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“A romance?” She raises an eyebrow at me.
“Gotta have something interesting to read.”
“You don’t really strike me as the romance novel type,” she says.
“I’m not sure that I am,” I say. “That one looked like it had a lot of other stuff in it as well. Did you read the blurb on the back?”
“Yes, it does sound like a good story. It’s the cover that threw me off.”
“Well, don’t judge a book by its cover and all that.”
“I suppose so.” She places it back in the stack and picks up another one. It must grab her interest since she opens up to the first page, and I get Solo’s food ready as he rubs up against my leg.
I sit down on the floor next to the chair, and Solo crawls up into my lap and paws at the bottle. He nearly pushes it out of my hand trying to eat.
“He’s really a lot stronger than he was when I first found him.” I rub his belly as he eats.
“I think he’s gotten bigger, too. Kittens grow pretty fast. Do you have any idea how old he is?”
“A few weeks, I guess. I really have no idea. He was so tiny at first, but now he looks like a regular kitten. How old are regular kittens?”
“Maybe six or eight weeks?”
“Maybe.” I turn my attention back to the cat. He gobbles down dinner but still seems hungry. I give him some broth Seri made out of caribou scraps, and he sucks that down as well. “I think he likes the broth you made.”
“If he is at least six weeks, I think he can eat more solid food as well. Maybe we can cut some up into tiny bits for him and see how he does. I could mix it in with the broth.”
“Sounds good.”
Seri places the book back on the pile and starts getting food ready for everyone. When everything is ready, I place a small bowl with the broth and bits of meat in it on the floor. Solo seems confused at first but eventually sticks his nose in far enough to taste the unfamiliar fare. Eventually, he’s gobbling down the bits of meat.
“I’d say he must be ready.” I look over to Seri and smile.
“Maybe wait until after he poops,” Seri says with a laugh. “I’m a little afraid of what might come out of him!”
“I know what you mean. I need to find a better way of cleaning out that litter box.”
“Can you flush it down the toilet?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I try not to flush anything into the septic system that isn’t the usual stuff. If anything happened down there, I couldn’t fix it until spring.”
“Ew…yeah. Not worth the risk.”
“Definitely not.” I collect all the dishes and wash them in the sink.
Seri walks around the four corners of the cabin, looking closely at every inch of space. There isn’t a lot to look at—it’s not like I’ve put up a lot of artwork or anything. On the small, circular table next to the chair, she finds a sketch Kirk gave me.
“Did you draw this?” She holds up a black and white drawing of a zombie-faced Rocky the Squirrel.
“No. I’m not an artist.”
“Who did?”
“Kirk, the guy who runs that gas station where we met.”
“It’s a little…disturbing.”
“Just a zombie squirrel,” I say with a shrug. “What’s wrong with that?”
