The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club: A heartwarming, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy - not just for cat lovers!

Okay, the lack of a filter just crossed the line with the one thing that sets me off. “You do know that I was basically a stray.”

“What, because you were an abandoned baby and grew up in foster homes? We’re talking about cats, Madison, not people. They would have died anyway if you hadn’t found them.”

“Are you serious? Leave them here and let them starve to death?”

“Let nature take its course.”

A large red flag starts heading up the pole. “I cannot believe you. Are you that cold?”

“Madison, be serious … we’ve been looking forward to this vacation for months. This is the Hamptons we’re talking about. Think of the celebrities we’ll meet and the accounts I can pick up. C’mon, let’s go. You’ll forget the whole thing once you see the beach.”

I can’t believe it. My boyfriend is selfish and actually lacking in compassion. Just as my best friends have told me. How did I not see this for myself until now? Because the incredible sex had your rose-colored glasses firmly in place, dumbass. A loud meow distracts me and I turn to look at the box of kittens. Four desperate sets of eyes, filled with hope, seem to look right into my heart, like no person ever has. The colorful one meows again and locks eyes with me if to say: You’re all we’ve got. Please don’t leave us. How could anyone throw away precious lives like that?

And why would I want to keep dating someone who would?

As a reporter, I often see things in black and white, and this is one of those times.

I turn back to Jeremy, narrow my eyes and point at the door. “Get. Out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get out of my house.”

“Madison, c’mon. Calm down—”

“Oh, I’m very calm. You just showed your true colors. And now I owe those kittens for showing me what kind of person you really are.”

“You’re serious? Madison, we’ve made plans.”

“So go find a new girl at the Hamptons and make plans with her. Someone selfish who doesn’t like responsibility or respect life. Considering your bikini radar, it shouldn’t take you long. We’re done, Jeremy. Out. Now.”

He throws up his hands. “Fine. Enjoy your week-long vacation with a bunch of strays.” He spins on his heels and leaves, slamming the door.

I stare at it, my relationship closed like the door. “I’m a stray. We stick together.” I feel my eyes well up but the sharp meow grabs my attention. I quickly move to the box and see the colorful kitten standing in front of the other three. “Oh, the loud one again. I guess you’re the spokesman for the litter.” I pick up the box and bring it in to the kitchen, setting it in a sun square. “C’mon, guys. Time for breakfast. And thank you for showing me what I couldn’t see before.”

I hear the whispers from the next aisle as I wheel my shopping cart through the pet superstore.

“I’m telling you, it’s her.”

“No way.”

“Molly, that’s Madison Shaw.”

“Get real, Joe. You think someone on network TV goes out in public like that? The woman looks like she just rolled out of bed and combed her hair with an eggbeater. Trust me, that is NOT the redhead you drool over on the evening news.”

I can’t help but laugh as I push the cart around to the next aisle. The young couple in front of me studies my face. What the hell. I stick out my hand and flash a big smile. “Hi, I’m Madison.”

The woman’s eyes widen as she turns beet red. “Oh my God, I am so sorry—”

The man’s jaw simply drops and hangs open like a trophy bass. “Uh, I, uh …”

I laugh as I wave my hand like I’m shooing a fly. “Pffft, don’t worry about it. This is the real me. Pretty scary without the hair spray and makeup, huh?” I pat the guy on the shoulder. “Sorry to blow up your fantasy, dude.”

The man looks down at the floor, his face matching his wife’s. “You’re still … naturally beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

The man looks up and shoots me a sheepish grin. “I’m, uh, a fan.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “I think she got that part, Joe.”

“Yeah, thanks to your big mouth.” He turns back to me. “Nice to know you’re a real person.”

“Well, that’s the first time I’ve ever been referred to in that manner. Though we do have quite a few plastic androids in the business, so I get it.”

He looks in my cart and spots the formula. “Ah, you’re taking care of an orphaned kitten.”

“Four of ‘em. Found them while doing a story yesterday.”

“Wow. And you’re taking care of all four?”

“Yep.”

“Well, your stock just went up. Our cat was an orphan. They make the best pets. It’s like they know you’ve saved them. You gonna keep all of them?”

“Just until I find homes for them in a few weeks.”

The guy starts to laugh. “Yeah, right. Trust me, there’ll be one that you just can’t give away.”

“Whoa, fright night.”

I shrug as my best friend Rory stares at my disheveled hair, formula-covered t-shirt and sweatpants featuring cat hair, her hazel eyes wide in disbelief. “Yeah, I get that a lot lately.”

The slender brunette moves forward and hugs me hard. “Freckles (her nickname for me), why didn’t you call me yesterday when you broke up with Jeremy?” She pulls back and takes my face in her hands. “God, you look devastated. You’re a wreck. Have you even slept?”

I usher her inside. “That’s not why I’m wearing the Raggedy Ann summer collection and have designer bed-head.”

“Wait, hold on. You’re not upset about Jeremy?”

“Nope. Let me show you why.” I lead Rory over to the box of kittens.

“Oh my God, they’re adorable!” She kneels down to get a closer look. “And they’re so little. Whoa, wait a minute. Why do you have all these kittens?”

I tell her the story, how they actually led to the breakup. “So, I sort of owe them for showing me the light about Jeremy.”

“Well, I can’t tell you—”

“Please, don’t give me the I told you so. You warned me enough times about him. You were right.”

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me when I tell you the guy you’re dating is a selfish, superficial sonofabitch.”

I nod as she sits on the couch. “I defer to your feminine radar in the future as mine obviously isn’t in working condition.”

Rory has always been spot-on about men since she became my best friend in high school and saved me from some bad decisions. (Though obviously I don’t always listen to her.) She’s a half foot shorter than me, about five-four, and has that girl-next-door thing going, fresh faced with never a spot of makeup. Couldn’t care less about appearances. But she makes up for that with an incredible personality that attracts men like moths to a flame. And she’s quite the wordsmith, working as an advertising copywriter out of her home across the street. It’s like having a sister a hundred feet away.

I may as well tell you the story of how she saved my life.

Life began for me, at least the part I can confirm, in a New York City park restroom, where I was abandoned shortly after being born along with a note.

I am unable to take care of my child. Please find a good home for her.

My name comes from the two police officers who followed the sound of a crying baby and found me. Two cops whose last names were Madison and Shaw brought me to social services, where I began the journey of being shuttled between six foster homes over the next eighteen years.

Some good, some not.

A few of my foster parents were decent people who actually wanted children. Others simply wanted the financial stipend the state provided in return for taking care of me.

That I could live with. The bullying in school I could not.

Children can be cruel, and so the taunting about being “unwanted” began at an early age. By the time I was sixteen, I was bitter and angry at the world.

Until Rory came into my life.

The most popular girl in school, head cheerleader, prom queen, co-valedictorian, saw a tall redhead wearing a death stare on a daily basis who ate alone with her head down in the school cafeteria. When she heard another student taunt me about being a foster kid, she came over during lunch, slid her tray onto my table and sat across from me.

“Hi, I’m Rory.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You got a name?”

“Madison Shaw.”

“Ah. I was getting tired of referring to you as the angry redhead in my class who’s smarter than I am.”

“Doubtful. I’m a straight C student.”

“But you’re smart as hell. You’re never wrong when the teachers call on you. You come up with answers faster than I do. You figure out stuff in your head in math class before I can do it on paper.”

“Is there something you want?”

“Nope. You just look like you could use a friend. Though I could use the competition for valedictorian. I don’t wanna win because a smarter girl didn’t give her best effort.”

“Why do you care?”

“Like I said, I don’t want to win by default. Unless you think you can’t beat me.” She locked eyes with me as she threw down the gauntlet.

“I could beat you if I wanted to.”

“Prove it, Freckles. C’mon, let’s rock.”

“Why aren’t you sitting at the table with all the cool kids?”

“I am sitting at the table with the cool kids. To me, brains are the coolest thing on the planet. And I suspect there’s a decent human being behind that Great Wall of China you’ve put up.” She shot me a look that went right to my soul, one that told me she was sincere. I can’t explain it, but a wave of calm instantly washed over me.

And when the most popular girl in the school accepts you, the bullying stops. It’s like being a made man in the Mafia. I also discovered that Rory’s friends, who I assumed were the cool kids, were actually very normal as she had no tolerance for phonies. They accepted me with open arms as well.

We became inseparable, Rory taking me under her wing even though I towered over her. My grades shot up (we tied for the valedictorian thing) as she became the sister I’d never had. She set an example for me, using her popularity for good. Upon being crowned queen of the prom, she immediately took the thing off and placed it on the head of a girl in a wheelchair. She was the least pretentious person I’d ever met, when she could have easily been the queen bitch of the mean girls. A teenager with a forty year old brain, she taught me stuff about life that wasn’t in any book.

Most important, my anger and bitterness slowly dissipated, replaced by a passionate desire to succeed and be more successful than anyone else. I dreamed about future high school reunions when I could show up and brag about having the best career and a spectacular life. About being so rich I could write million dollar checks to charities. I ate dinner at her house most nights, her mother and father becoming the parents I desperately needed.

The day I turned eighteen in the middle of my senior year Rory handed me a small gift-wrapped box. “Happy birthday, Freckles.”

“Thank you. This is the only present I’ll get.”

“Well, then, I sure hope you like it.”

I tore open the box. I furrowed my brow as I saw a simple key inside. “Okay, this is one of your clever treasure hunts. I suppose I have to find the lock this fits.”

“It should be easy. The location is on the card in the box.”

I pulled it out and saw Rory’s address. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re moving in with us. I want you out of that foster home and so do my parents. This is not up for discussion. As of today, you are living with me. So after school we are going to your house, pack up everything you own and get you the hell outta there.”

I became a member of her family, the first one that felt real. Her parents treated me like their own daughter, grounded me with values I desperately needed. We shared a three bedroom housing unit in college, as our friend Tish became our other roommate.

But the qualities Rory had drawn out of me had slowly disappeared in the world of television news, a superficial industry that asks you to check your soul at the door.

And often doesn’t give it back.

Thankfully, the kittens came into my life and reminded me where I came from.

I point to the kittens as she sits next to me. “So, you want one?”

“Sure, I could use a fur baby to keep me company. You’re really gonna take care of them for a few weeks?”

“Yeah, but I’ll need help when I get back to work next week. I was wondering … since you work at home if you could pop by during the day and feed them while I’m at work?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“You have to clean them too. Y’know, encourage them to go to the bathroom. It’s not exactly pleasant.”

“Yeah, I had a friend with an orphaned kitten when I was a kid. Again, not a problem.”

“The colorful one is really sweet.”

“Oh, you mean the tortoiseshell.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Yeah. You’ve also got a tabby, a tuxedo cat and a Russian blue.”

“That kitten is not blue, it’s gray.”

“That’s what the breed is called.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, I’ve got them covered all this week, so if you could start next Monday. It’s just for a while, then I can find homes for all four.”

“Something tells me you’ll be finding homes for three of them.”

“Rory, I can’t have a cat. I’m gone too much.”

“Cats are great pets for people like you. They’re independent, take care of themselves. Self-cleaning. A lot like you. Though right now you’re missing the self-cleaning part.” She starts to laugh.

“What?”

“You know, this is a good look for you.”

I point at my face. “Seriously? With hair that looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket, no makeup, clothes covered in formula and cat hair?”

Rory nods. “Yeah. The look of a girl who blew off a vacation in the Hamptons for a bunch of helpless kittens. You were the girl who never had a hair out of place, who wore hundred dollar jeans to a charity car wash, who put on makeup and heels to go to the grocery store. Today you look like the rest of us.”

“You don’t look sloppy and disheveled, Rory.”

“I didn’t mean that. While I have always loved you dearly since we met, your career has changed you … made you … well … obsessed with outward appearances and high maintenance. And Jeremy made you more superficial. You used to be this cute freckle faced redhead who was comfortable in old jeans and a sweatshirt and the network tried to turn you into a smoking hot babe with the hair and the ridiculous makeup and expensive clothes. And now I can see a little change.”

“I know, I look like a slob.”

“Not in your clothes, in your eyes. There’s a little something I haven’t seen in a while that you always had before your job. What you did last night for those kittens … well, that’s the real you. I mean, think about it. You get stuck with a litter of orphans, you’re up all night, you break up with your boyfriend … and you’re not remotely upset.”

I cock my head at the kittens. “I guess I’d forgotten where I came from, and they reminded me.”

“Well, good. Tell you what, we’ll do our usual Sunday brunch here today. I’ll call the girls. They don’t even know you’re in town.”

I start to get up. “Okay. I’ll go get cleaned up.”

Rory grabs my hand and stops me. “No. I want them to see this.”

Chapter Two

“Put. The cameras. Down.”

The other two members of my tight circle of friends, Tish and A.J., lower their cell phones as Rory laughs. “Aw, c’mon,” says Tish. “One for the scrapbook.”

I put my hand in front of my face. “Yeah, right. You’d post it on social media and my boss would have a fit when it went viral.”

Tish raises her hands, then slowly spreads them apart as she looks up at the ceiling. “I can see it now. Network info-babe revealed as frumpy cat lady. Film at eleven.”

“Very funny. And I know A.J. would use it to blackmail me at some point in the future.”

A.J. twirls a lock of her raven hair. “Well, I am Sicilian. But seriously, when will we ever have a chance to see you in this condition again?”

Rory nods. “Really. It’s like spotting a unicorn.”

I start to dish out some food onto my plate. “Oh, leave me alone. Can we just eat?”

Tish brushes her shoulder length blonde hair behind her ears. “Okay girls, we’ve tortured her enough.”

I smile at her, our college roommate who is the smartest of our group and was top of her class in law school. She also has the coolest office I’ve ever seen, as she rents space in the Empire State Building. Alas, her courtroom shark persona and seriously high IQ are often intimidating to men. Tish is another of those girls who would be really pretty if she tried, with huge blue eyes she hides behind thick horn-rimmed glasses and a good five-foot-eight body she keeps under wraps. But she’s all business and doesn’t spend much time on appearances, relying on very conservative outfits and hairstyles for the courtroom. She only seems to let that hair down around us. When I need someone for pure logic, she’s my first call. She’s also an incredibly loyal friend and would drop whatever she was doing if any of us needed help.

She reaches for the pitcher of mimosas and starts to pour everyone a glass. “We do have another topic to discuss besides kittens and Madison’s current aversion to soap.”

I glare at her. “Bite me.”

A.J. furrows her brow. “What topic is that?”

Tish locks eyes with me. “The little matter of Jeremy getting his exit visa. Which deserves a celebration, in my opinion.” She holds up her glass. “Cheers!”

I roll my eyes. “I know, I know, you all didn’t like him.”

A.J. pops an olive in her mouth. “I wouldn’t say that. I hated the sonofabitch and wanted to kick his ass.”

“Fine, he’s gone. Just be happy I didn’t walk down the aisle with him.”

Rory takes a bite of chicken. “You never would have exchanged vows. There would have been a chorus when the priest did that speak now or forever hold your peace thing.”

“Right,” says Tish. “You would have had to take a number.”

A.J. shakes her head. “It wouldn’t have gone that far. I would have had him whacked.” It should be noted that while A.J. does not have family in the Mob (at least I don’t think so), she is fond of using Sicilian stereotypes.

A.J. runs her family’s delicatessen here on Staten Island, which is appropriate since she is obsessed with food. Though amazingly while working in a place where she’s surrounded by stuff loaded with calories, the petite woman never seems to gain an ounce. I met her as a customer and we immediately hit it off as I pointed at her nameplate and asked her what A.J. stood for. She refused to tell me so I asked her brother who also works there. Get this: Antoinette Josephine. Yikes. (You can see why she goes by A.J. as a spunky attitude doesn’t go with a name like Antoinette or her Noo Yawk accent.) She of course threatened to have me whacked should I ever speak her real name in her presence. A.J. is a spunky little thing with zero tolerance for bull, both from her dates and customers. But if you want someone in a foxhole who will take no prisoners, she’s your girl. Behind those dark eyes lies the soul of a gunslinger. But the heart is pure gold.

I take a sip of my mimosa as I consider her offer to wish Jeremy into the cornfield. “Very funny. But there’s nothing to discuss.”

“Sure there is,” says Rory. “We’ve got that bridesmaids dress from hell wedding next weekend and now you need a plus one. Either that or spend the day dancing with the usher you’re paired with.”

The image makes me cringe. “Oh, crap. I forgot all about that. I’m not hanging out with the groom’s fifteen year old nephew.”

Tish smiles at me. “Hence, we must find you a plus one. Lest you do the Bunny Hop with a pubescent kid’s hands on your ass.”

I exhale in disgust. “Well, this will certainly be a quick rebound. I’m not wild about a blind date to a wedding, but considering the alternative I have no choice. So, who’ve you guys got?”

A.J. perks up. “My cousin Joey—”

“No!” Everyone shouts in unison.

Tish shakes her head. “Once and for all, please stop trying to fix up that particular relative. He’s un-fix-up-able. We can do better.”

A.J. folds her arms. “Fine, Miss legal eagle. Who are you bringin’ to the table?”

“There’s a guy who just rented the office next to mine. He seems nice.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s he do?”

“Don’t know that either.”

“You wanna fix her up with someone and you don’t even know his name or what he does?”

“He smiled at me when he moved in and said hello. And he’s got a great ass.”

A.J. rolls her eyes. “Gimme a break.” She turns to Rory. “You got anyone?”

Rory taps her chin with one finger. “Well … there’s this guy from a commercial production house I talk to on the phone a lot but I’ve never met him. He’s funny and seems nice. And I know he’s single.”

“How old is he?” asks A.J.

“Don’t know.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Don’t know that either.”

A.J. slowly nods. “So, let me get this straight … you guys shoot down my cousin and yet all you can come up with is a nameless guy with a great ass and a commercial producer who gives good phone but might be seventy years old, fat and bald.”

Rory pulls out her tablet from her purse, taps it a few times. “Fine, let me go to his company website. Maybe there’s a photo.” She waits a beat, taps the screen a few more times, then smiles. “Ooooh, I think he’ll do.” She turns the tablet around so the rest of us can see.

My eyes widen a bit as I take in the photo of a hot, dark-haired guy who looks about thirty-five. “Uh … yeah.”

“Fuhgeddaboudit. He’s doable all right,” cracks A.J.

Rory smiles as she turns back to her food. “Okay, I’ll make the call.”

I pat Rory on the shoulder. “Thanks.” I start to eat but suddenly it hits me. “Uh-oh. We’ve got one more problem.”

“What?” asks Tish.

“Since we’re all going to the wedding, I need a sitter for the kittens. And speaking of permanent cat sitters—”

“I’ll take a kitten,” says Tish.

“Me too,” says A.J. “Hell, with a deli downstairs, the thing will never starve.”

The teenage girl’s eyes bug out as I open the door wearing a bridesmaid’s dress that was obviously designed during a power failure. “Wow, Miss Shaw. You must be a really good friend to someone to wear that.”

“Kelly, remember this phrase when you start being included in bridal parties. You’ll be able to wear this dress again. Biggest lie you’ll ever hear.” I usher her in to my home, giving her enough room to get by my ridiculously puffy sleeves that look like they’re filled with helium and ready to explode. “I really appreciate you doing this.”

“Hey, I love cats. And we actually had an orphaned kitten years ago. I know the routine.” I point out all the cat supplies on the kitchen table. The tall, skinny seventeen year old brunette is the incredibly normal daughter of a neighbor who lives down the street, a teen who actually speaks instead of having her head buried in a cell phone. But she can’t stop giggling as she looks at my outfit. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude—”

“Oh, you should have heard me while I was putting on this monstrosity.” The orange dress (ghastly color for a redhead, or any woman for that matter) is made of this incredibly itchy fabric with a tight waist that makes my ass look like I’ve had a Kardashian upgrade and an angled hemline that starts at the knee on the right and ends at the ankle on the left. With lovely matching ballet slippers. Then for some bizarre reason there’s a circular thing sewn onto the waist that looks like the hand warmers football players wear during cold games. We’re supposed to keep our hands in there as we go down the aisle. Why, I have no clue. (A.J. says it’s to keep us from flipping the bird at the designer who is a friend of the bride and attending the wedding.) I’ll get to wear it again if a pirate ever asks me to a retro seventies disco when it’s ten below zero outside. Or if Macy’s ever needs an orange float in the Thanksgiving Day parade.