I’m going to ask you a series of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions.”
“Maybe?” I ask with a laugh.
Her eyes flash. “Never maybe.”
Oh, shit. Apparently, this pet psychic stuff is more intense than I thought. Maybes aren’t allowed? But my whole life is a maybe. Maybe I’ll get my plumbing fixed. Maybe my business will take off. Maybe the governor will decide to throw me up against a wall and defile me.
Can the pet psychic read that? Shit. Shit.
“I can go get him,” I say. “I think. He’s somewhere in the house.”
Beatrice shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary. I have the pictures. And I can feel his energy. I just need to sort it out. There’s another animal energy present, and I need to make sure we’re talking about him.”
She’s picking up on Duke! Holy shit. I found a real, honest-to-God pet psychic.
“Now,” she says. “Gary’s going to communicate with me primarily through images. The first one I’m seeing is… something triangle-shaped. Small. Are you feeding him kibble?”
I nod. “Yes, yes! That’s the shape of his food.”
“He despises it, dear,” she says. “He’s very distraught. You used to feed him something else. Wet food. That’s what he’d like you to switch to.”
The little bastard. He should be grateful for that kibble. It’s organic! But still, good to know. If he wants wet food, he’ll have it. I furiously scribble ‘wet food’ onto a notepad.
“He’s also showing me a large backyard,” she says. “Lots of trees. He’s excited about this place.”
The backyard at the governor’s mansion. Yes, I’m sure he’s thrilled about it. Plenty of space for him to corner innocent—and not-so-innocent—chipmunks.
“Yes, that’s the backyard at the place we’re staying,” I say. “But he’s not—”
Beatrice holds up a hand. “Let his voice through, dear. No need to interrupt.”
No need to interrupt? I’m the one paying for this, not Gary. And Gary is not allowed outside, no matter what he’s telling Beatrice. Unless… maybe he’d like a little harness?
Beatrice’s mouth forms a line. “He feels constricted by you.”
“Constricted?” Definitely not a harness then. Good thing I didn’t bring it up and embarrass myself.
She nods. “You’re not allowing him freedom. He’s showing me a closed door.”
“Well, yes, that’s for—”
“He’s also showing me a room with a lot of books,” she says. “There’s also a man in there. He’s… well, that can’t be right.”
I stare at her. A man? Gary is using the pet psychic to show me the governor?
“Hmm,” she hums, staring at me through the screen, as if she can see me attempting to seduce the governor of New York in a room with a lot of books.
She can’t. Right?
“He said he was lonely before you found him.”
The cat, I remind myself. We’re talking about Gary, not Warren. But… Oh. My. God. That is true! I did find him! At the shelter! And he did look extra-dramatically lonely in his shelter profile. You know, in that way only an orange tabby can?
“He thinks you don’t feed him enough,” Beatrice is saying, clearly moving past Gary’s tragic backstory. “He’s showing me empty bowls.”
Well. That’s a lie.
“Can we go back to the room with the books?” I interject. “I think he was trying to tell me something important back there.” Something really important, like how to land him a stepdaddy.
Beatrice stares at me, nonplussed. “Darling, it doesn’t work like that. I can only communicate what Gary wishes to speak about.”
“I—”
“He’s acting out,” she says firmly, “because he does not feel you are in control of your life. And thus his. He wants security. He’s showing me something about water?”
I gasp.
This psychic is so legit. She knows about my plumbing issues. Gary’s probably worried I can’t provide for him. What with the move to the shoddy brownstone and leaky plumbing.
“I’m getting that fixed!” I quickly tell her, lest she have me reported to some kind of animal welfare agency. Poor Gary, I had no idea he was carrying this kind of stress around.
“He wants action and direction, hon. He wants decisiveness.”
Wait. Decisiveness? From me? The little shit. What’s he doing that’s decisive? Choosing which nook to snooze on? Which small animal to dangle in front of me?
“I’m very decisive,” I insist, insulted by my cat, via a pet psychic.
“Hmm,” Beatrice murmurs, clearly unconvinced.
“Never mind.” I sigh. “I just want to help Gary make better choices. Before he kills something.”
“You can’t help him,” she says, “until you help yourself. Good day, sweetie. Our time is up.”
“Wait—”
“Oh.” She pauses, hand already reaching for the end meeting button. “The