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“Or to cat dander?” I ask gently, hoping I don’t offend him with my concern.
“Is it that obvious?” He sniffles and reaches for the last remaining napkin.
“To be honest, you look like you’re pretty miserable. I’d be happy to go somewhere else where you’ll be more comfortable.”
“No, no, I’m fine. It’s only a mild allergy.” He blows his nose so loudly the cat being snuggled by a woman seated at the table next to us leaps two feet in the air then lands in her enormous cappuccino, spilling it across the table. The frothy buffet draws half a dozen other cats, triggering a feline feeding frenzy.
“Are you sure? There’s a teahouse next door. We could—”
“No, no.” He waves his hand, dismissing my offer. “That’s not how this works. The app picks the location. If you don’t follow the rules, then what’s the point of using the app?”
“Um…” I’m not sure what to say. But he’s an awfully big stickler for the rules for someone who’s basically become one humongous hive.
“Although, I have to say,” he adds, casting a displeased glance around the room. “I’m surprised places like this even exist. Aren’t all these cats a health code violation?”
“I don’t know much about health codes, but cats are generally considered fairly clean animals. They groom themselves several times a day.”
“Yeah, with theirtongues.” He makes a gagging gesture, and I can’t help thinking he’s being a little uncharitable for someone who’s elbow deep in a pile of used tissues.
“So,” I say, eager to change the subject. “You’re a dog person, then?”
“Not particularly. But they’re better than cats. Did you know that people in medieval times believed cats were the devil’s minions and escorted souls to Hades?”
“At least they’re cute escorts.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood as an adorable calico kitten paws at my pant leg. I can’t resist bending down to scratch her tiny head, noting the name on her pink collar says Whiskers.
“Cute?” Sebastian scoffs. “Tell that to kids in Iceland. They have a legend called the Yule Cat. The creature prowls the countryside looking for human flesh to devour.”
How charming, I think morosely.
“But you won’t eat me, will you, Whiskers?” I rub the tip of my finger beneath her chin, and she purrs sweetly. If it weren’t for Sebastian, I’d scoop her into my lap.
“If you died alone in your apartment, she’d eat every last appendage, saving your eyeballs for last like a couple of plump maraschino cherries,” he says matter-of-factly. “To that little carnivore, you’re basically a human charcuterie board.”
Is this guy for real? I’m trying to be understanding—after all, his face is starting to look like a lumpy marshmallow slowly expanding to twice its size—but the overt negativity, coupled with the unsavory imagery, is becoming irksome. Still, I can’t walk out, no matter how badly I’m tempted. My only hope to put us both out of our misery is to gethimto end the date. And soon.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say casually. “My cats are perfectly harmless.”
“You have cats?” He gapes at me in horror like I’d just sprouted a tail and whiskers.
“Yep! An even dozen. There’s Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen.” I tick off the names of my fictitious cats on my fingers, then realize I’m running out of reindeer. In a panic, I add the first names that pop into my mind. “And Justin, Joey, JC, and Lance.” As if it isn’t bad enough that I’m lying to the man, I embarrassingly rattled off the band members of NSYNC.Shoot. Except, I forgot Chris Kirkpatrick. Oh, well. A baker’s dozen might have been pushing the bounds of believability.
“I, uh, didn’t realize you had so many cats.” He shrinks back in his chair and looks as disgusted as if I’d just coughed up a hair ball.
“They’re all angels. I think you’ll really come to love them. You know, as soon as you get your shots.”
“M-my shots?” he stammers.
“Uh-huh,” I say brightly. “Weekly shots. In your tushy. But don’t worry, you only need to get them for, like, three to five years.”
His eyes bulge, and I’m starting to feel a little bad for my charade, but he still hasn’t left, so I pull out one last stop.
“What do you think, Whiskers? Do you want Sebastian to be your new daddy?” I lift the adorable kitten into my arms and nuzzle her face.
“I, uh, forgot,” Sebastian says quickly, “I promised a friend I’d help him move today.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I frown. “Should we reschedule? You can come over to my place and meet the kids.”
He must be visualizing a dozen ferocious felines feasting on his lifeless body, because he scoots his chair back so fast it topples over and clatters against the floor. The commotion startles the nearby cats into a hissing hysteria, which sends Sebastian running for the door, wielding his briefcase like a shield.
