work!

“You’re so lovely.” Yash gazed at me with velvet eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Oh, brother,” muttered Mel.

He continued, “I guess I could come over to help with this thing… Have you named wee Lady Scot here?”

I pondered this uber-important question. “I think I’m going to call her—”

“No!” Mel kicked me in the calf and I nearly dropped the cat. Argh, it stung! Perhaps Mel was harboring some attitude about the interrogation room.

“No, what?” I asked.

Clearly not wanting to say goodbye, even with a cat involved, Yash dangled in his sexiest voice, “I’ll buy a pizza for lunch.” He hit me with a panty-melting stare, the kind that would cause me to let him do whatever he wanted with that pizza.

The cat in my arms mewed, and I said, “Moaning Myrtle agrees.”

Yash broke into a laugh. “That’s a clever name, even if it is for a cat.”

I blinked my eyes most innocently. “Do you not like cats, Yash?”

“Why would you think that?” He swallowed a smile.

“Mmm-hmm. The name is an homage to kitty’s roots—J.K. Rowling created Harry Potter in Scotland. Plus, she’s gray like a ghost.”

Mel yanked on my arm. “I really think we ought to do this ourselves, Giselle.” She sank her claws into my wrist and I yelped in pain.

Oh.

Oh!

No, Yash couldn’t come to my place! But he was already out of the door, calling a cab!

“Shit!” I said.

“Don’t swear in front of the cats!” Achilles yelled across the room.

“Blow it out ya ass, honey.” Mel peered out of the glass door. Yash hadn’t gotten a cab yet. “Giselle, my roommate, you are a very smart woman.”

I’d never heard so many lies in one sentence. I clutched Myrtle to my bosom. “That’s it. The jig is up, right?”

My bestie kicked me. I leaped away from her. She advised, “When we get there, you distract him with…fondling or something, and I’ll make a sweep and try to clear anything incriminating.”

I turned to see Yash waving us toward an awaiting cab, so I nodded and pushed through the door. Mel stepped on the back of my shoe and I wiped out across the sidewalk, having saved the cat from being smashed at the expense of my knees. Gah—they throbbed and screamed even worse than my tit scratches.

Yash ran to help me up while Mel got in the cab. “Now your legs will match mine for bruises,” she called.