“Are you really going to keep those animals? If so, what are you going to name them?” Lottie asked on the way home from the store. She needed to make conversation about anything or everything to ease the lingering jitters still in her body from when he scanned her from toes to eyebrows.
“If no one claims them, I am,” he answered. “I hadn’t even thought of giving them names, but I guess I should.”
“I used to name all the chickens, the calves, and the piglets. I was almost grown before Grandpa told me that I was eating Porky for breakfast. Broke my heart,” she told him.
“That rooster is way too pretty to make chicken and dumplings out of him, but then again, his feathers might look real sharp stuck in the band of my cowboy hat.”
“No!” Lottie raised her voice. “He’s a pet, not dinner.”
“Okay, then,” Knox said. “Does that mean you don’t want me to skin the cat when it gets grown and make a pair of gloves out of its hide?”
“You are evil—downright wicked for even teasing me about hurting a cat.” Her voice got higher with each word.
Knox chuckled and laid a hand on her shoulder. “ I have a confession to make, but it’s classified, so you can’t ever tell anyone. I cried when a opossum had been run over in front of our house, and I was fifteen years old. I could never hurt an animal. I even swerve to keep from hitting anything on the road. Truth is, I have always wanted a dog or a cat, but until now, I didn’t have a permanent home.”
“That can be our secret,” she whispered. “But you do need to start thinking about names.”
He covered a yawn with his hand. “I’ll just call them Kitten and Rooster, or Kitty and Roo for short. I don’t imagine anyone who threw them away like trash wouldn’t have bothered to name them.”
“Maybe ‘Damn It’ for the kitten for getting under their feet too many times, and ‘Hush’ for the rooster,” she said with a yawn and wished that it wasn’t too late in the day to grab a half-hour power nap.
“Yep, but I figure they’ll like Kitty and Roo better.”
“What makes you think that?” Lottie asked.
“They told me so,” he said as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the weather.
“So, you talk chicken and cat now?”
“Of course,” he answered with a glint in his blue eyes. “I said, ‘Where did you come from, kitty cat?’ and it came right to me. I asked the rooster what he was doing on my porch, and he flew over and lit on my knee.”
Lottie tried to bite back a chuckle, but it didn’t work. “‘Kitty’ is going to be a terrible name for a boy kitten.”
“You are right,” Knox agreed. “The kitten’s name will be ‘Ballou,’ or maybe ‘Bally’ for short.”
“Why? And do you mean ‘ballet’?”
“No, but it does kind of sound like that. I’m naming her after that old movie,Cat Ballou. My grandparents went to the movies on their first date and saw it. Granny found it on DVD and bought it for Grandpa’s birthday. It’s slapstick funny, but I loved the way they laughed every time we all watched it together. They passed away within three days of each other, and I inherited the movie. We’ll have to watch it sometime,” he said.
“But isn’t Cat Ballou a girl? What if it’s a tomcat? Can’t you just see him out there flirting with a female and having to tell her his name is Bally?”
“She’s too pretty to be a boy cat.”
“All kittens, male or female, are cute,” Lottie argued. “You may have to change its name if it’s a boy. What about the bird?”
Knox said. “When I was a kid, my grandparents took us boys to an amusement park. There was a shop there called Cheeto’s. I loved the ice cream they served, and they had this huge rooster on their sign with a triple dip of ice cream in his hand. So, his name is Cheeto,” he declared.
Lottie turned into the gravel road leading to the site and parked beside his trailer. “Those seem like proper names. Need some help carrying in all your stuff?”
He handed Lottie his keys. “I can get it, but I might need you to corral Bally for me. Be careful. With all that long hair, I can’t tell if she’s got fleas or not, and I wouldn’t want you to take home any to give to Prissy. As a precaution, I bought special shampoo to give her a bath tonight.”
“You should also take her to the vet for her shots. Anyone who would dump her out like this probably did not take proper care of her,” Lottie suggested as she picked up the chicken feed and headed toward the trailer.
He looped several of the plastic bag handles over his arm and followed her. “I’ll do some research and see if there is one close by that stays open late. Would you go with me? I have no idea what kind of questions to ask.”
Lottie opened the door and scooped up the kitten when it tried to run outside. “Sure, and you can even borrow my cat carrier. Just tell me when and where. I might even let you drive while I console poor little Cat, who is going to hate being cooped up.”
“Letme drive!” Knox growled.
