Page 52 of Make It Last

Impulsively, I reached out and squeezed her hands. “Thank you. For everything. And for bringing me Growly.”

“He’ll be good company. He needs somewhere safe and quiet. Some animals get really stressed in the shelter. They do their best, but it’s just how it goes.”

“Do you run the shelter?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Oh, no. My friend Tiffany does.”

Josie stood and leaned over to hug me quickly. “I’d let Tanner know Growly’s here. Ask him to knock before coming in. We don’t want an accidental escape.”

“Excellent point. On it.”

“Enjoy dinner,” she said in a singsong voice as she walked out the door.

Once she was gone, it was just Growly and me. I looked over at his little face—and my heart squeezed. He had already stolen a piece of it. Even with a half ear and puffy cheeks, he was beautiful.

“You’re safe here,” I told him quietly. “But don’t escape, please.”

Growly let out a weird meow-growl noise. “You’re gonna end up keeping that name,” I murmured, eyeing him fondly.

His face was divided in color—one side speckled gold, the other black and silver. I wanted to see the rest of him, but I didn’t want to spook him. It was probably good I couldn’t move too fast right now. I reached for my phone and texted Tanner.

Me: Let me know your ETA. The foster cat is here. Please knock before you come in—potential escape attempts.

I eyed Growly, who had now inched his head all the way out of the carrier.

“You won’t want to escape,” I whispered. “You’re gonna love it here.”

Five minutes later, he emerged fully. His body was black, flecked with gold and silver, and a little hunched. I wondered how old he was.

I wanted to look up what kind of cat he might be. I wished Taylor Swift were here—she’d know. And yes, I loved Taylor Swift.

“What do you think, Growly?” I murmured.

He sniffed my boot and my knee, and very cautiously walked onto the couch and sat beside me. He still looked sad, but then he started to purr, and I almost cried.

“Purring is good, right?” I asked him.

He purred again, louder. “Oh my God. I can speak purr.” I mimicked the sound, and he gave me a look. “Okay, fine, that was weird.”

Within minutes, he’d walked the perimeter of the room, eaten a bite of food, and inspected the litter box. My phone vibrated from an unknown number.

Unknown: This is Tiffany! Just a heads-up—Growly’s a good boy. He’s litter box trained, up to date on his shots, and neutered. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a sweetheart.

I smiled as I read, eyeing Growly. Rough around the edges tracked.

He moved stiffly and looked a little sideways. Like life hadn’t gone easy on him.

Tiffany: He ended up at the clinic after getting hit by a car. His limp’s from that—and an even older break we found on x-ray. He’s recovered great, but the shelter environment was tough. He loves people but not the noise. If you need anything, text me.

Me: He’s doing amazing already. He’s exploring, and I think I can speak purr. I promise I’ll take the best care of him.

Tiffany: Holly assured me you would. I’ll meet you soon. I’ll be there for card night.

Me: Is it okay to have card night here with him just settling in? Too much activity?

Tiffany: He loves people. Just not the barking dogs at the shelter. You’re so thoughtful to ask.

Growly jumped back on the couch and resumed his purring. I purred back, and he stared at me. “Okay, okay.” I laughed. “I can be weird. Deal with it.”