Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I snort. “You figured me out. But it’s lucky I’ve got my cheat codes for cornhole, buddy.”
He nods toward me, a serious look in his eyes. “Actually, you really are wound up. What’s going on? I don’t need you getting on the ice all stressed.”
Despite our penchant for trash talk, I appreciate that Rowan’s reading me right. I drag a hand through my hair, sighing heavily. “It’s okay if the kitten is in the house alone for six hours, right? She’s three months old.”
Across the room, Max is strapping on his goalie leg pads, his chest protector already in place. He glances up, eyes narrowing. “You got a kitten? Is she getting enough stimulation? Does she have enough toys? Did you make her little tinfoil balls? Cats love those more than anything in the world.”
I tense. I haven’t done any of that. “I think we have tinfoil at home. But I can check,” I mumble.
Max nods like this is life-or-death. “Yeah, you’d better. Kittens need all sorts of things. Ball up some tinfoil and she’ll go wild for it. Also, you know what their favorite toy in the world is? The little cardboard roll inside the toilet paper. Oh, and boxes of tissues. That shit is so fun for kittens. But you also need a ground scratching post. Do you have one?”
“What is that? We have a regular scratching post.”
“Oh, you have to get a ground scratching post. And some of those toys with a ball inside it that they bat around. They go nuts for that stuff.”
I blink, overwhelmed by all this feline information. I had no idea there were so many toys for cats.
“The OG cat daddy has spoken,” Asher chimes in from his locker, pointing to Max.
Max plunks down on the bench and tugs on his skates. “Dude, the cat economy is crazy. There’s so much stuff for them. They need laser pointers, toys, feathers, little plastic balls…”
My brother strides across the room to my locker and grabs my phone from my stall. “Better get all this down. OG Cat Daddy doesn’t dole out advice very often.”
I open the Notes app. I’m going to need all of these things. “What else, guys?”
Wesley chimes in from his locker. “What about a cat tower?”
Rowan points at him approvingly, then back at me. “Dude, Bryant’s right. You definitely need a cat tower.”
I scrub a hand over my tight jaw. “Shit. We don’t have one.”
Rowan claps me on the shoulder. “There’s a cute pet store in Cozy Valley—Whiskers and Kisses.”
“Whiskers and Kisses?” Ford chimes in with a chuckle as he tosses his tie into his stall. “That’s fucking cute.”
“No kidding,” Rowan says, turning his focus back to me. “We’re going there tonight and stocking up on all the cat things you need. I got your back, Falcon.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, man. We’re going to have to do that for sure.”
Max tugs on his jersey, adding, “I’ll send you a list. Better yet, I’m going to write it on the DickNose board.” With full gear on, he heads over to the board, where my brother has already started writing Cat Shit. Max joins in, jotting down the list of all the things I need. I snap a photo, then get ready for the game.
And I try not to worry about the two-pound tuxie while battling for the puck in the corners during the second period.
I put her out of my mind as I shove an opponent out of the way, snagging the puck and whipping it across the neutral zone to Bryant, who takes it right into the net.
Yes!
He sends it screaming past the goalie’s leg pads. A goal for him, an assist for me. And my stats keep getting better.
We smack gloves, and when I hop over the boards for the line change, I feel like I can balance it all—the game, the kids, the woman, even all this cat shopping. And a night out in Cozy Valley with the guys. Well, Sabrina said it’s a good idea for my happiness.
When the game ends, I hustle the hell out of the arena with Rowan. We hop into his car, then head out of the city to the small town not too far from here. Along the way, I toss my suit jacket and tug on a hoodie instead.
Before we head to the bar to meet up with Holden and Corbin, we swing past Whiskers and Kisses off Main Street—a shop that has literally everything.
I don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner. But a short while later, I’m loading up Rowan’s car with a cat tower, all sorts of scratching posts, a red laser pointer, and even a rotating toy with feathers—like a baby mobile but for cats.
As I survey the gear, I breathe out a sigh of relief. “This is good. This is exactly what a foster kitten needs.”