lettered, And Murder Cat!
The cover image showed the three cats, Marmot and Jane curled up together in a ball, eyes looking up at the title and Redrum perched atop the letters looking like she was about to pounce.
“Oh my god,” Rye said worshipfully.
They read through the little comic together. The illustrations were more cartoony than the style Jack used in his children’s books; they were more like the style of the graphic novel he was nearly done with. He managed, as always, to portray real depth in the expressions of the animals.
The story was charming too. In it, Redrum had recruited Marmot and Jane to her nefarious attempt on the refrigerator. It loomed, gleaming, like the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, just waiting for the cats to conquer it.
Working together, they toppled the refrigerator and feasted on its contents. The final page showed them all curled up together in a heap of furry paws and tails and ears, crumbs and bits of food surrounding them as they slept, dream bubbles above their heads as they dreamt of even more food.
Rye cracked up at how Jack had drawn each of the cats eating their favorite foods—Marmot with a chicken leg in her mouth, Jane with her face in a tub of yogurt, and Redrum chowing down absurdly on a wheel of brie.
“It’s wonderful,” Charlie told Jack, as Rye said, “Fucking awesome, thank you.”
Jack just smiled but Charlie could see how pleased his brother was. He’d always loved seeing people appreciate his work.
Jack, Simon, and Jean didn’t stay late, though. Jean’s allergy medicine only protected her from the animals for so long, and Jack and Simon clearly wanted to get home to their own animals, their own fireside, their own evening.
Once they’d seen everyone out into the rainy night with promises to get home safe and get together soon, Charlie and Rye were alone.
“It’s nice they all came over,” Rye said. “Was it weird for them to celebrate our anniversary?”
“Who cares, you loved it. You love anniversaries.”
Rye’s eyes widened and he looked like maybe he was going to deny it, but then he slumped and peeked up at Charlie.
“Yeah, I kinda do.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Rye shot him a look like, Isn’t it, though?
“Nah,” Charlie said. “It’s sweet. You love our anniversary, just own it.”
Rye huffed, but relaxed.
“Just own it,” was what Rye had repeatedly told Charlie to do. “You like to be spanked, hot stuff, just own it,” he’d said with a wink. “You’re a neat freak, just own it,” he’d said when they started sharing an office. “You hate hummus, just own it,” when Charlie had tried Rye’s over and over to no avail. And, more recently, “You love sucking my cock, just own it.” Charlie had flushed deeply at that one, but he’d had to admit that it was true.
Charlie had thought long and hard about an anniversary gift for Rye. He knew Rye would bristle at anything expensive or extravagant. He already felt that Charlie had given him too much for a lifetime.
He’d thought about grand romantic gestures involving rose petals and baths, but he was pretty sure they would just make Rye very uncomfortable. He had learned that while Rye loved small romantic gestures, anything too dramatic, anything that announced itself too loudly, made him cringe.
He had considered unveiling a grand new addition to their ever-expanding cat amusement park, but they’d been working on that together and it was for both of them, so it didn’t seem like a good gift just for Rye.
Finally, though he wasn’t quite confident in his instinct, Charlie had used a number he found in Rye’s phone, and gone the sentimental route.
“Want your present?” he asked Rye softly, not wanting to interrupt his snoozy meditation of the fire or the cats that were splayed out around him.
Rye turned dreamy eyes to him.
“Present?”
He sounded like an excited kid.
“Stay there, I’ll bring it.”
He got the wrapped package from the coat closet where he’d stashed it, confident it wouldn’t be found because Rye never hung his coat in the closet, always draping it over a banister or a doorknob or simply laying it on top of the vent. (“It dries it off faster!” Rye insisted. “It blocks the vent,” Charlie said.)
He handed the gift to Rye and sat next to him in front of the fire, a hand on Jane so he didn’t startle her. Murder Cat jumped into his lap the second he created one.
“Can’t believe I’m making you make your own anniversary