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Now Lizzie looked at me.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “What girl in her right mind puts up with years of flirting and tormenting if she doesn’t have serious feelings for him?”
“Gerard!” Claire screamed at the top of her lungs, distracting us both. “Your cat is shitting in my bathtub!”
“I know.” Gibsie groaned loudly. “It smells so bad, and he won’t stop.”
“I have to see this,” I snickered, scrambling off the bed. “Are you coming?”
Lizzie shook her head. “Nope. I’ve seen more than enough of their antics to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.”
Shaking my head, I hurried out of the bedroom and across the landing, reaching the bathroom doorway to see a huge, and I mean seriously huge, snow-white Persian cat balancing on the edge of the Biggs family bathtub.
Standing in the doorway, I watched their strange interaction with my hand clasped over my mouth, partially because of the smell, but mostly because it was so funny.
“Brian!” Gibsie was roaring. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He turned on the water and grabbed the showerhead. “God, that’s the worst fucking thing I’ve ever smelled in my life.”
“Yeah, I know, Gerard,” Claire hissed, covering her nose and mouth with her hand while using the other to pour bleach into the tub. “I can smell it too, you know.”
“He did this on purpose,” he told her, tone accusing. “Because I put him out of my room last night. He’s punishing me.”
“He’s glaring at you,” she told him.
“I know.” Gibsie shuddered. “Just pick him up and put him in the utility room.”
“He’s glaring at me now,” Claire squeaked, scrambling away from the cat.
“He’s trying to intimidate you, babe,” Gibsie coaxed. “Don’t look him in the eyes.”
“Christ, he’s scarier than Mr. Mulcahy,” Claire groaned, shrinking behind Gibsie’s huge frame.
“Just come up from behind him and scoop him up,” he instructed as he held the shower hose in front of them like a weapon. “Keep his paws away from you. Hold him away from your body and run.”
“I am not picking him up, Gerard,” Claire hissed, eyes wide. “He looks like he’s two seconds away from murdering me.”
“I’ll protect you,” he vowed valiantly.
“You’re afraid of him!”
“Fine, hold this,” he grumbled, passing my friend the hose. “I’ll put the fucker out.”
“Do you think we should hose him down?” Claire asked. “He’s got poo all over his fur.”
“Fuck no,” Gibsie exclaimed. “Last time I tried to clean his ass, he maimed me.”
I laughed out loud.
“It’s not fucking funny, Shannon,” Gibsie grumbled, surprising me by remembering my name. “I had to get a tetanus shot because of him.”
“I’m sorry,” I snickered, clamping a hand over my mouth. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise.” I chuckled. “More at the situation.” Studying the furry feline, I added, “He looks like the cat from Inspector Gadget.”
“Yeah, well he’s certainly evil enough,” Gibsie replied. “Some nights I wake up and he’s on my bed, standing over me with those evil little eyes.” He shook his head. “They should have never neutered him. He’s been in a homicidal mood ever since. Would have been an easier life to let the poor bastard keep his balls.”
“Go on, Gerard,” Claire coaxed, shoving Gibsie toward the tub. “You can do this. I have every faith in you.”
“Ah fuck, okay! Okay!” With his arms stretched out, Gibsie prowled toward the cat. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he coaxed, reaching over the tub to pick him out. “Good pussy… That’s right… I love pussies… I do… I won’t hurt you—ahhhhh!”
Brian snarled and whacked a paw at Gibsie, who, in turn, screamed like a girl and dove behind Claire.
