Page 101 of Thug

Gray grinned. The cat seemed unamused. “How long have I been asleep?”

“I have no idea,” I replied. “It’s 5:45.”

“Crap.” She started to stand, and realized she had a lap filled with cats. She rubbed the chin of the one who was angry that I broke up their little slumber party. She looked up. “I think they’ve got the Stockholm Syndrome.”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’re bonding with their captor.” She raised her hands. Both cats were fast asleep. “Look at them.”

“They’re cats,” I said with a laugh. “They bond with whoever feeds them.”

She widened her eyes. “But I’m not feeding them.”

“You did when you got home.”

“While we’re on that subject,” she said. “Their little bag of treats was almost empty. There was like two or three in the bottom. Yesterday it was almost full.”

“You weren’t here yesterday. You worked late and went home. Remember?”

“Okay, day before yesterday.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “My point was that their treats were gone.”

“I might have given them a few,” I said dismissively.

“A few?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Whatever’s missing. I didn’t know you were monitoring them.”

“I’m not monitoring them.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Don’t get so defensive,” she said. “I was just wondering what happened to them. I’ll buy some more.” She looked at the cats and then at me. “What are we going to do?”

“About what?”

“What time is it?”

She’d made a reservation at a local diner that specialized in Greek food. It started out as a hole in the wall establishment, and quickly developed a large following. To minimize lines, waiting, and their customer’s frustrations, the owner decided to start taking reservations on the weekends.

I looked at my watch. Our reservation was in five minutes. “We’re supposed to be there in five minutes. I can’t get there in five minutes.”

“I really wanted to try their food.”

“Chuck those cats aside and let’s haul ass to town,” I said. “We’ll be five minutes late. Maybe ten.”

“I’m not chucking the cats.”

“You know what I mean.”

“By the time I get the cat’s hair off me, brush my hair, and straighten my makeup, it’ll be five after six. Then, it’ll be 6:20 by the time we get there. They’ll be pissed off. They’ll make us wait. You’ll get pissed off. Then, you’ll explode. Or implode. Whatever you do. We’ll end up ruining our night.”

She wasn’t far off. I leaned against the doorframe. “Sounds about right.”

“How about we just stay here?”

“What are we going to do about food?”

Cradling the cats in her arms, she stood. She carefully placed them on the dryer, atop a load of folded laundry. “I’ll figure something out.”