Page 20 of Resistance Training

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I don’t know why I bolted, but I bolted.

I knew she was there.

I’d spent fifteen minutes following her around Powell’s, casually strolling behind her, stealthily weaving in and out of aisles.

She looked so forlorn and lost. And tight.

I could tell by the way she was walking that she hadn’t stretched enough last night or this morning, as usual, and it was killing me not to reprimand her for it.

And she looked hot. In her skinny jeans and long flowy cardigan over a flowy blouse, a little feminine undergarment-top thing peeking out beneath it.

With layers of necklaces and bracelets. The bracelets were jingling.

It reminded me of the opening of the first episode of You .

In my mind I was muttering, Well, hello there, You.

What are you doing here all alone on a Saturday?

Looking all pretty but not too pretty in an obnoxious way, with your jangling bracelets that draw attention but not too much attention.

What books are you looking for? You’d better not be here hoping to meet a guy.

I do not like that you’ve taken off your long sweater.

I like that I can see your ass in those jeans—love it, even—feel a sense of pride.

Not of ownership. I helped grow those glutes.

I see those gains. But I do not like the way that guy with the Kurt Vonnegut book is checking out your ass.

Fuck you, you poser. You didn’t tell her to squat.

She didn’t get on her hands and knees for you and curse at you while you made her do donkey kicks.

That ass is mine.

It’s mine.

And so I decided to stop and let her find me.

And then she found me and I decided to bolt.

It was too perfect. I was there to buy her that John Green book for her birthday—a gift for a client, no different from me giving Larry a copy of one of my favorite books.

It drove me nuts that I didn’t know if she’d read it or not; I just know she’d love it.

And she was there? What the fuck? What were the chances?

What were the chances of me not kissing her if I wandered around a bookstore talking about books with her?

It would change everything, and I’d finally found a way to create some distance from her in my mind.

Mind over matter wasn’t working, so I had to maintain that distance.

Emotional and physical, whenever possible.

That’s just how it has to be. And now I’ll have to order the book online—not because I need to give her a birthday present, because she’s a new client and I just know she’ll like it.

I pull into the street-level garage of my condo.

My two-bedroom unit came with two parking spaces.

It was a brand-new building when I bought it, and I’d gotten a great price and mortgage rate from a couple of clients.

At the time, I was feeling like I should invest in a space that had room for another person.

I didn’t have another person in mind and I certainly hadn’t met anyone here that I’d felt even remotely serious about.

I just knew that one day I’d want to be in a relationship and I wanted to create space for that woman.

Literally. I just haven’t created space for one figuratively yet.

Every time I pull into the garage it’s a reminder that I am totally single.

Most days I’m happy about it. Today, not so much.

As I pull into my space, I notice something small and dark in the corner, by my other parking spot.

When I park, I can see that it’s a black cat.

A little one. Crouched low, and I can tell by its big, alert eyes and tense body that it’s ready to bolt.

It’s really small, but not tiny. Black, fluffy fur and trembling.

Around the size Hairy Styles was when Vivian adopted him.

Turning off the engine, I open the car door slowly and don’t shut it all the way, keeping my eyes on the kitten.

There’s no one else in the small garage. There are only four units in this building. All the other tenants’ cars are parked on the other side of the garage, so there isn’t really a space that this cat can run to hide in.

“Hey, buddy,” I say quietly, but my voice echoes off the concrete and metal.

I probably sound loud and menacing to the poor thing.

It doesn’t look unhealthy, it just looks scared.

“Hey, do you belong to someone?” I take a few steps closer.

It’s so tense and its fur is so puffed up, but it’s so cute. “Is your mom around?”

I get about three feet away and hold my hand out, but it hisses and spits, pressing itself back into the corner and swatting its little paw at me.

I jerk my hand back, because I was not expecting that response.

“Okay. Okay. Not touching you. It’s cool.

Are you hungry?” I don’t know what to feed it, though.

I should maybe get it some water before I knock on my neighbors’ doors and ask if it belongs to them.

“Okay, I’m gonna back away slowly and bring you something to drink, because it’s important to stay hydrated. All right? If you aren’t here when I get back, then I’ll assume you went somewhere else and you’re fine. Deal?” It hisses at me again, very vampire-like. “Right on. Deal.”

When I return with a bowl of filtered water, the cat is right where I left it.

“Okay, buddy,” I say, softly. “Not going to touch you. Just leaving this bowl of water right here.” I put it down on the ground, about four feet away from it.

“I’m gonna go see if anyone else knows about you, but I’ll be back to check on you, okay? ” It hisses again.

I don’t look back as I walk away. I knock on my neighbors’ doors and find that none of them know anything about the kitten and none of them have seen any other kittens around either.

When I return to the garage, the kitten’s still in the same corner.

I check the water level in the bowl I left, and it does look like it drank some of it.

That makes me feel strangely excellent. “Okay. Good for you, buddy. We did something good for your body.” It hisses at me, and I don’t even reach for it.

I don’t actually have an appointment later today, aside from the standing appointment I have with myself to not have sex with Vivian Sparks, so I guess this is what I’m doing.

Figuring out what to do with a feral kitten.

Which is not ideal. I don’t love how this thing just showed up out of the blue, and I can’t change my life to accommodate it.

But I have a couple of hours to spare on my weekend off, I suppose.

But fuck.

I literally can’t think of one person to ask for help with this aside from Vivian Sparks.

And it’s not because I’m always thinking about Vivian Sparks.

It’s because she’s the only cat person I know right now.

I step away from the kitten, still facing it, and pull out my phone. I don’t think it likes the sound of my voice, so I’ll text first.

ME

Hi. Are you still at Powell’s?

I have an angry kitty emergency.

That’s not a euphemism. There’s a feral kitten in my garage and it doesn’t want me to pick it up. There aren’t any other cats around. No one here will claim it. I don’t know what to do.

I wasn’t sure who else to ask for help, but you’re probably busy. Never mind.

VIVIAN

Oh no, please. A big, strong man who’s afraid of a tiny kitten? This requires no explanation. Of course you need my help.

ME

I am not afraid of the kitten. I do not want to scare the kitten with my big, strong man-ness.

VIVIAN

I’m going to need a little more information before I proceed to save you from this tiny animal. Can I call you?

I call her, watching the kitten, who hasn’t taken its big eyes off of me since I walked back in here.

She answers on the first ring. “Hi. How old do you think this kitten is?”

“I have no idea how to answer that. It’s not a baby. It looks pretty healthy. It’s just scared, but it also isn’t going anywhere.”

“Awww. Sounds like it wants to be rescued.”

I sigh. “Should I call an animal shelter or something? Is that a thing?”

“I mean. What I would do first is take it to a vet, probably the nearest animal hospital to make sure it doesn’t have a microchip, and then we go from there.”

“Okay. And how would I do that?”

“You’ll wait for me to show up with a cat kennel that I purchase on my way there. I’d bring Hairy’s, but his smell would probably make the kitten nervous. Do you have time for this? You said you have an appointment.”

“Yeah, that’s not for a while. I’ll take it to an animal hospital. Do you have time for this?”

“I do. Text me your address. Also, get a towel to wrap it up in. I’m in line to pay for some books, and then I’ll stop by a pet store and come over.”

“A towel. Got it. Thank you.” I feel really bad about lying to her earlier, but I guess this is my punishment.

Half an hour later, I’m standing outside the door to the parking garage.

I don’t want anyone driving in or out. I can’t let Vivian park in my extra spot because it would probably scare the kitten.

I see her driving up in a Toyota and direct her to park right in front of me.

As luck would have it, there’s a space nearby.

I’m holding two towels—a hand towel and a bath towel, because I have no idea what they’re going to be used for.

Vivian parks and climbs out of her car, carrying a small pet kennel and smiling.

Now I feel really guilty for lying to her and bolting.

“Hi,” she says quietly as she approaches me. “Where is it?”

“Inside. Thanks for coming.” I guide her by the small of her back and then, realizing what I’m doing, yank my hand away as fast as I did when the kitten hissed at me.

I open the garage door for her, letting her in first, shutting the door as quietly as possible.

Then I point toward the opposite corner of the garage and lead her to it.

“Awww, what a sweetheart,” she says.

And the cat doesn’t hiss at her.

“Yeah, this kitty’s old enough to be weaned, I’d say. Oh, I see you got it some water. That’s sweet.”

“It’s not sweet; it was the logical thing to do.”

“Okay, tough guy. Give me that bath towel. I’ll put it inside the kennel.” She places the plastic kennel down on the ground and opens the front of it. “You’re going to use that hand towel to pick up the kitten, and then I’ll help you wrap it up so it feels safe.”

“Got it,” I say, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about.

I hold the towel out in front of me like a lion tamer, slowly stepping toward the kitten.

It gets tenser and tenser as I approach, hissing and spitting and swiping at the air, backing itself into the corner even though it can’t get any closer to the wall.

It’s so fucking small, but my nervous system seems to believe that it could kill me.

“Okay,” Vivian says. “New plan. I’ll pick it up, wearing these gloves that I had in my car. You hold the towel out for me.”

“Good idea.”

And then she steps slowly toward the tiny creature, wearing leather gloves, cooing and lovingly telling it not to worry.

She does, in fact, seem totally trustworthy and not at all capable of breaking hearts and ruining lives.

The kitten hisses, but in a much quieter way than it was hissing at me, allows her to pick it up, even though it struggles.

Vivian carries it over to me and the hand towel, holding it close to her breast, tells me to wrap the towel around the kitten.

There is literally no way anyone could wrap the towel around the kitten without touching her breast, so that’s on her, and she smirks at me like she enjoyed it.

Then she somehow manages to wrap up the kitten with the towel, like a burrito, its paws tucked into the hand towel, unable to swat or wriggle around. Subdued. Still alert. Occasionally hissing just on principle. But resigned, for the moment anyway.

I personally wouldn’t give up so easily, but I am very impressed with how she handled this.