had a severe allergy of cats. Kittens, no matter how snuggly and adorable, could shut my body down.
Opening the Critter Café door triggered a cheery meowing tune, signaling a newcomer’s arrival. I tried to remember what venue had been there before it turned into yet another coffee place. Was it a furniture store? A boutique? Oh, wait . . . Seattle’s oldest tattoo parlor. The now-defunct badass tattoo parlor had been replaced by an animal-themed café with cartoon paw prints on the window and signage written in comic sans.
The aroma of slightly charred coffee grounds wafted in the air. In the corner of the room the furry blurs of kittens caught my eye. I took in the entire room—the randomly placed scratching posts, giant catnip plants, and fishing-rod-type toys with dangly cat lures on strings on various tables—and my heartbeat quickened. My breathing turned to panting. My arms and face prickled. I had to get out immediately.
I ordered a drip coffee for myself and Kat’s caramel macchiato and threw down a twenty-dollar bill. I’d taken my allergy meds earlier that morning, but that wasn’t extra strength enough. The hives and itchiness came first. The sides of my neck and chest grew hotter and I tried to scratch it through my scarf. Then, the wheezing struck.
While squeezing the caramel drizzle, the cheery barista said, “You know, research shows that animals can be therapeutic and calming. Would you like to hold one of our kittens?” Her tie-dye headscarf had cat faces on it. “I made this bandanna myself,” she said proudly, noticing my stare.
She slid the two coffees my way. One of the coffees sloshed out of the sipper top and burned my hand. I didn’t even feel it.
I grabbed the drinks and flew out of there like a bat out of kitty allergen hell.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. My heels echoed down the street. Water splash marks covered the calves and ankles of my jeans. When I got to Kat’s office, I handed her the macchiato and told her about the adorable kitties triggering my full-blown allergy attack.
She took a sip. “This is amazing. The coffee shop sounded so cute, with all those little furballs running around. I hoped that place would help you relax. It’s weird your allergies flared up because all the breeds of cats they have there don’t shed and are all hypoallergenic.” She took another sip. “Thanks for the coffee! It’ll help fuel my late-afternoon push.”
Was that a panic attack then? A side effect from massive sleep deprivation? Maybe a psychosomatic episode? This had never happened before. Could I really harm my own body so brutally? I walked back to my desk, with less clomping and more of a light meandering step, contemplating what had happened to me at the café.
Maybe these harassers, haters, one-star reviewers, trolls, whatever you called those assholes, not only messed with my head, but they now made me susceptible to physical harm, too. They’d tried to wear me down for months. And damn it, it was finally working.
THAT EVENING, CANDACE and I accompanied Jane to a wedding cake tasting appointment. Normally this would be something the bride and groom did together, but her fiancé had recently diagnosed himself with a gluten intolerance, so she asked her bridesmaids to fill in. And who was I to say no to free cake?
Miraculously on time for once, Candace came out of the bathroom, pulling back her long brown locks with a hair tie. “I’m almost ready,” she said.
“This isn’t one of those hot dog or pie eating competitions, where pulling your hair back might be an advantage,” I joked, elbowing her lightly in the arm.
She giggled. “I know; it’s more that I want to be able to see everything. Pregnancy has made my hair grow faster and thicker.”
We took our seats at the restaurant holding the tasting, flanking Jane from both sides. Just as we pulled our napkins onto our laps, a petite, older Asian woman with a kimono and perfect hair bun brought in bento boxes with three compartments of cake samples.
She said only three words. “Yuzu. Lavender. Chamomile.”
For cake? Gross. Yuck. Ugh.
Jane read my mind. “I know this isn’t chocolate, but give it a try,” she whispered from behind her napkin.
So try I did. A small bite of all three of them.
Jane asked, “What do you think?”
Truthfully? “They’re okay,” I answered with a wince.
“Be honest,” Jane begged.
“Honestly, they taste like spa lotion.” Her face fell a little, so I added, “But really fancy spa