I grab the landline receiver and dial the agency number.

“Le Paw Animal Talent Management Agency,” a female voice says, picking up on the second ring. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, hello, this is Nikki Moore from KCU Advertising. I was calling to inquire about one of your actors…” And, yes, I feel stupid saying this, but pet agencies can be a tad sensitive, and I’ve learned that if I don’t refer to the animals as “professionals” or “talent” they can get pretty prickly. “Err… Mr. Fluff?”

“Oh, sure, Mr. Fluff is one of our best performers, always in demand. Needs a month’s advance booking at the very least.”

“A month?” I gasp. “You mean he wouldn’t be available this Thursday?”

“As in, the day after tomorrow?” the girl asks, appalled.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, ma’am. He’s fully booked through January. Cats are very popular for Valentine’s Day commercials, you know?”

Yes, I do know. It’s my job to know. “Thank you very much anyway,” I say, discouraged.

Third hole in the water today.

“You’re welcome. And if you ever need our services in the future, don’t hesitate to call us back. Le Paw Animal Talent Management Agency wishes you a purrfect Christmas.”

Did she really just wish me a purrfect Christmas? I smash the receiver on its case three times, imagining it to be the face of the creative who suggested a tabby cat would suit the commercial better than the Russian Blue I’d hired.

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and I’m losing a battle with time to wrap up this last-minute job that Teddy—my stupid holiday-loving boss—dumped on me. I’m about to click the link for the next animal “talent” agency when my personal phone starts vibrating somewhere on my desk. I can’t see it; it must be hidden under some sheets of paper, so I ignore its insistent buzzing and let the call go unanswered. Five seconds later the vibration starts again, disrupting my concentration. If I keep ignoring whoever’s calling, then curiosity would just bug me for the rest of the afternoon, slowing my progress even further. So I unceremoniously shuffle the piles of documents aside until I find the phone.

It’s Blair.

Except for my “still alive” texts, we haven’t talked much since she’s moved out of the house, so I pick up.

“Hello?”

“Guess what I’m looking at right now?” she asks.

I sigh. “I don’t have time for games, I’m swamped with work.”

“Oh, what are you doing?”

“Watching cat videos. I’m trying to find a tabby cat that rolls on its back on command. Apparently, a monochrome gray cat doing everything exactly as it was told at every take wasn’t pretty enough for the commercial we’re shooting.”

“You’re watching cat videos and complaining?”

“It’s not the cats; it’s their trainers who drive me mad. Not to mention my creatives. So, are your eyes better occupied?”

“Oh, yeah. Right now I’m staring at the best six pack ever.”

“Is Richard performing a mid-afternoon office striptease for you?”