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“All animals are as different as all humans are. Take you and me.”
“You always get the orgasm first?”
It took a father hurrying his young daughter down the aisle away from us for me to fully grasp I was not using my indoor voice.
Ryan buried her face in the cat’s fur to stifle her laughter. Then she glanced up and gave me a sly look. “I’m going to say no. Because you definitely left me hanging in the car.”
“Don’t blame me for that,” I said under my breath and nodded to the cat.
She scratched his neck. “Don’t listen to him, Smoky.”
I followed her down the maze of aisles after accepting the basket she thrust at me, vowing not to speak again unless I was spoken to—at least not before I’d had an opportunity to relieve myself properly in the shower.
Obviously, I wasn’t capable of rational, voice-modulated discourse beforehand.
We wandered through the store, filling the basket. Cats needed a lot of items, apparently, although they themselves were quite small. Things such as dishes for dry and wet food and for water. At least that was what I believed, but she shoved a fancy fountain thing at me and told me fresh was best.
Next up were treats. Soft ones. Hard ones. She offered them along with a lecture about not overfeeding, which seemed counterintuitive since she was the one suggesting I offer my cat all manner of junk food.
When the basket overflowed, I traded it for a cart, and Ryan put Smoky into the extra large bright pink litter pan she had selected. I expected the cat to jump out, but he seemed quite content to be pushed around while we loaded up on jumbo bags of cat litter—how much did one animal go?—and dry food containers and cans of food.
Throughout, Smoky observed all, silently and without judgment. Well, without much judgment.
It helped that she found a large catnip snake
for him to amuse himself with. Half the filling had spilled out and was smeared all over his chin and cheeks by the time we made it to the checkout line. I blamed my distraction with the destroyed toy for how Ryan was able to sneak a cat harness into our purchases.
Also bright pink.
Worst of all, it had a pouch-like add-on called a Pussy Papa. Or maybe that was what they thought you’d be called if any of your neighbors saw you wearing one.
“I’m not putting this on,” I said once we were in the parking lot, and Ryan was loading Smoky into the carrier. I held the ensemble up by its two pink straps. “Not in this life or any other.”
She shut the back door before yanking the contraption out of my hand and tucking it into a bag with some paw-shaped lights she’d added to the cart when I wasn’t looking. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with those either.
“Being secure in your masculinity is sexy,” she informed me before closing the trunk.
“My masculinity isn’t in question. What makes you think Smoky wants to ride around in that? We got him a leash, which again, he’s a cat not a dog. If he wants to go outside, I have a backyard. Fenced, I might add.”
“Right, and all it takes is one errant wild dog to leap the fence and take him out. And you know they can climb, right?”
“Oh, but he’s going to be safe strapped to my chest?”
“Well, of course.” She reached up to pinch my biceps, fluttering her lashes. “Why, you could protect a little defenseless feline without even breaking a sweat.”
“I can still fire you even if you’re a temporary worker.”
She leaned up against me and whispered in my ear. “So you can get my breasts in your mouth again? You don’t need to fire me for that, obviously.”
The part of me that cared obsessively about rules bristled. What we were doing—what I was doing—wasn’t proper in any way. Then she turned around and sauntered back to the passenger seat, putting a swivel in her walk that could’ve drawn me straight to the gates of hell.
And I didn’t care about wrong or right.
I got behind the wheel and glanced into the back. Smoky was sleeping head down, the partially destroyed catnip mouse mashed beneath his face.
Clearly, I wasn’t the only one getting high on my own supply.
I put on my belt and started the car. For all of ten seconds, I contemplated going back home. I thought of my empty house, waiting in the dark for me. Lights burning to give me the illusion I wasn’t all alone.
