Karma kitty's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

The tub sat clean and black in the empty bathroom, but the finish was rough. The metal still showed rust and old paint under the primer. Karma wanted it perfect. She had time before her next paycheck, and no money for plumbing yet. So she poured her hands into the one thing she could fix. She took a wire brush to the iron and scrubbed. She worked every ridge, every clawed foot, until the last flakes fell away. Her fingers burned. By evening two blisters swelled on her palm. She wrapped them in tape and kept going. Catpocino watched from a box of coffee cans, one paw hooked over the plastic wrap. When the surface was clean, Karma mixed white epoxy for a base coat. She spread it thick and let it cure overnight. The next day she taped off the feet and sprayed the body black. She unmasked the feet and hit them with copper. The paint dried to a warm shine. She had bought new copper feet online with her last spare cash, and now she bolted them on, one at a time. The tub looked good. But paint chips. Karma wanted a finish that would last decades. She mixed clear epoxy in a cup and poured it over the black body. She tipped the tub and spread the coat with a gloved hand. Bubbles rose. She popped each one with a torch flame. The epoxy set glassy and hard. One coat was not enough. She poured a second, then a third, waiting a full day between each. The blisters on her palm broke and healed. On the fourth morning she pulled off her gloves and looked. The tub gleamed. Black iron glowed under clear glass. The copper feet caught the light like new pennies. She ran her taped fingers across the rim and felt no rough spot, no chip, no seam. It was finished. Truly finished. Karma sat on the cold floor and grinned at it. She had turned a rusted castoff into the best thing in the house. Then her eyes moved to the wall behind the tub. Bare plaster. No pipes. No drain. No water line. The finished tub could not hold a drop until a plumber came. And a plumber cost money she did not have. Karma pulled out her phone and checked her bank balance. The number had not changed. Her next paycheck was two weeks away. She looked at the perfect tub, then at the empty wall. The centerpiece was done. But the inspector's list needed working water, and working water needed cash she was still waiting on. Karma set her phone down and pressed her sore palm flat against the cool iron. "You're beautiful," she told the tub. "And you can't do a thing yet." Catpocino climbed out of the coffee box and rubbed her ankle. Karma stood. The tub was won. The plumbing was the next fight.