The Pet-Sitting Fiasco

Leo stared at the papaya on the kitchen counter like it was an alien artifact. Mrs. Chen had left explicit instructions: "Feed Mango the papaya slices at exactly 3 PM. She loves them."

Mango, unfortunately, was not the dog.

The dog — Buster, a golden retriever with zero chill — was currently barking at absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, Cleo the cat regarded Leo with the judgment only a feline could master, perched atop the refrigerator like a fuzzy gargoyle.

Leo, whose pet experience topped out at a dead goldfish from third grade, was officially screwed.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, checking his phone. 2:58 PM. Two minutes until he had to figure out which creature was supposed to eat tropical fruit.

His phone buzzed. *Incoming call: MAYA.*

His heart did that embarrassing flutter thing. Maya, who'd sat behind him in bio since September and whose laugh sounded like sunlight caught in a jar. Maya, who he'd finally worked up the nerve to ask to study together tomorrow.

He let it go to voicemail. Too risky. If Buster started barking or Cleo knocked over another vase, she'd think he lived in a zoo. Which, technically, he kind of did right now.

3:01 PM. The papaya waited.

Leo approached Mango (the cat, not the fruit) with cautious hands. Cleo's amber eyes narrowed. This was it — his chance to prove he could adult. He held out a papaya slice like a peace offering.

Cleo sniffed it. Then, with what Leo could've sworn was a smirk, batted it onto the floor.

Buster descended upon it like a vacuum cleaner.

"NO!" Leo lunged, but it was too late. The papaya was gone, consumed by the wrong species in approximately three seconds.

The TV in the living room flickered — something was wrong with the cable again. Probably Buster had chewed through another wire. Because why wouldn't this day get worse?

Then he saw it through the sliding glass door: a red fox, tail fluffy and impossibly orange, watching him through the glass like it was judging his entire life choices.

Leo slid down to the kitchen floor, put his head in his hands, and laughed until his ribs hurt. The fox, at least, seemed amused.

When his phone buzzed again with a text from Maya — *heard u laughing. everything good?* — he actually typed back: *no. but it will be.*

And for the first time all day, he wasn't lying.