Page 44 of Buttons

Which is why I’m at the shelter the next day. I’d already made a few phone calls about an idea I had, and I’m ready to present my idea to Beatrix. Each time I step around a stack of empty cat carriers, I’m reminded how the shelter isn’t designed for somany animals. It creates frantic energy with too many creatures in too small ‌a place.

A harried volunteer squeezes past me with two food bowls balanced precariously in each hand. We do an awkward dance in the narrow aisle between kennels, both of us twisting to avoid collision. She offers an apologetic smile before hurrying on.

I pause at a kennel where three adult cats share a space meant for one. The calico in the corner watches me with suspicious yellow eyes while her companions sleep in a tangled heap of fur on a small bed.

“If you’re thinking about bringing in that stray from your apartment complex, forget it.”

Beatrix’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She’s standing behind me, clipboard clutched against her wornSKCASsweatshirt. When I give her a questioning look, she explains, “I saw your post.” She taps a pen against her clipboard. “Orange tabby on the bench. Missing part of one ear.”

I nod. Though she doesn’t post or comment, Beatrix follows the shelter’s social media accounts with the same attention she applies to medication schedules and feeding routines.

“I wasn’t planning to bring him in today,” I say carefully.

“Good. Because we’re turning away three cats for every one we take.” She gestures at the packed kennels lining both sides of the narrow walkway. “There’s no room at the inn. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t complain too loudly today.”

She pauses, her sharp eyes fixing on me with a newfound layer of respect. “I checked the new digital donation portal you set up. Shane Archer and Harley Thompson both made substantial donations this morning. Along with three others I don’t recognize.”

The gala. It actually worked. “I spoke with them at the children’s hospital benefit. They just needed to know the shelter existed, and the stories of the animals did the rest.”

“Well,” Beatrix grunts, tapping her pen against the clipboard, “you bought us breathing room in the budget, Fallinger, I’ll give you that. Unfortunately, that won’t buy us physical square footage.”

I pull my tablet from my bag, the screen already open to the spreadsheet I’ve been building. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. Can we sit for a minute?”

Beatrix gives me a wary look. She’s suspicious of new volunteers with big ideas, especially those who’ve only been around for a few weeks. I’ve heard her grumble about “weekend do-gooders” who propose grand schemes, only to disappear when the real work begins.

I’m not going to disappear, and luckily—thanks, in part, to the gala’s success—I think she’s starting to believe that.

She eyes the tablet like it’s a feral cat with sharpened claws but nods in the direction of her office. I follow her through the treatment room, where Sarah is patiently showing a new volunteer how to administer eye drops to a reluctant kitten.

Once we’re seated, I hand her my tablet.

“I’ve been tracking the intake numbers compared to available space,” I explain as she squints at the screen. “The current facility is operating at 150% capacity. Even if we stacked crates on top of one another, that’s not sustainable.”

Beatrix scrolls through my data, her expression unchanged. “Tell me something I don’t know, Fallinger.”

I reach over and swipe to the next screen. “Here’s what I’m proposing: a dedicated stray cat and special needs sanctuary.”

Her head snaps up. “A what now?”

“A separate facility focused on feline rescue.” My voice remains steady despite the glare she’s leveling at me. “The current shelter could focus on dogs, small mammals, reptiles, and adoptable cats, while the sanctuary would handle all feral, stray, and special-needs cat intake, socialization, and adoption.”

Beatrix crosses her arms, the tablet balanced precariously on her knee. “And where exactly would this magical cat paradise exist? Who would staff it? How would we afford the rent on a second location when we can barely cover this one?”

I’d anticipated these questions by spending the night researching while the children slept.

“There’s an abandoned veterinary clinic on 33rd Ave.” I swipe to the next screen, showing the property listing. “It’s been vacant for three years. The owner is willing to lease it below market rate as a tax write-off.”

Beatrix’s brows rise. “And you know this how?”

“I called him. Yesterday.” I don’t mention that I used skills honed over a decade of making business calls for Julian. How easily I slipped into the professional voice that opened doors and secured meetings with people who would otherwise ignore someone like me. “The basic layout is already there, with exam rooms that could become socialization spaces and built-in kennel areas.”

“Staffing?” Beatrix fires back, her expression still skeptical, but her eyes showing a tiny glimmer of interest.

“A combination of current volunteers who prefer working with cats and new recruits.” I swipe to another screen showing a staffing chart. “I’ve already spoken with Nora, who says she’d be interested in shifting her hours to the new facility. Sarah also knows two vet tech students looking for experience.”

“And money?” Beatrix’s voice softens just slightly, her test losing some of its edge. “This little dream of yours won’t come cheap, Fallinger.”

“That’s where this comes in.” I take the tablet back, opening a draft grant proposal. “The Trixie J Foundation has a specific program for animal welfare. Their next funding cycle opens in three weeks. With your permission, I’d like to submit a proposal.”