Page 4 of Catastrophically Yours
"Maybe he should stay—" Piper began, but the words died as fifteen pounds of orange tabby emerged with the dignity of displaced royalty.
Pickle surveyed the apartment with bright green eyes, taking in the minimalist furniture and spotless surfaces with what could only be described as feline judgment. His coat was striking—deep orange with white patches across chest and paws, the kind of coloring that would photograph beautifully, if Piper were the type to take pet photos, which she absolutely was not.
"Pickle, behave," Drew murmured, but the cat had already begun his inspection.
He approached Piper's coffee table with deliberate steps, sniffing the edges before moving to investigate the couch. Each exploration left visible orange hairs on her black leather cushions—evidence that would accumulate daily, requiring constant maintenance to preserve the apartment's careful aesthetic.
"He's just getting oriented," Drew explained, following Piper's gaze to the growing fur collection. "Once he settles, he'll pick a favorite spot and mostly stay there."
Sadie stood with the air of someone whose work was nearly done. "Look, Piper, I know this isn't ideal. But Drew's one of the most considerate people I know, and she's been through enough without having to sleep in her car."
"Car?" The word escaped before Piper could stop it.
Drew's shoulders went tight. "It's not that bad. I've done it before."
Something in her tone—resigned acceptance dressed up as casual confidence—made Piper's chest ache. She thought of her own backup plans, emergency funds and spare keys and careful preparations that kept her from ever facing such uncertainty. Drew had none of those safety nets, yet somehow maintained optimism that Piper both envied and couldn't fathom.
"My building has security cameras in hallways," she said slowly, working through logistics out loud. "And Mrs. Kowalski next door notices everything. If she sees pet supplies or hears anything suspicious?—"
"I can be invisible," Drew promised. "Honestly, I'm so tired I'll probably sleep for twelve hours straight."
Piper looked at her—really looked—taking in how Drew held herself upright despite clear exhaustion, the gentle way she tracked Pickle's exploration, the guitar case positioned protectively beside her duffel. This wasn't someone asking for a handout; this was someone who'd exhausted every option and still approached with dignity intact.
"One week," she heard herself say. "Absolutely no longer, and we check in daily on your apartment applications."
Drew's face transformed with relief so profound it was almost painful to watch. "Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much. I know this is a huge inconvenience?—"
"Ground rules," Piper continued, her voice taking on professional efficiency as defense against the emotional undertow. "Quiet hours from ten PM to six AM. Kitchen cleanup immediately after use. No smoking, no parties, no guests without discussion."
"Of course, absolutely," Drew nodded eagerly.
"And Pickle stays in your room as much as possible. I can't risk neighbor complaints."
"He's actually really good about that," Drew said. "He likes small spaces—makes him feel secure."
Sadie gathered her jacket with obvious satisfaction. "I'll leave you two to work out details. Drew, text me when you're settled." She paused at the door. "Piper, seriously. You're probably saving her life right now."
After Sadie left, the apartment felt strangely quiet despite Pickle's continued exploration. Piper led Drew down the hall tothe guest room, aware of how the space would look to someone used to cramped quarters—the double bed with white duvet, empty dresser, window overlooking the tree-lined street.
"This is beautiful," Drew said softly, setting her guitar case against the wall with reverent care. "I can't believe you're letting me stay."
Piper watched Drew unpack Pickle's supplies with practiced efficiency—collapsible bowls, compact litter box, toys that had clearly seen years of use. Every movement spoke of experience with temporary arrangements, with making spaces work despite limitations. The realization that this wasn't Drew's first housing crisis hit unexpectedly hard.
"Bathroom's across the hall," she said, focusing on practicalities to avoid examining why she'd just upended her weekend routine for a stranger with a cat. "Fresh towels in the linen closet, space in the medicine cabinet if you need it."
Drew looked up from arranging Pickle's bed in the corner. "I really can't thank you enough. I know houseguests aren't exactly—" She gestured at Piper's precise outfit, the carefully made bed, the complete absence of clutter. "This doesn't seem like your usual thing."
Accurate enough to sting. Piper's life ran on schedules and systems designed specifically to avoid unpredictability. She couldn't remember the last impulsive decision this potentially costly to her maintained stability.
"It's temporary," she repeated, though it felt more like self-reassurance than fact.
"Completely temporary," Drew agreed. "Though I should warn you, Pickle might try winning you over. He's got this thing about charming people who claim they don't like cats."
As if summoned, Pickle appeared in the doorway. He surveyed the guest room before approaching Piper with the confidence of someone used to making himself at homeanywhere. When he touched his nose to her outstretched fingers, his purr rumbled with surprising volume.
"He likes you already," Drew said with a smile that transformed her whole face. "That's actually a really good sign."
Piper pulled her hand back before getting too attached to that warm vibration. "I should let you get settled. I have work to catch up on."
