Page 82 of Buttons

“About five minutes. We’ve tried luring him with treats and toys.” She lowers her voice. “The inspector’s getting impatient. If we can’t contain all animals during an inspection, he said he’ll fail us.”

“I’m aware. Does Elowen know?” I ask, rolling up my sleeves.

“Yes, she and Meredith left to get Meredith’s stuffed animal,” Sarah says. “Meredith was sure Balthazar would come if she saw his long-lost stuffed brother, Bartholomew. Thinking we had it under control, we told Elowen to let Meredith grab him. Butthen Elowen messaged that traffic is terrible on their side of town, and we still haven’t gotten Balthazar to come out.”

“Show me,” I tell Sarah, who leads me to the supply room.

As we walk, I pass volunteers I recognize from weekend shifts. They’re all hardworking people who believed in Elowen’s vision. They nod at me with a respect I haven’t earned through wealth or position, but through consistent waste scooping and assembling cat furniture.

The supply room is dark and cluttered with donation boxes and cleaning supplies. In the far corner, I spot the heavy metal storage cabinet, set slightly away from the wall. From behind it comes a low, continuous growl.

“Everyone out,” I instruct quietly. The three volunteers hovering anxiously back away. “And close the door behind you.”

Sarah hesitates. “Julian, he’s really worked up.”

“It’s fine,” I assure her. “There’s way too much going on for him. I need it quiet and calm.”

When the door closes, I’m alone with the growling, misunderstood cat. Wishing I had thought to grab my jacket to sit on, I lower myself to my haunches to avoid sitting on the floor.

“Hey, Balthazar,” I say softly. “Quite the chaos you’re making today.”

The growling continues, but I detect a slight change in pitch. A cat’s version of questioning.

“I know how you feel,” I continue, keeping my voice low and steady. “Too many strangers. Too much change all at once. You need more time to get comfortable.”

I inch forward slightly, still talking. “I left a very important meeting to come see you. Someone with a very serious face and no time for kindness. You’d have hated them; Elowen would, too.”

Another inch. The growling intensifies, then subsides slightly.

“Leo’s worried about you. You remember Leo. He’s the careful one who always brings the good treats. His mom’s dream depends on you behaving for just thirty more minutes.”

I hear the scratch of claws on concrete as Balthazar shifts position. I’m close enough now to see the reflection of his amber eyes watching my every move.

“The thing is,” I continue, now close enough to reach behind the cabinet if I stretched, “I used to think I was like those serious people with their faces and their judgments. But I’m starting to think I might be more like you.”

The growling stops momentarily.

“Scared of change and incredibly suspicious of kindness. Always expecting the worst.” I extend my hand, palm down, fingers relaxed in exactly the way Leo taught me. “But sometimes people surprise you.”

From behind the cabinet, Balthazar emerges just enough for me to see his orange face, ears flat against his head, whiskers twitching with tension.

“There you are,” I whisper. “The inspector needs to see you in your proper enclosure. You can go back to terrorizing volunteers tomorrow. My daughter will even bring you a stuffed cat. But I ask you pretend it’s your brother…you know how she is.”

I hear the door crack open behind me, followed by the inspector’s impatient voice. “Mr. Plaza, I really must be going.”

“Please close the door,” I say without turning around, my voice firm but quiet. Balthazar has retreated slightly at the interruption, but he’s still visible. “I need two more minutes.”

I hear a sigh before the door closes again.

“It’s just you and me now, little guy,” I murmur. I’m a forty-two-year-old man in a suit, squatting on a concrete floor, trying to negotiate with a creature that licks its own butt. Yet, here I am, extending my hand a little closer. Balthazar hisses softly.Thanks to YouTube, I know it’s more of a warning than an attack.

I think of Elowen’s face when she described her vision for this place. Of Leo’s reading voice, and Mi-Mi’s love for the misunderstood cats. Of my own transformation from a man who valued spreadsheets over people to someone with his calves burning as he coaxes a traumatized cat.

“We can do this,” I tell Balthazar quietly.

Balthazar inches forward, his growl now only a rumble in his chest. I remain perfectly still, hand extended, waiting. This time, Balthazar doesn’t retreat. Instead, he takes a decisive step toward my hand, then another, until his cold nose touches my fingertips. Our eyes meet in a moment of recognition. Obviously, the cat doesn’t understand my words, but he understands my tone and patience. He understands he doesn’t need to feel threatened by me.

The inspector signs the final approval with a flourish that feels anticlimactic after the day’s drama. “Congratulations,” he says, tearing off a copy of the certification. “You’ve passed your inspection.” His eyes flick to Balthazar, whom I’m still holding against my chest. I thought of putting him in his cage, but decided against it. He’s contained in my arms. The cat has settled into a reluctant tolerance of my attention, occasionally rumbling with what might be contentment or warning, but it’s hard to tell with him.