Chapter Text
"Are you sure about this, Joe?" Andy asks seriously, leading Joe through the labyrinthine halls of the shelter. The sound of barking dogs follows them through, making Joe flinch.
"They're just excited to have a visitor," Andy says. She would; she's never met an animal she couldn't charm. "But really, Joe. Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack," Joe tells her. "I had my boss file the transfer paperwork yesterday. No more long trips. No more hotel rooms. No more sleeping in the van when there's no hotel room."
A sliver of a smile slants across Andy's face, revealing in the crinkles around her mouth and eyes that for all she has more energy than Joe has ever had in his life, she's not that young anymore. "Good for you," she says.
"I think so," Joe agrees. He'd loved his job as a foreign correspondent when he was younger, jetting around the world to deliver news from international summits and crisis areas. He's over thirty now, though, and his back hurts when he sleeps on unfamiliar beds. Jetlag has become a problem for him in the last few years in a way it never used to be, and exhaustion dogs his footsteps at every turn. At first he'd told himself the work was too important, too necessary, for him to quit. When that stopped sounding convincing, he'd told himself that he'd been moving around from place to place his whole life and he wouldn't even know how to sit still if he tried.
Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror of a Premier Inn in Brussels at the latest G7 summit at four in the morning, he'd had to admit a few things to himself.
He can be a journalist locally without the work losing his value.
He can learn how to put down roots even if it's not something that comes naturally to him. It's either that or be blown away by the wind.
And this, this moment here, this will cement that for him. No way he can leave town if he has someone depending on him.
Andy comes to a halt in front of a large white door. "This is it," she says. She slides her key into the lock. "You know I'm going to be checking up on you all the time, right?" she asks. "No way I'm giving you one of my cats and not making sure you know what you're doing."
"I'm counting on it," Joe says.
She clasps his shoulder firmly but kindly. He's known her years, ever since he interviewed her about the toll hurricane season takes on shelters. Somehow, she was the contact he never lost, the one tendril of a root that refused to die, showing up at his doorstep whenever he was in town. It feels right, to learn how to build a home from her.
She unlocks the door and he steps through.
It smells unmistakably of animal. There's the litter box in the corner, the big shared bowls of kibble in the middle of the room, and beyond that, something purely cat in the air.
Scrabbling around on the two cat trees lining each wall, Joe spots six or seven kittens, peering out at him in varying degrees of curiosity.
"If you sit down, they get used to you," a voice from the far corner of the room says.
Joe nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Sorry," the man currently leaned against the back wall says. He's sitting down, but he looks like he might be tall. His shoulders are broad and his hands are enormous, especially with the tiniest ball of calico fluff nestled against his chest, rubbing its entire body into his grip.
"Oh," Joe says softly.
"Have a seat," the man prompts. "Are you looking to adopt as well?"
"Yeah," Joe says. "I'm Joe." He sits down beside the man. The calico kitten pauses for an instant in her efforts to get the man to smell like nothing but her to study Joe, but before long, she goes back to being cuddled.
Joe doesn't blame her.
"I'm Nicky," the man says. "I would shake your hand, but, well..."
"Nice to meet you," Joe says. "I'm guessing you've made your choice?"
"She is a beautiful girl," Nicky says, rubbing behind her ears fondly. "Aren't you, principessa?"
Something wet and cold touches Joe's hand. He stays as still as he can as two tiny black and white kittens sniff at his fingers.
"Italian?" Joe asks Nicky, trying to pretend he doesn't see the kittens.
"Yes," Nicky says ruefully. He's smiling; he has a nice smile.
"Sounds like it's all settled, then," Joe says, looking over at the cat currently trying to vibrate out of her skin as she purrs.
Nicky sighs. "Sadly, my building does not allow pets. Andy just lets me come here and play with them because she feels sorry for me."
"That sucks," Joe says. "Can't you sneak her in?"
Nicky shakes his head ruefully. "I work shifts," he says. "I'm a nurse, and sooner or later I would be in a double shift and someone would hear her cry."
Joe lets his fingers trail over the head of the kitten closest to him. It accepts the touch but scampers off. Over on the other side of the room, he catches sight of a scrawny all-black kitten jumping from one platform to another.
"I was thinking of adopting two," Joe says. "I don't work shifts, but my hours can get long, and I read they're better off together, to keep each other company."
"That sounds wonderful," Nicky says wistfully. "I wish I could. I really can't afford a bigger apartment, though."
The calico on his lap wriggles against him in reproach, almost as if she can sense she's not going home with him.
"May I?" Joe asks.
Carefully, Nicky lifts her up. She's so small she still fits comfortably in his hands, cradled like the princess she is. Joe holds out his fingers for her to sniff.
For a long moment, she does, and at first Joe thinks she'll reject any person who isn't Nicky—understandable—but then she rubs her cheek along his fingers and lets him pet her.
"Oh, she's so soft," he says.
"I know," Nicky agrees helplessly.
The calico hops off of his hands into Joe's lap, pushing her side into his stomach and kneading at his jeans. "Oh my god," Joe says.
"She likes you," Nicky says. He's smiling, but his eyes look a little sad. He has good eyes as well as a nice smile.
"I think I'm in love," Joe says, looking down at the little calico lady.
There's a pulling at his feet and he catches sight of the scrawny little black cat pulling at his shoelaces.
"He's shy," Nicky stage-whispers. "He's been here three weeks already, but he never comes out when people are here."
The thought makes Joe want to cry a little. "Poor little guy," he croons. He stretches out the hand not currently engaged in giving Principessa behind-the-ear scritches. The scrawny black cat sniffs once and runs away.
Joe looks down at Principessa. "Would you be very mad if I adopted her?"
Nicky swallows heavily. "Not very mad," he says. His shoulders droop down a little.
Joe bumps his own shoulder against Nicky's. "What if," he suggests, "I invite you over to visit her?"
That afternoon, Joe leaves the shelter with two cat carriers, one holding a calico beauty and the other a scrawny little black kitten. He has a bag of cat sand, two litter boxes, a disassembled cat tree and enough cat food to last at least a month in the trunk of his car.
It takes him the better part of two hours to put the cat tree together. Before he showers or even thinks about making himself anything to eat, he snaps a picture of the two of them dozing together in the little hammock near the top of the tree.
Principessa is home, he texts Nicky.
Almost immediately, Nicky responds. And what is his name?
Joe takes a deep breath. I thought maybe you could come by and help me figure it out, he writes, and then he sends it before he can change his mind.
When Nicky appears at his door not twenty minutes later, Joe lets him in with a smile and thinks to himself: roots.