Page 25 of The Cupid Chronicles

“This is Shandy,” Darla says. “She’s a sweetheart.”

I bend down and pet the dog with both hands—behind the ears, under her chin, scritching her shoulders—and I decide that yes, I absolutely need a support animal.

This support animal. Like, right now.

“I feel less stressed already.” I kneel and look Shandy straight in the eyes. Hers are big and chocolate-brown, and they radiate kindness. I hop up and hold open the door. “Come in! If you don’t, I’m going to take Shandy to my classroom to hang out for the rest of the day.”

Darla smiles as she leads the dog into the back hallway.

“She helps with all kinds of things—stress. Anxiety. Loneliness,” Darla continues. “We take our dogs into retirement homes and schools. Colleges often have them round theclock, especially during finals week.” She reaches down and ruffles Shandy’s head. “Dogs are such a gift.”

I consider this as an idea forms. “Do you think a cat could help with those things too?”

“Sure,” she says brightly. “Cats get a bad rap because they’re pretty independent, but I know several people who rely on cats as support animals. Animals are so much better than people,” she chuckles. “Better comfort, I mean. But also”—she shrugs—“just better.”

I sit with that for a second.

Should I get Winnie a cat?

I wasn’t allowed to have a pet when I was growing up, and I don’t know the first thing about how much time, work, or money is involved. Feels risky to buy a cat for a stranger. But the paper was really detailed about the cat she lost. Lenny—black with white feet and a white circle around one eye. Those details must be important.

I walk Darla into the main office and find two other dogs (and their people) have already arrived.

Mid-morning, the entire school gathers in the gymnasium for Darla’s talk. While she introduces the dogs to all the kids, I google local animal shelters, hoping to find a black cat with white feet. Surely, there must be one somewhere.

But I come up empty. Lots of gray cats. Several white ones. One that’s all black. And several orange ones with descriptions like “Not the brightest animal, but still loveable” which feels like a blatant lie.

Hmm. Maybe a cat isn’t the move.

If you wanted to be more helpful, I think,you could’ve been a little more specific.

Why I’m thinking that this magic newspaper can hear my thoughts is beyond me. And yet, maybe it can. Itismagic . . .

At lunch, I’m sitting in the teacher’s lounge, eyes glued tomy phone, having expanded my black cat with white booties search, when Brooke plops down in the seat across from me.

“You’re getting a cat?” she asks, leaning over and looking at my phone.

I turn to her as I click my phone off, the image of a gray and white kitten disappearing as the screen goes black, and frown. “Uh, privacy.”

She opens a Chipotle bag—which may or may not be hers—and my stomach growls. I glance down at my sandwich, wishing it was a burrito.

“Every time I’ve seen you today you’ve been on your phone.” A frown. “And you look terrible.”

I fluff my unruly hair with my fingers and lean back in my chair.

She winces. “That didn’t help.”

I scrub a hand down my face and groan. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Please tell me the hot neighbor kept you awake,” she says.

I shoot her a look.

“Fine. Don’t kiss and tell, I don’t care.” She shrugs as she opens her chips, scoops up a healthy pile of guac, and looks at me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I take a bite of my PB&J and chew, trying to figure out hownotto freak out about this. Hownotto let my big feelings creep in.

But honestly, this is a big feelings kind of thing, right?

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