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My button-downs looked fantastic, the creases were all perfection, and whatever she used made my clothes smell like heaven. I gave not one shit that people would side-eye me and judge me for this.
Looking over the clothes Jacinda had on, I had to wonder if her mom did her laundry, too, because the creases were as on point as mine.
“Can you go and get a cart?” Jacinda sighed, moving the kitten-hoodie bundle in her arms. “And don’t get one of the puny ones. I think this is going to need a big one.”
Resigned to the fact I was her bitch at this moment, I did just that, and then I pushed it as she added the things I needed for a kitten I’d had zero intentions of ever having. I didn’t like cats, never had. They were assholes with claws and had a superior attitude. My best friend in high school had three of them, and the only thing I could ever see that came from owning them was fur on every single item of clothing he owned, scratches, and shit on a bunch of grit in a tray.
Yet, here I was. Years later, purchasing that exact same stuff.
The only thing I could think of now, though, was how cute and defenseless it’d looked as it cowered at the side of the road. I might not like them, but I wasn’t a heartless asshole. Plus, it’d gotten Jacinda to spend time with me where she was interacting with me, so I may even be kind of looking forward to having the cat.
“What are you going to call it?” she asked over her shoulder, snapping me out of my musings.
Shit.
“Uh, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Hell, I didn’t even know where the gritty shitty tray was going to go in my house.
“Well, it’ll have to be something soft and cute because this little guy deserves it. He’s just too adorable.”
An idea hit me, but just as I opened my mouth, she said something that Hulk smashed it into pieces. “Just don’t go with Lucky. You want something original.”
I guess it was just as well she’d said that before I’d said the name I’d thought was a good choice for the little guy.
“Is it cliché to name him after a movie or television character?” It’d be the ultimate middle finger to my brother if I named the thing Bond.
“Oh, I love that idea. What about Damon?”
Lifting a shoulder, I watched as she put what looked like a space pod into the cart, except it had a sticker on the side stating it was an odor-absorbing litter tray.
“Sure, let’s call it that.”
By the end, I was just over two hundred dollars poorer, but I had an appointment to take it for its first vaccinations the following week after making the call while we were waiting in line. I also had a raw patch with red lumps, thanks to the fleas who’d jumped on my arm when I’d held Damon while Jacinda had compared different items. I don’t know how she got away with no bites, but it was like she was flea proof.
For all of my—internal—whining, though, I’d enjoyed spending this time with her, and it’d made me even more determined to get her to go out with me.
Baby steps. I could take them.
As soon as I got rid of the fleas on Damon, had a shower to make sure there weren’t any left on me, and put some damn calamine lotion on my arm.
Two weeks later…
Fleas? Had I really been worried about a couple of fleas? Those little bastards were nothing compared to the furry little shit face I was now dealing with.
The cuteness had lasted all of two days after I’d gotten him home and had set up the cat tree, the NASA engineered litter tray, the apparently non-stinking litter, the food, and everything else a cat couldn’t do without. It even had a water fountain, because God forbid its water wasn’t purer than a heavenly angel’s tears.
And what did I get in return for it? A feline psychopath.
Maybe it was karma? Tom Townsend had been telling me about his wife’s cat when they’d first gotten together after he’d found out about my new buddy, and I’d laughed and made fun of him for being afraid of a little cat. More fucking fool me!
I’d taken Damon to get his vaccinations, and I’d felt sorry for him when I’d washed him with flea shampoo. Heck, I’d wormed him and changed out his litter for non-shitty stuff, and I’d put up with him sleeping in the hood of the hoodie I was wearing—which wasn’t a hardship after I’d checked him over for fleas. I was almost paranoid about those things, and my car and home had been sprayed liberally to make sure none had escaped.
