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Then it hits me. I rush to the bathroom and lift the toilet tank cover. Yep. Since the toys are waterproof, this will work nicely.
Okay, now I have to deal with the dance belt. Actually, there’s not much choice here but to let it go. I can’t have Art catching me sniffing it.
I walk around until I spot the laundry hamper in the bathroom. Reluctantly, I toss the dance belt in.
“Bye,” I say to it. “It was nice knowing you.”
Skunk. Maybe I should’ve taken one last sniff?
No. Must be strong.
I busy myself by putting a bunch of stuff away. Then I realize I haven’t yet set up Woofer. Even with all these air purifiers and the cleaning lady, the place could start smelling dusty without his help.
In a few minutes, Woofer is running around, motor growling—until he hits the first door.
What the hell, human overlord? This place is too big. I’ll get tired and will need my charger way before I’m done cleaning it all. And these doors? Keep them open at all times, or else. And make sure no wires are in my path. It seems the iRobot Corporation has forsaken me in my most dire hour of need.
The doorbell rings.
I check the peephole. It’s Art, and he’s holding a pet carrier and a box.
“Who is it?” I ask, doing my best to sound super-cautious.
“Art,” he says approvingly.
“I need proof of that. Can you show me your driver’s license through the peephole?”
With a smirk, he puts his stuff down and does as I say. “Can you open the door now?”
“It’s suspicious you want me to open the door without more precautions. Real Art would want me to be careful. Maybe I should get more proof that you’re you?”
His smirk turns into a slight frown. “Like what?”
I grin. “The real Art has a very distinct tattoo. Can you show it to me?”
I reach to unlock the door, but he actually steps away and does as I ask, flashing me the ink and the sexy V that leads down to Mr. Big.
Yummy. Should I ask to see that next? No. This joke has gone on long enough. I unlock the door.
He picks up the carrier and the box and steps inside with an exasperated expression. “Was that really necessary?”
“Just wanted to be safe, as you ordered. I know better than anyone that merely seeing someone’s face isn’t enough to prove their identity. I share my face with five other individuals—most of them untrustworthy.”
He sets the box down near the door but holds on to the carrier. “I doubt I have long-lost sextuplet siblings, and even if I did, they’d be unlikely to live in America.”
There I go again, reminding Art that he’s an orphan. What’s next? Forgetting to feed him? Making him watch a movie marathon of Batman, Harry Potter, and Oliver Twist?
A squeak emanates from the carrier.
Art says something soothing in Russian and then switches to English. “Let’s go put Fluffer into his enclosure.”
“Sure.” Anything to get his attention away from the metaphorical foot in my mouth.
Art leads me to the living room, opens the door to the chinchilla mansion, and aligns the carrier with it before opening the hatch.
Fluffer whizzes into his new home, eyes wild with excitement.
Maybe they’re not eating me yet. Maybe they want me happy and contented, like Kobe cows.
