Page 3 of The Tiger in the Sack

“Tig what?”

With a very dignified sigh, she said, “Bitties.”

“Tig… Bitties.” I pressed my lips together so I didn’t snort-laugh.

“His full government veterinary name is,” she said as if this was the part that was the inconvenience, “is Tiger O’Bittlesworth the Third, if you must know.”

Something moved in my chest. I was not going to laugh. I refused. I did smile. Not that she could see that behind the helmet.

“Do you know if the fire department actually rescues cats, and-or women out of trees?”

“I think that’s just in books and movies.”

“Right. Well, umm, would you maybe call them anyway? Because I...don’t think I can get down.”

Vito made a small growling sound that I hadn’t heard before, flicked his tail in a full circle, and put his paws up on the tree trunk, as if he was going to climb it. Then looked back at me. I nodded, understanding the assignment. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t if I could.”

The tree was good, old bark with solid footholds, branches thick enough to trust. I found the route fast. Motorcycle boots weren’t ideal climbing equipment but I’d done worse. One branch, then another, then another, pulling up with ease that came from a combination of consistent gym work and complete refusal to think about the insurance implications of falling out of this tree and breaking any bones in my body.

Tig Bitties watched me coming. His tail went full bottle-brush. Evaluating my technique, probably. He was enormous for a cat, the kind of fluffernutter that would suffocate anyone who tried to snuggle him.

I stopped two branches below him, opposite my damsel in distress

Holy shit. I completely forgot what I was doing for approximately two seconds. Damn she was pretty.

Whoa, okay, focus lover-boy or all three of us would be spending the night in this tree. Could be fun. No, fuck. I held out a hand to the cat, palm up. Waited for his sniff of approval.

Cats always liked me. It was genuinely the only thing in my life that had ever come without work. Everything else I’d built or earned through some combination of stubbornness and secretly grinding harder than anyone realized.

Tig Bitties looked at my gloved hand, sniffed it with the thoroughness of running a background check, and apparently the results were satisfactory. He wiggled forward, tucked himself under the chin of my helmet and rubbed his face against the plastic.

I unzipped the top of my jacket, then snagged his generous fluffy butt and tucked him inside. Little one-brain-cell weirdo stuck his head right in my armpit and started purring like this had been his plan the whole time.

“Got him.”

My treemate shook her head. “How did you—He hates everyone but me and my father.”

“Not everyone.” I moved toward her branch for rescue number two of the day. Too bad I couldn’t just grab her plump, delicious ass and tuck her into my jacket too. “He just has standards.”

“If Tig’s stranger danger alert didn’t go off, you might not be a murderer under that helmet,” she said. “But if you kill me later, I expect Tig to scratch your eyes out for me.”

“I’m here to help. I think serial killers do it the other way around. Move left a little.”

“Your move could be a reverse Bundy. And no can do, buckaroo. I’m stuck.”

Well, shit. The branch had gone straight through the back of her shirt, the fabric was pulled taut around the wood, holding her against the trunk like she’d been stapled there. She hadn’t been frozen from fear. She’d been literally pinned.

She couldn’t have gotten down if she’d wanted to.

I filed away the fact that she hadn’t mentioned this. Faster to just fix it than explain. I understood that better than she knew.

“If I murder you later, I give the cats permission to eat my face. Now, don’t move,” I said.

“Not planning to. Can I change their names to Catfrey Dahmer and CattibleLecter?”

The angle was awkward and I had to get above the branch to get any leverage, which meant climbing past her. In a tree of this width meant my jacket brushed her shoulder and I was close enough to see that the branch had a serious grip on her.