Page 51 of Lost and Found

“I might have screwed up, Silas,” I say anxiously.

He tosses his keys and wallet onto the counter and rounds it, coming for me with a concerned frown. “What is it? What happened?”

Impeccably timed—a low, scratchy grumble sounds off from his living room. Silas’s frown turns quizzical.

“I went to the farmers market and they were doing pet adoptions and I was having a good day and thought it was, like, a fucking sign or something that I should tackle this on my list. And then I didn’t even stick to the list! I saidadopt a dog. Why even write a list if you’re not going to stick to it?! But then I turned around and this cat was staring into my soul. And fuckingGinaconned me with some heartfelt speech about the enduringspirit of love and before I knew it I was loaded up in her van with supplies and a newcompanion. Every time I try to coax my companion out of that crate, she makes that noise! The one time I got her out, she took a swipe at me and pissed on your rug. She hates me, Silas!”

He blinks and nods along to my rant, then reaches over and gives the ball of my shoulder a soothing squeeze. “All right. Let’s just take it one step at a time,” he says, irritatingly calm. He strides over to the crate and crouches down.

“You’ll be attacked! Mauled!” He unzips the top of the carrier. Another vibrating growl.

“Your first cat and you went with an orange, huh?” he says, amused.

I stiffen. “What does that mean? What’s wrong with the orange ones?”Have they been fashioned to adapt to hell?

“Nothing at all,” he says, quietly and in a babying voice. The growling turns into something more urgent as he reaches in with both hands.

“Silas!”

But he simply plucks her right out of the carrier, yowling and hissing be damned. She melts into an instant, loose-limbed puddle in his arms. He murmurs close to her face, and she touches her nose to his before she rubs her head along his stubbled jaw.

“What’s her name?” he asks.

I’ve been categorically betrayed by this cat. It takes me a full minute to answer. “I’m supposed to come up with my own,” I say, voice distant.

I reach over to pet her, and the purring morphs into a low growl again. It probably says something about me that she doesn’t like me, doesn’t it? Animals and their instincts and whatnot.

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious what her name should be,” Silas says before he babbles some more nonsense into her fur.

“By all means,” I grouse. “Do share.”

He’s kissing her. She’s maintaining eye contact with me while he does it, and I swear to god she’s smiling. A literal Cheshire smile. “Obviously,” he says, “this is Calcifur, your little fire demon. You may call herCalifor short.Supercalifragilisticexpialidociousfor long.”

“Noted.”

At my tone, his mouth presses into something sympathetic before he scoops me into his side with one arm. Cali snarls at me, and I step right back out, devastated.

“Hey. Give her a week or two,” Silas says sweetly. “Cats are just . . . tricky.”

“It’s fine,” I lie. I pointlessly rearrange the stuff on the counter. “It’s a new place. New people. New people are hard—unless, I guess, they’re you. I’m not taking it personally.” I’m taking it way too personally, and I am unjustly sad. Maybe the injections are affecting me more than I realized.

“Is she an outdoor cat, then?” he asks.

I wheel back around. “What? Why would she be an outdoor cat? There are snakes out there. Coyotes.” I sound abjectly horrified. “What about bird flu, Silas?!”

He sets her down on his couch, and she curls up easily. Already comfortable. Silas puts his palms up in the air.

“That’s completely fine andpreferable, for the record. I just wondered, that’s all. Just means I’ll need to change the litter box. We should probably set that up in the laundry room if you haven’t yet.”

“Jesus, Silas. That’s very sweet of you and all, but regardless of whether or not she wants to be, she’s still my responsibility. Of course I don’t expect you to change her litter.”

“When you’re pregnant, you won’t be able to, Bea.” He chuckles kindly. “You can get an infection.”

Oh my god. I’d forgotten. A cascade of hot embarrassment pours through me. I drop my elbows onto the island and my face into my palms.

After a moment, some of my hair is swept off my shoulder. “Tell me why this is upsetting you,” Silas says.

Logically, I know my emotions are reacting disproportionately to this, I suspect the estrogen is making it worse, and yet it’s impossible for me to immediately self-correct.