Page 49 of Buttons

Elowen

Aweek has gone by since I first brought up the dedicated cat sanctuary, and the Trixie J Foundation has opened applications for grants. My days have revolved around putting together the grant application and my children. I’ve had no time for anything else.

Thankfully, it’s done. I’m currently in Beatrix’s office, double-checking everything. I sit across from her, perched on the edge of my seat while she reads my proposal. My vision. Beatrix’s face gives nothing away, but I notice she’s lingering on the budget section, her eyes narrowing slightly at the numbers I’ve triple-checked since our last review.

“Your renovation estimates are optimistic,” she finally says, tapping a chipped nail against the screen. “Contractors always go over budget.”

“I’ve built in a fifteen percent contingency,” I reply, not defensively but with quiet confidence. “And the quotes came from Connor’s brother-in-law, who’s willing to do some of the work at cost.”

Beatrix makes that noise in the back of her throat. “And if the brother-in-law backs out?”

“Then we use that contingency to hire someone else. I’ve identified a handful of other contractors, and their estimates are included in the footnotes.”

“Fair enough, but what about your staffing model? It assumes a lot of volunteer hours.”

“It’s based on our current retention rates and the interest survey I circulated online. Sixty-two percent of our current cat volunteers indicated they’d prefer a dedicated feline facility or would be willing to split their time between the two. And I’ve already received thirteen new volunteer applications since we started posting about the potential sanctuary on social media.”

“The grant reviewers will ask about these merchandise sale projections,” she says, moving to the five-year projection section.

“They’re actually conservative. I’ve compared them with similar-sized sanctuaries in comparable markets. The Wayward Kitty-Cat Alliance actually generates thirty percent more annual revenue from merchandise, but I didn’t want to overstate our potential, especially since we’ll be new.”

“You’ve really done your homework on this, haven’t you?”

It’s not quite praise, but coming from Beatrix, it’s close enough to make something warm bloom in my chest. “Yes,” I say simply. “This matters to me.”

She returns to the proposal, scrolling through the community impact section where I’ve outlined the specialized programs the sanctuary would offer: the reading program Leo loves, a senior cat therapy initiative for local nursing homes, a workplacestress-reduction program where corporate employees could spend lunch breaks socializing cats for adoption.

“This corporate program,” Beatrix says. “You really think businesses would pay for that?”

“I do.” I pull out printed examples from my folder. “Similar programs in other cities have waiting lists. I found one sanctuary that partners with a local prison, and others that partner with senior centers and classrooms. Companies are looking for innovative wellness benefits, and this offers measurable stress-reduction outcomes while helping our cats. I’ve already spoken with the HR directors at two local firms who expressed interest.”

She hands me back my printouts and returns to the tablet, scrolling through the final sections. Meanwhile, I listen to distant food bowls clanking, a dog barking excitedly.

Finally, Beatrix sets the tablet down. “It’s decent enough to submit.”

Decent.I actually chuckle. I know she means well. From her, this is equivalent to a standing ovation.

“We’ll need to address the reviewer questions promptly when they come,” she continues. “The Trixie J Foundation has a reputation for aggressive follow-up.”

“We?” I repeat. Truthfully, I was worried Beatrix would want to take over. She’d have every right to, but I’m glad that she’s not.

“Thank you.”

She waves away my gratitude with an impatient hand. “Just submit it before the deadline. And don’t get your hopes up. These things are extremely competitive.”

“I know.” I slide my tablet and notes into my bag, a smile tugging at my lips. The proposal is strong, and we both know it.

As Beatrix shuffles papers on her desk, I pull out my phone. Sarah’s contact info has been sitting in my favorites list for a week, added after she insisted we should “hang out sometimewithout feline chaperones or heartbreak.” I’ve composed and deleted at least a dozen messages since then. And since she’s not here today, I’ll actually send a text.

The old Elowen didn’t have friends outside of her husband’s approved social circle. Didn’t make plans without checking his calendar first. Didn’t have coffee dates just to talk and laugh and exist in spaces.

Still, I stare at the blank message field, thumbs hovering uncertainly over the keyboard.

“Problem?” Beatrix asks, noticing my hesitation.

“No,” I say, but then decide to be truthful. “Maybe. I want to ask Sarah to meet for coffee tomorrow.”

Beatrix looks at me over the reading glasses perched on her nose. “And?”