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ChapterTwenty-Five
Oh,no. I ruined it, didn’t I? The drunken texts were too much, and Bella has rightfully flaked on me.
Skunk.
I’ll need to restart the search for a sponsor, though my chances of finding as good of a fit as Bella’s company are almost—
“Are you okay?” Art asks.
Right. Forgot where I am. “Yeah. All good.”
He frowns. “You don’t look ‘all good.’ If someone has upset you, I need to know, so I can—”
“Hello,” a familiar voice says from behind us.
Art turns, and his eyes widen as he takes in Honey in all her biker-gang-inspired attire.
“Told you I have identical sisters,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, sounding awed. “And to think there are four more of you.”
Honey readjusts her leather jacket. “You’ll see us all at the reception. Speaking of, did you get my RSVP?”
He nods. “Is that the cat?” He looks at the carrier she’s holding.
“Yep. That’s Bunny, reporting for duty.”
“Let’s go.” Art holds the door to the building for us, like a doorman, then follows us into the elevator and presses the button for the twelfth floor.
When we get there, the corridor is clean and neat, a rarity for New York apartment buildings. Art stops next to a thick redwood door and pulls out a key. “This is it.”
Honey sets down the carrier and opens it.
Bunny steps out, looking like Eeyore when he lost his tail—an impression strengthened by the fact that this breed of cat doesn’t have a fluffy tail, only a little bobtail, like the namesake bunny. His fur is white, with black spots around the eyes that make him look like he belongs in the Addams family, or a Goth club.
“Is that normal?” Art asks, examining Bunny’s butt.
“Yeah.” Honey fluffs Bunny’s fur and gets a murderous glare for her troubles. “He’s a Japanese bobtail. If you’ve ever seen one of those beckoning-cat statues in a sushi restaurant, that’s a depiction of this breed.”
“I see,” Art says. “So cats are considered lucky in Japan too.”
“Maybe.” I turn to Honey. “Is Hello Kitty also this kind of cat?”
Honey and Bunny give me sardonic glares. “Hello Kitty is a cartoon character,” Honey says. “And a girl, not a cat.”
I sigh. “But if she were a cat?”
Honey parrots my sigh. “She’d be this breed.”
Chuckling, Art opens the door.
Looking indignant, Bunny stiffens his spine and puts his bobtail in the “up” position.
“Go,” Honey says.
Bunny strolls imperiously into the place.
“Hubby, dearest,” I say. “When can we follow the cat?”
