The next day Levi woke at 5:30 A.M. as he always did, and immediately checked on Rose. She was in the same spot in the box. He had spread newspaper out around the drawer hoping that if she shit she'd hit the paper.

Sure enough, there was a small spot of urine off to one side and a very small poop. At least her systems seemed to be working correctly. He could see where she'd scratched up the paper trying to cover her waste. He appreciated that.

She regarded him with complete, naive trust and looked the tiniest bit perkier today. Levi went to open his last can of tuna.

Levi cleaned up the paper, disinfected, and spread more paper down while the cat ate. Rose never moved, just ate and watched him calmly. When he gently rubbed her face she purred.

He stuck to his regular morning routine afterward; glass of water, brush teeth, change into his running gear. Then he went for his morning run.

He composed a list of things as he ran to get for Rose. When he got back to his apartment he showered and made a pot of tea.

"I'll go out later and get you some supplies," he told her over his first cup. "I know fuck-all about cats so I hope I get the right stuff." Rose's small ears flicked toward him as he talked.

He washed his dishes thoroughly—scrubbing everything twice with piping hot water—dried his hands, and retrieved a pair of long pink dish gloves from under the sink. He didn't wear his nitrile gloves at home.

He crossed to the drawer, drawing them on.

"We can't have you all nasty and wet in here," he said. "I'm gonna draw you a bath."

Levi filled his big claw-foot tub with a few inches of water, resisting the urge to make it too hot. He knew in the back of his head that people didn't wash cats. He knew this and knew he was being strange. That the majority of them had a fierce aversion to water, he also knew. He braced himself for a fight and set his jaw. Well, his would learn to put up with it. He couldn't imagine what filth was on the cat; vile mud from the alley, fleas. He shuddered involuntarily.

Rose just hung limply as he lifted her, struck again at how light she was. He took her into the bathroom, and cooing encouragingly, stood her in the water. She clearly wasn't happy. She stood hunched, her pregnant belly bulging out to either side, lifting the occasional foot out of the water. Otherwise, she didn't move or protest.

Levi scrubbed her gently with his own shampoo and she seemed to relax a bit under his hands. The wash water turned dark and fleas floated on the surface. Levi let out the dirty water with revulsion and filled the tub up with clean water. He'd definitely have to scrub his tub out when he was done. Gross.

When he was through washing her again, he lifted Rose onto a clean towel and soaked up the excess water. Her white fur was actually white now.

Jeez. Why didn't someone warn him how truly gruesome a sodden cat looked? Rose was even more horrific, looking like a Halloween decoration designed to scare. In her state, she was just bones with skin and hair stretched over.

He dried her off with his hairdryer on low. She startled at the sound at first but then realized that it wouldn't hurt her. "There now. You look better and you smell so sweet! Isn't that better? Now let me freshen up your bed and you can nap while I'm gone."

Levi replaced the dirty towel with a pristine one and re-installed Rose. She investigated the new bedding then began to rearrange her fur with long slow licks. Levi fondled her ears. Oblivious of the weird sensation of the rubber gloves on her, she paused and rubbed into his hand, purring mightily. Yes, she was feeling better.

"That's my girl," Levi murmured, pleased.

Later that day Levi went shopping, spending some of his meager cash on cat litter and a box and a bag of cat food. He picked up two shallow, mismatched bowls and a small basket at the thrift store.

"I wish you could pay rent," he grumbled to Rose when he got home.

Erwin woke on Tuesday morning to find a legal looking envelope pinned to the outside of his apartment door. He looked around his floor and saw that all his neighbors did too. He took it inside and tore it open anxiously. It was from his landlord stating that they would be making improvements on the building—that was good … and raising the rent. By $200 a month. Erwin sank into a chair at his table. $200. He was just barely scraping by as it was. How would he get $200 more dollars a month? He was counting out his change to wash his own clothes by the end of the month and living on ramen noodles. If they hadn't had courtesy food in the breakroom at the hotel, Erwin would be going hungry.

What was he going to do?

He spent the whole rest of his day in a low mood. It was so unlike him that even his boss noticed.

"Are you feeling OK, Erwin?" Mr. Pixis asked. He was a kind man, short and in his late 60s with a bald head and a love of alcohol.

"Actually I'm just a bit down, Mr. P," Erwin said. "I'll be OK."

"Well, you're dragging around like your dog died."

"Just something unexpected that came up."

"Family OK?"

"Oh, yes! It's nothing like that."

"Good. Well, you seem worried and stressed. Why don't you take off early and get some rest?"

"Really?"

Pixis puffed out his thin chest. "You work plenty. Your leaving early one day won't kill the hotel. Besides, I was the concierge here, once upon a time, remember? I can still do the work." He smiled under his bristly mustache and patted Erwin's arm. "Go relax now. Recharge. Everything will be better in the morning."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll see you tomorrow."

Erwin took the bus to his stop and, instead of going home, he just walked. It was a nice day, a bit chilly, and he had no reason to go home. So he walked and chewed over his problems and walked some more.

Would he have to get a second job? Hell, he worked six days a week as it was and all for the shoebox of an apartment that he called his. Where would he work? He had no marketable skills save his excellent people skills and jobs, in general, were scarce in his area. He had to take the bus a half-hour just to get to the hotel.

He glanced at his phone, re-reading the last texts Nile had sent. The hurt bit into his heart. Was he just not good enough? He wished he had someone to talk to.

At about 9 pm he found himself outside a quaint, slightly tawdry bar. He looked up at the sign; The Happy Hangover. Suddenly a few drinks or so sounded good. Damn the money.

"What the hell." He said and pushed open the door.

The bar was surprisingly large and featured two big TVs on the wall and two pool tables on the back. The clientele looked young, younger than him, but it didn't bother him. He headed for the bar.