At home with the family.

I ended my shift and went back home hardly believing it myself, yet the money in my pocket was proof of it. $62 in tips alone on my second day of work, more than double what I made last time.

Maria was so right. Attitude really was key to getting good tips. We didn’t even have as many customers as that first Saturday, but those I did serve left pretty generous tips.

Again, I don’t fucking know if $62 is a lot of money for tips, but it was a lot to me. I had my savings, which I’d gathered through the years by skipping on most of the luxuries I wanted, but even then it wasn’t that much. A few months of working would let me match my savings account right now, not counting tips.

Money aside, though, I felt like I’d made solid, tangible progress as a person today. I could be a waiter. I still had to learn more, be willing to put myself out there, even if it was damn frightening, but I could do it. It wasn’t easy, but if I focused on doing my job properly, I could temporarily outrun the crippling thoughts of shame and worry.

One important thing I’d noticed was that being formal and polite was easier than trying to be likable. Not easy, but easier. It also wasn’t the same, but there was some overlap. I didn’t need to try to become friends with the customers, but treat them with warmth and respect, and THAT was something knew I could do.

I got home and walked through the front door. Reaching the house made me realize how tired I was. Maybe going to the gym before work wasn’t the best idea, but I’d keep it like that for a while, see how things went.

I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Isabelle was wearing a loose T-shirt and dolphin shorts and was carrying Cake in her arms.

“There! He’s home! Are you happy now?” she asked the cat.

Cake meowed, and the moment she was set on the floor, she ran to me and started attacking my shoes. I shot Isabelle a curious look.

“She’s been meowing at your door for like half an hour,” she explained. “I tried to distract her with toys and food, but she wouldn’t leave the hallway, and if I picked her up, she just ran back.”

I kneeled and started scratching Cake around the neck. She purred and meowed a lot. I wanted to pick her up, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to get cat hair on my work clothes.

“Why does she seem so attached to you?” Isabelle asked. “Not fair.”

“They say animals have good instincts,” I said, walking past my sister to the stairs. Cake followed behind me.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“No idea.”

I started going up the stairs and looked back down to see how Cake struggled to follow. Isabelle was about to go grab her to help her up, but I stopped her.

“Let her,” I said. “She can do it.”

“It’ll take her too long.”

“I’m not in a hurry. Are you?”

Isabelle simply crossed her arms and watched. Cake went up slowly, claws grabbing onto the carpeted steps one by one. As she caught up, I went up two more steps, then again and again. When we reached the top, Isabelle rushed up and lifted Cake in the air, laughing and showering her with pets.

“Oh my God! You’re amazing!” she praised her. Cake meowed victoriously at her own accomplishment.

“See?” I told her.

“Oliver.” Mom’s voice startled me. She came out of her bedroom at the very end of the halfway, wearing her sweater dress. “How was work today?”

I smiled. “I think I learned a lot today. I also earned good tips.”

Mom grinned. “Did you now? I don’t know which I should be happier for. Did you eat?”

“No, not yet.”

“I’ll go heat up your food, then. Go get changed.”

As I was going into my room, though, Cake tried to follow me in. And here’s the thing: she may be an animal, but I’m still not gonna get naked in front of her.

“Sorry. Wait a minute,” I said before closing the door and leaving her out.

“You’re mean, Oliver!” Isabelle called from the other side.

“And you spoil her too much.”

I was going to have to learn ways to correctly train a cat. I still remembered how Cake hissed at Mila, Grace and Sarah the day before, and we couldn’t encourage that behavior. Reward the good, discourage the bad. But how do you punish a cat for bad behavior? Not hitting it, I hoped. I’d have to read about it.

I went down to the kitchen, again with Cake slowly following down the stairs. If she didn’t look so much like a cat, I’d think she was a dog.

Mom had my dinner ready at the table. I sat down to eat and she sat across from me to keep me company. Cake was playing with her mouse under the table.

“What do you think about having a pet so far?” Mom asked me.

“Hard to say. It’s been like two days.” I eyed the grilled chicken breast and salad with hunger and dug in immediately. “I didn’t expect her to take to us so quickly, though.”

“Right?” Mom chuckled. “I expected her to be a bit more… feral? I guess she had a home before she was abandoned.”

It was a heartbreaking thought. Even if you didn’t or couldn’t have a cat, how could you just throw it away to its fate? I looked down at the kitten biting on the toy mouse’s tail. I wanted to try raising her correctly, but maybe spoiling her every once in a while wasn’t that bad.

I let Cake sleep with me that night. She curled up next to my pillow as we went to sleep, and when I woke up that next morning, she was curled up on my chest.