Back ramrod straight, arms still above his head. “The feeling is not mutual.”
“At least you can stop worrying she’s going to claw your face off.”
My neighbor studies my face, eventually asking, “You think this is funny?”
“One hundred percent.” I cannot lie.
“You’re sick.”
My shoulders move up and down in a casual shrug. “I guess I could have warned you—Desi loves eggs. And popcorn. Loves people food.” In fact, love is putting it mildly. Any time the gluttonous furball hears the fridge open, she comes stampeding into the kitchen like a tiny herd of cattle.
Brooks stares at me for a good, hard second. “You did that on purpose!”
Cannot confirm or deny that one. So, I go with a futile, “You insisted on coming over to be fed. You don’t even know me, just invited yourself in to mooch off my nan’s giving nature! Do not blame me for any of this.”
“You are so full of shit, Abbott—you knew damn well the cat was going to jump on me as soon as I sat down. Don’t lie.”
“Oh, now I can predict what the cat is going to do? I’m not a psychic.”
Desdemona, unsatisfied with the progress she’s making by manipulating him with her cute face, rises to stand, climbing farther into his lap. Walks her kitty paws up his chest, furry face reaching for his. Nose practically squished against Brooks’ neck, the loud purrs emitting from her belly no doubt vibrating on his chest.
“Jeez, get this thing off me.”
Thing? This thing?
I’m insulted for my cat for the second time this morning and come to her defense. “You said you didn’t want her attacking you, but you don’t want her to love you, either? Make up your mind.”
“You should have told me the cat likes eggs.”
I check my fingernails for lint. “I forgot.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an awful liar?”
“Yeah, that’s what I hear.” I pop another forkful of Benedict into my mouth and chew. Swallow. Shrug. “Has anyone ever told you that you scream like a girl?”
He doesn’t even have the energy to look affronted. Just tells me, “Shut up, I do not.”
I don’t chastise him for the bad manners, instead driving my point home to irritate him.
“No, for real. You sound just like one.” I lean across the couch and reach for the eggs Benny on Brooks’ plate. Pluck a bit of egg off for the cat, feeding her from the palm of my hand as Brooks looks on, still breathing heavily. Terrified. “Good kitty. Good kitty witty.”
I don’t usually talk to Desi like she’s a baby; it’s mostly for my neighbor’s disgusted benefit, because now my cat is purring all up on him and Brooks is hating life right now. Baby-talking the cat likely increases that misery.
I’m not wrong.
“Please take my plate,” Brooks begs.
I lean my back against the couch cushions, enjoying his anguish. “Meh. I don’t think so.”
I fluff the blanket on my lap. It’s white and pristine and fluffy, just like the cat curled up on his.
“Please. I think I’m having a heart attack.”
Doubtful. “If you were having a heart attack, you wouldn’t be complaining right now.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
Yes, he is; he’s just being stubborn. “Stop being a pussy.”
His blue eyes widen and he mocks a gasp. “How dare you throw that word in my face? How dare you!”
Speaking of pussies, Desi coils up in his lap and purrs furiously, snuggled against this newcomer she’s decided she loves and adores.
Just like I knew she would.
6
Abbott
I’m at work bright and early on Monday, a pep in my step that wasn’t there when I left the office on Friday—even after happy hour with my colleagues.
I don’t see Dale when I round the corner, coffee in hand, headed for my office, but his secretary is at her desk, fingers tapping away at her desktop. On her monitor is a huge image of an orange tabby cat I can see from here. A framed photo of the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen sits next to the computer, and my brows go up as I breeze past.
“Morning Ms. Margolis,” she greets over the wall of her cubby.
“Morning…” Shit, what’s her name? Becky? “Beth.”
I give her a little wave, pushing my office door open with the toe of my shoe, closing it behind me when I’m all the way inside. Make the extra effort to close the horizontal blinds, which are ordinarily—permanently—kept open.
I pull the thin string until they slide slowly down, creating a blinder for the office staff beyond, who will unquestionably