Forty minutes each way without a passenger meant nearly two hours of lost income.
Tessa hated that her first thought was money.
Then she reminded herself the cat had presumably been outside for some amount of time already.
A few more hours would not change much.
She would finish early.
Then take him home.
“Deal?”
The cat blinked.
She accepted that as agreement.
Before accepting another fare, Tessa bought a cheap fleece blanket from a pharmacy and covered the passenger seat.
She vacuumed loose hair with a handheld cleaner from her trunk.
Then she called dispatch and asked Ray to flag the vehicle.
“Flag it how?”
“Tell passengers there’s temporarily a cat in the car.”
Ray was silent.
“Tessa.”
“If they don’t want it, send another driver.”
“You have officially become the strangest problem I have today.”
“That seems promising.”
Ray sighed.
“Fine.”
That changed the rest of the shift.
Passengers who disliked cats declined before pickup.
The people who accepted knew what they were getting.
Some accepted specifically because of the cat.
The next passenger was a seventeen-year-old named Owen.
He climbed in near Asheville-Buncombe Technical Community College.
The second he saw the cat, his entire posture changed.
“No way.”
Tessa smiled.
“Yes way.”
“Can I pet him?”
“Ask him.”
Owen looked at the animal.
“Can I?”
The cat leaned toward him.
Owen scratched under his chin.
The purr started.
“Oh my God.”
Owen grinned.
“My mom won’t let me have one.”
“Why?”
“She says cats are too much work.”
The cat pushed his forehead harder into Owen’s palm.
Owen looked at Tessa.
“Does she hear this?”
“Hear what?”
“This is the opposite of work.”
He continued scratching.
“This is medicine.”
Tessa laughed.
At his destination, Owen got out, then bent toward the open window.
“You should call this the Cat Taxi.”
“That sounds like a lawsuit.”
“I would ride it every day.”
He waved.
The phrase stayed with her.
Cat Taxi.
Ridiculous.
Yet by three o’clock, two passengers had already asked whether she could be specifically requested later.
One elderly woman named Margaret climbed into the back seat near a medical office.
She was perhaps seventy-five.
Very thin.
Silver hair.
Careful movements.
The moment she saw the cat, she stopped.
Her hand tightened around the door frame.
“Oh.”
Tessa turned.
“Are you okay?”
Margaret’s eyes filled immediately.
“My cat died last month.”
Tessa’s expression softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“He was black.”
The woman sat down slowly.
“Oliver.”
The cat turned.
Margaret looked almost afraid to touch him.
He solved the problem himself.
He climbed into the back seat.
Walked across the cushion.
Then placed one paw gently against Margaret’s knee.
The woman began crying.
Not dramatically.
Tears simply appeared.
She placed one trembling hand on his head.
The cat leaned forward.
Tessa faced the windshield.
She did not start the meter for almost a minute.
Nobody noticed.
For the entire twelve-minute drive, Margaret said nothing.
She stroked the cat.