Page 113 of Checking Out the Librarian

Connor

Probably not for a couple days? You need time to heal

I miss you.

The period at the end of Connor’s text felt as large as a beacon. It was deliberate, Jonathan was certain, a subtle gift that said he missed being together perhaps even more than the actual words did.

He needed to walk around the apartment and find something to do until it was late enough to go to bed, but he’d stupidly let Kitten fall into a deep sleep on his lap. Now he’d have to scoop him up and transfer him to the heating pad in a box—not that box, that one was shoved in the closet—because it would be much safer for Kitten.

It was the right thing to do.

Responsible, even.

There was no point to having bought the warming pad if he didn’t put Kitten to sleep in the cozy nest, but if he did, he’d have absolutely nothing to occupy himself with.

His bills were paid and he didn’t have enough laundry here to run a load because he’d washed some at Connor’s, but the important thing was that Kitten would be better off sleeping in the box.

And yet, he didn’t move.

Obviously he should send more photos to Connor before he shifted Kitten, so he snapped a close up of the little paws crossed over its face, the white splashes of fur like drips of paint on its silky blackness.

Connor

Got it!

Honorable Baron Pawsley! HBP!

HBP goes perfectly with RBI!

Pawsley wasn’t the worst possible name. It wasn’t going to be confused for a human offspring, wasn’t a celebrity homage, and wasn’t a cliché like Buddy or Tiger. Presumably no one named a tuxedo cat Tiger, but it didn’t take long working in a public library to know that people did weird shit.

So long as there were no hereditary titles involved, he could live with Pawsley. Possibly embrace it with a bejeweled collar, but that might be antithetical to rejecting inherited privilege.

His sewing machine had a digital embroidery function, so he could easily add the name to the corner of a blanket. Maybe a font with a swirling tail on the Y, to evoke a cat.

Jonathan

What is RBI?

Connor

What are you asking?

Connor sent a photo of his dog sitting alertly at the beach with Haystack Rock behind him, wearing a bib that announced “I’m Crabby at the Shore” and featured crustaceans.

It was ten p.m. and Connor was home, so this was presumably from the Ribby archives.

Jonathan

That’s how you spell Ribby?

Connor

Yes RBI

You didn’t know his real name was RBI?

He’d assumed it was a reference to the dog in the Beverly Cleary books because, duh, Oregon and a dog named Ribby, but possibly that had not been correct.