Page 52 of Not For Keeps
Cap looks between us. “Someone go get that damn cat before Libby calls again and starts crying into the dispatcher’s ear. I can’t handle another voicemail about her cat’s emotional distress.”
I push to my feet. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You better bring her down gently,” Seb says,grabbing a granola bar and tossing it at Andres. “Or Libby’ll file a complaint with city hall again.”
Andres catches it mid-air, scowling. “She can file that complaint under not my problem.”
I glance at him, deadpan. “Oh, it’s your problem now.”
He blinks. “Wait—what?”
I jerk my thumb toward the door. “You’re coming with me, asshole.”
Andres groans, dragging his feet toward the gear room. “I knew taking that damn call was a mistake.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter as Andres and I pull up to Libby’s house.
“Third time this month,” Andres says, cutting the siren just as we turn into her driveway. “I swear that cat’s either suicidal or just really into high altitudes.”
I glance up through the windshield. Sure enough, perched at the highest possible branch is the devil cat. Libby’s demon in fur form. The spawn of Satan with whiskers. She’s glaring down at us like we ruined her day.
Libby rushes out in slippers and a housecoat, her gray curls bouncing, cheeks either flushed from either panic or rage—or both. “She’s been up there for an hour! What if she jumps? She’s delicate!”
“She literally crawled through your drywall last week,” I say under my breath.
Libby doesn’t hear me, or she ignores it. “You have to get her down!”
Andres stretches, yawning. “Maybe she just needs some alone time. Cats are independent creatures.”
“She’s a princess!” Libby shrieks. “She’ll get cold! Or bored! Or attacked by a squirrel!”
The cat lets out a meow so long and angry it echoes like a death wail.
Andres sighs. “Alright. You’re going up.”
I blink at him. “Why me?”
“Because she likes you.”
“She does not like me.”
Libby gasps. “She adores you. She let you pet her once!”
“She bit me immediately after.”
“She was playing.”
“Then your cat has some questionable ideas about foreplay.”
We grab the ladder from the truck while Libby paces the yard, muttering into her bathrobe pocket.
“I swear if I die today because of a damn tabby,” I grumble, planting the ladder under the tree.
“Don’t say that,” Andres warns. “She senses weakness.”
I begin climbing, slowly, carefully. The cat narrows her eyes as I ascend, tail twitching.
“Nice kitty,” I murmur. “Totally normal, not possessed kitty. Just gonna bring you down so your mom stops threatening to sue the department.”
