The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club Read online

  The moment I gave my boss my decision, I began to second guess myself.

  Back and forth all day.

  I did the right thing.

  Or did I?

  I pull into my driveway and trudge up the steps, head down. Inside I find Rory working on her laptop. She looks up and studies my face. “Uh-oh. I know that look.”

  I shake my head as I attempt to hang up my raincoat, but I miss the hook and it falls to the floor.

  I roll my eyes and leave it there.

  She gets up and moves toward me. “Well? What did you decide?” She grabs my raincoat off the floor and hangs it up.

  “I’m not on Air Force One, am I?”

  She flashes a wide smile, then gives me a hug. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Are you still proud of me if I tell you I’ve been wondering if I made the wrong decision all day?”

  She breaks the embrace and leans back. “Yep. You can replay it all you want. Bottom line, you did the right thing. Freckles, you’ve got nothing to prove. You’ve already reached the top of the food chain in your career. Covering the guy in the White House for several months cannot be that appealing.”

  “I guess. Y’know, funny thing I discovered about my chosen profession today that I never noticed before. People will eat their young for a promotion. Right after I told my boss I was turning down the assignment he threw it open to anyone who wanted to toss his hat in the ring.”

  “I thought he was gonna give it to that woman you hate?”

  “Perhaps the higher-ups realized she’s a brainless bimbo. Anyway, you should have heard my cohorts bad-mouthing one another all day, trying to get the assignment.”

  “So who got it?”

  “They hadn’t decided when I left.”

  “Ah, so you’re thinking it’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “Actually, I’m not. I’m thinking that the people in the news business need souls.”

  “Well, you’re okay in that department, Freckles. Yours is beautiful.”

  A loud meow from behind distracts me. “Aren’t the kittens in the spare room?”

  Rory looks past me and points. “That’s not one of your kittens.”

  I turn and see a soaking wet cat in the window, shivering and crying. “Awww. Poor thing got stuck in the rain.” I move to the window and open it. The cat dashes in and immediately shakes, sending a spray of water everywhere. But it’s still shivering. I grab a towel from the bathroom and kneel down to begin drying it off. “Talk about a drowned rat. Okay, kitty, you can stay here till the rain stops.”

  And then it hits me.

  White cat with one blue eye and one green eye.

  And a red collar.

  “Rory, I know this cat!”

  “Huh?”

  “She’s been lost. Belongs to a little girl I met at A.J.’s deli.” I quickly run to the kitchen and grab the flyer I’d put on the bulletin board, then head back to the living room and hand it to Rory, who has taken over cat drying duties. “Her name is Snowflake.”

  The cat meows and looks up at me when I say her name.

  Rory looks at the flyer. “Well, one little girl is gonna be real happy.”

  I grab my phone and call the number on the flyer. It goes to voicemail so I leave a message. “Nobody’s home.”

  “The cat is probably hungry.”

  “I don’t have any adult cat food. I’ve got a can of salmon. Think she’d eat that?”

  “Geez, Freckles, I dunno if cats like fish.”

  Palm slap. “Duh.”

  Three hours later Snowflake is dry and curled up at my feet as the doorbell rings. I answer the door and find the little girl and her parents wearing big smiles. The girl yells “Snowflake!” and runs past me. The cat immediately perks up, runs to the girl and jumps in her arms, then starts licking her. The girl hugs her tight.

  I feel my eyes well up a bit as I usher her parents inside.

  “Thank you so much,” says her mother, the spitting image of her daughter. “By the way, I’m Joanne and he’s Jonathan. My daughter has been devastated since the cat went missing. How did you find her?”

  “I saw her in the window when it was raining, so I brought her in. Then I realized she was the lost cat on the flyer. I was in the deli when you guys came by.”

  “Really nice of you,” says her dad, a tall, sandy-haired man around thirty who looks like a young Robert Redford. He smiles as he watches the girl and the cat.

  “Looks like your daughter and Snowflake have a special bond.”

  The guy turns back to me. “Oh, I’m not her dad. I’m her uncle. Joanne’s brother.”

  The woman drops her voice a bit. “My ex is out of the picture.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Samantha and I are doing fine. And Jonathan is a big help.”

  I hear the tortoiseshell crying from the spare room.

  The little girl looks at the door. “Oh, you have a cat too?”

  “Right now I have four little kittens. You wanna see them?”

  “Yeah!”

  I lead everyone to the spare room where I find the tortoiseshell sitting up in front of the other three, as it’s feeding time. The little girl kneels down and begins petting them. “Where’s the mother cat?” she asks.

  “Well, unfortunately she went to cat heaven.”

  “Oh no.”

  I tell them the story of finding the kittens. “Anyway, I’m taking her place until they’re old enough to feed themselves. Would you like to help me bottle feed them?”

  The little girl turns to her mother. “Can I, mom? Please?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  I go to the kitchen and return with the bottles of formula. I sit on the floor next to Samantha and show her how it’s done. “Okay, now, hold your kitten very gently and put the bottle in front of it. It knows what to do.”

  The child follows my instructions and beams as the kitten latches onto the bottle and begins draining it.

  Her mother pulls out a cell phone. “Oh, this is too cute. I have to get a picture and some video of this.” She crouches down and aims the phone.

  “You take care of them all by yourself?” asks Jonathan.

  “I live alone, but my best friend lives across the street and helps out when I’m at work.”

  “Oh. So you’re single.”

  “Yeah.”

  A few minutes later we’re done and we get Snowflake into a pet carrier. Joanne shakes my hand. “Again, can’t thank you enough.”

  “Not a problem. And seeing your daughter with that cat is quite the reward.”

  The uncle locks eyes with me, sending a shiver through my body as he takes my hand. “Uh, I hope this isn’t too forward. I’d ask for your phone number but we already have it. Mind if I call it again?”

  I can’t help but smile. “Sure. That would be fine.”

  I wouldn’t mind saying “uncle” to this guy.

  Two days later …

  “You’ve gone viral!”

  I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I try to focus on the phone. The clock reads five-thirty in the morning. “Rory, what are you, a friggin’ rooster? Why the hell are you calling me at this hour?”

  “Because you’ve gone viral!”

  “About what?”

  “That lost cat. The little girl’s mom posted pictures and video of you showing the kid how to bottle feed kittens, and she wrote a post about it. It’s all over social media. I’m sending you the link.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Now I’m awake.

  “Freckles, it’s cute as hell. Call me back after you’ve watched it.”

  I end the call, throw back the covers, jump out of bed, grab my laptop and power it up. I click on the link in Rory’s email and the screen fills with video of me and the little girl bottle feeding the kittens.

  Below the video is the counter.

  More than seven hundred thousand hits.

  And below that is the post from the mom.r />
  You won’t believe who found our lost cat … famous network TV reporter Madison Shaw! She took my daughter’s beloved pet in out of the rain and got in touch with us after seeing one of the many flyers we posted around town. When we arrived to pick up Snowflake we discovered Ms. Shaw was taking care of four orphaned kittens she’d found while on a story. So she showed Samantha how to bottle feed them. My daughter is so happy thanks to this wonderful woman, who is obviously a saint in her own right as she gets up in the middle of the night, every night, to feed these precious orphaned fur babies. Thank you, Madison Shaw, for giving my daughter her pet back and for letting her feed your kittens which she enjoyed immensely. It was like Christmas morning, only better! God bless you!

  And below that are a bunch of photos. All what we would call “warm and fuzzy” in television news.

  I grab the phone and call Rory back. “Okay, I watched it.”

  “I just saw it on your network’s morning show!”

  “Dear God …”

  “What? I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

  “Do you know what this does to my reputation as a hard news reporter?”

  “Yeah, it shows you’re human.”

  “And beyond that, it tells my boss why I turned down Air Force One.”

  I dread walking into the newsroom because I have no idea how my boss will react. Will he be ticked off? Not care? Think I don’t consider my job a top priority?

  The newsroom suddenly goes quiet as I enter. No one makes eye contact or says good morning, but I can tell they’re all stifling laughs as I hear a few snorts and giggles.

  And then I see it.

  My desk, covered with more of that cat lady starter kit.

  A giant bag of cat treats, a catnip mouse, scratching post, a whole bunch of cat toys, a cat condo, a case of canned tuna. And a big box wrapped in Hello Kitty wrapping paper.

  Fine, I’ll play along. “Okay, okay, very funny.”

  The newsroom erupts in laughter.

  “Open your present!” shouts a reporter from across the room.

  I tear the paper from the box and open it, then pull out a multi-colored crocheted monstrosity that would be best described as something an old lady would put on the back of a couch. “Oh, very nice.”

  A photographer points at the box. “There’s more in there.”

  I reach inside and find a big box of DVDs. “Ah, the complete collection of Murder She Wrote. That’s it? No Depends in here? Polident for my false teeth?”

  “Keep looking.”

  I rummage through the tissue paper and find a gold, sparky halo, which I promptly put on my head. “So, I’ve been canonized.”

  Everyone applauds as I see my boss heading toward me, wearing a big smile. “Can I see you a minute in my office?”

  Uh-oh. “Sure, Barry.” I follow him into his office and take a seat opposite his desk.

  He’s still smiling as he sits. “I must say, of all the people in this newsroom, I never expected—”

  “What, that I have a heart?”

  “I wasn’t going to say that. You just never struck me as the type to do something like this. You’re one of the most career oriented people I’ve ever known. I was blown away seeing you bottle feeding a bunch of kittens.”

  “Well, I have recently discovered that there’s more to life than a career.”

  “Never thought I’d hear you say that either. So I gotta ask … is this the reason you turned down the President’s gig?”

  “Will you be mad if I say yes? Or think less of me as a reporter?”

  “Of course not. I’ll actually be impressed.”

  “Then yes.”

  “Well, I’m impressed that you would do such a thing.”

  “I have second thoughts about it every day.”

  “Don’t. You just became the most popular reporter on this network. Madison, you can’t buy promotion like you’re getting off that social media post. Even people who hate the media now see you as a human being with a big heart.”

  “I didn’t do it for the publicity.”

  “I know that. But the cat’s out of the bag now. Literally and figuratively.” He grabs a few slips of paper from his desk and hands them to me. “Oh, the morning show wants you and the kittens as guests.”

  “Huh?”

  “And the CEO insists you do it.”

  As I drive home, it is clear that my life will never be the same. Requests for interviews didn’t stop so I didn’t get a damn bit of work done today, but management didn’t care because I’m now some sort of role model who can improve the media’s approval rating, which has been, as my boss says, lower than whale shit.

  Meanwhile, my new status as “network cat lady” has been cemented forever. The local no-kill animal shelter called and asked if I would be part of their fundraiser. Sure, no problem. A national pet rescue organization wants me to do a public service announcement. Okay, I’ll do it. The switchboard at the network lit up with offers wanting to adopt the kittens. Grumpy Cat is now one of my Twitter followers. I got an email from Morris the Cat. Signed with a paw print.

  Then there were the comments on social media, which were about ninety-nine percent positive. Of course, some men couldn’t resist trying to be clever and/or sleazy. “I’d like to be nursed by Madison Shaw.”

  And the story leaked (I’m looking at you, newsroom diva Jennifer) that I had blown off the assignment covering a presidential campaign to take care of the kittens. Which, incredibly, resulted in the President of the United States actually making a comment about it during a news conference. “Ms. Shaw has literally confirmed that I am not a warm, fuzzy guy. Guess I need to work on my people skills with the media. And perhaps the Oval Office needs a cat.”

  That last line resulted in cat people overloading the White House switchboard with calls demanding the Commander-in-Chief adopt a shelter cat.

  Which he did by the end of the day. The ensuing photo-op showed him signing a bill in the Oval Office while a huge ginger cat slept on the corner of his desk.

  And that went viral. Probably beat the hell out of a campaign commercial.

  I see a big overnight delivery truck parked in front of my house as I turn onto my street. Two men with hand trucks are wheeling boxes into my house as Rory holds the door open. I quickly get out of my car and head up the stairs, running into a delivery guy who’s on the way down. “What’s all this stuff?”

  “Deliveries.”

  “I can see that. I didn’t order anything.”

  “I just drive the truck, lady. Everything’s got your address on it. Hence, I am delivering it to you. And don’t even think about saying return to sender after we hauled everything into your house.”

  He heads back to the truck as I move into the house. The living room is cluttered with boxes stacked to the ceiling. Rory is signing a clipboard for the delivery guy. “What the hell is all this?”

  She smiles at me as she hands the delivery guy the clipboard and he takes off. “Free cat supplies.”

  “From who?”

  “Companies that make stuff for cats. You’ve got a year’s supply of food for four cats, three hundred pounds of kitty litter, a collection of toys, cat beds, cat houses, cat books, brushes, collars, flea medication, treats—”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. Did you say three hundred pounds of kitty litter?”

  “That’s what the delivery guy told me. It was on his manifest. But at least it’s in manageable twenty-five pound bags.”

  “But three hundred pounds? Do they think I own a friggin’ tiger?”

  “Hey, don’t complain. It’s all free.”

  “Rory, I can’t even see my couch. This place looks like a warehouse. Where the hell am I gonna put all this stuff?”

  “Donate some of it to the shelter. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

  “Good idea.”

  “So how was your day?”

  “Wall to wall cats. They didn’t even send me out on a story today. Just got a
ton of calls about the kittens. I’m management’s favorite person right now.”

  “I’m sure. Well, I gotta run. Just fed the fur babies so you can relax a bit.”

  “Actually, I can’t. And you’re not going anywhere. Gotta straighten up this place. The network is doing a live shot from here tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Six

  At six in the morning the kittens are still asleep, I’m bleary-eyed sitting on the floor next to them, Rory is being her perky morning self and the photographer is standing by with his camera pointed at me. Our “hit time” (the time we go live) is five minutes after six, when the morning team is done with the “real news” and can move on to what is known as the “kicker”: an uplifting, funny, or heartwarming story.

  In this case, “warm and fuzzy” is literal.

  (And after that, as is typical of morning shows these days that are targeted to women, about three hours of discussion on purses, shoes and child care tips. Hard hitting stuff that makes men turn off the TV and listen to sports talk radio.)

  Rory, who is camera shy, is sitting out of the shot in case the kittens start running all over the place. I’ve got my bottles of formula lined up, as the network wants viewers to see the feeding process.

  Of course as luck would have it, the photographer is the same one who was working with me when we found the kittens. He keeps shaking his head in amazement as he double-checks his equipment. “I never would have expected this from you, Network. Getting up in the middle of the night to feed kittens.”

  “So, in other words, you didn’t consider me to be a human being before.”

  “Let’s just say you have blown up the reputation you used to have. Which, I might add, is a very good thing. I might actually take more time lighting you in the future.”

  “So, you gonna stop calling me Network now?”

  “Sorry, you’re stuck with that one. Unless you wanna be called Catwoman?”

  “No way. I refuse to wear a black spandex suit.”

  Rory reaches over and pats my hand. “But you’d look good in it. And it would be an appropriate choice for Halloween.”

  “And now I know I’ll never hear the end of this.”

  The photographer looks at his watch. “We’re two minutes out.”