Best Laid Plans (Garnet Run 2)

Somehow, everything had come together in the last week. Molly Simmons, a large animal vet who had been a friend of Charlie’s father’s, had agreed to volunteer at the shelter one day a week to do medical procedures and checkups. The fundraising auction had been a huge success—due in part to Charlie calling in every favor he’d accrued over the years—and that final push had given them the funds they needed to kit the shelter out right.

Last night, they had done a final walk-through and everything had been fine. Now Rye was standing in the corner of the cat room where once he’d slept, and declaring that the entire thing was a disaster and they should probably call off the launch.

You’re on, Charlie texted Jack.

Ten minutes later, Jack knocked on the door, then pushed it open, a disgruntled Marmot in his arms.

“Little fucker didn’t wanna come without Jane,” he muttered. Then he whistled. “Looks great in here. I hadn’t seen it with everything all orderly yet.”

Charlie pointed above the front desk to where hung a framed drawing that Jack had done of the shelter, complete with cats hanging out of every window and roosting in the eaves. Jack had given away and auctioned off multiple artworks of animals to raise money for and spread the word about the shelter.

He smiled at the drawing.

“Thanks, man.”

Marmot let out a crow that meant she wanted to be put down. Rye came thundering into the front room, looking confused.

“Marmie?” When he saw the cat and Jack, he said, “You brought her?”

Jack nodded.

“Charlie thought she might like to do the honors of testing the ramps.”

As the word ramps left Jack’s mouth, Marmot seemed to see them and was off like a shot.

She pranced up the stairs that led to the ramp over the front desk, sniffing as she went. It sloped up to near ceiling height and when Marmot got high above their heads, she looked down on them like she should be waving a scepter.

“Oh my god,” Rye said. “It’s like I’m seeing her from the perspective she always felt she was at on my shoulder.”

Rye spotted the hole that led through the wall and into what had been the living room and was now a room outfitted with large cat cages and pens, toys and pillows and perches. She darted through the hole and the humans opened the door to follow. They watched her rocket around the ramps for a few circuits of the room, then slow down enough to see the toys. She sniffed some, batted at others, and danced over the different pillows and perches as if to say, I’ll be back later but you are mine and don’t you forget it.

From there, she disappeared into the wall again and Jack raised an eyebrow.

“It goes to the room upstairs,” Charlie explained.

“River’s room,” Rye added.

Charlie said nothing. This was a topic about which Charlie was still anxious, but Rye had been immovable: even though River wouldn’t be eighteen for six months, Rye had insisted that they be allowed to sign a lease and have the room.

Rye had said very calmly and very quietly that he was not going to change his mind. That River didn’t feel safe at their house and that Rye didn’t care what negative consequences he had to shoulder—he was giving River a safe place to stay.

Then he’d put his arms around Charlie and told him not to worry. That following rules and laws wasn’t always the way to stay safe. That sometimes breaking rules and laws was the way to keep everyone okay. Charlie knew that he was right, and he was working on not worrying so much about the consequences. Charlie liked River a lot and he dearly wanted them to feel safe. But it wasn’t easy letting go of years of believing that rules were a protection.

“We told them that putting an entrance there would mean they were sure to get cat bombed in the middle of the night,” Rye said. “And they said they didn’t care. Well, actually they said they couldn’t wait to get cat bombed.”

Rye grinned.

As they started up the stairs to follow Marmot, there was a scratching sound from the porch on the back of the house that they’d closed in. They went through the smaller room where a cat could have some alone time, or where potential adopters could take a cat to spend some time together. It didn’t have any entrances to the cat ramps.

On the other side of it was cat heaven.

Charlie had respected Rye’s wishes that he stay within the budget of their fundraising efforts in constructing the ramps even though Charlie would have happily used his own money to fund it. But Rye hadn’t been able to put any limits on his time, and Charlie had poured it into the project. Where the budget didn’t allow for something, Charlie found a way to build it or scavenge it himself. He’d regularly called around to locals for scrap wood and metal, bits and bobs that he knew they might have leftover from projects—and he knew the projects people did because he routinely sold them the supplies to do them.