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“You know you can’t keep him though, right?” I ask.
“We’ll see,” Rueben says. “His owner’s currently on the way to hospital, and there’s no way in hell he’ll be going back to that apartment to live. Maybe he’ll let me keep him.”
“You can’t ask to keep the man’s pet,” I tell him, laughing at the audacity of it.
“I won’t, but I bet you anything he doesn’t want him back when it comes to it.”
“Just … don’t get your hopes up.” I reach over and pet the little guy’s head.
He seems to like scratches. I move back and tell myself not to get attached.
It’s been a long time since I had a pet, and I kind of miss having a little fuzzball to fuss over.
It wouldn’t be fair to have a dog, since we work full-time, but I’d never considered a cat.
“We don’t have any pet stuff at home.”
Rueben nods at me. “I know. Do you want to come with me to get stuff on the way home later? I’m going to google for vets in the area and book him a check up as soon as possible, too.”
Oh, we’re definitely getting attached to this little ball of grey and black fluff.
“I guess I’ll need to find something to feed him before then though …”
“There’s a can of tuna in the kitchen cupboard at the station,” I let Rueben know. “I keep forgetting it’s there.”
“Perfect!” Rueben beams at me. “Now, what do we call you, little guy?”
“No one’s naming him,” Gus grumbles. “He’s not ours.”
“I’m not naming him,” Rueben says. “I’m just thinking up something to call him while we have him.”
“Sounds like the same thing to me,” Gus mutters.
He’s probably right, but no one’s listening.
“How ‘bout Probie?” I ask, making Gus snort.
“Cute, but nah.” Rueben shakes his head. “He’s too little to do all the grunt work around the firehouse.”
“Grunt?” I try.
The kitten miaows again.
“I don’t think he likes that.”
“Tiny?”
“Maybe.”
We run through name suggestions until we get back to the station. Nothing fits, and honestly, it’s probably better if we don’t give him a name. We’re already too attached to the little guy.
That’s only going to make things harder when we have to give him back.
Chapter thirteen
Gus
Rueben’s keeping that damn kitten. I knew it the second he revealed the little grey and black ball of fluff. It doesn’t matter how much he denies it. How much he says he’s going to give him back to his owner, somehow, someway, I just fucking know, he’s keeping it.
