Page 9 of Pickled
“I’m surprised we didn’t get pulled over for noise violations.” I wrestled the yowling fluffball from the crate, and he nestled into my arms. Now, the only feline sound was the purr of the car’s engine as Gideon shifted gears. The kitten was relaxed, but I wasn’t. I found myself checking his breathing every few minutes, the vet’s warning about him being underweight running through my head. I was anxious to get him settled and eating.
Gideon parked the car and ran to the front door, pushing aside the frond of a large potted palm to open it.
The house was basically the same as the Lockelhursts’, but Gideon’s felt like a snowman had chosen all of the paint colors. My employers had bright and ostentatious taste, bordering on tacky, but it was a lot more welcoming than this white-on-white color scheme. I kicked off my sandals, the shock of the cool marble floor sending shivers up my bare legs as I followed him into the living room.
“What if we set him up next to the couch?” Gideon put the crate on the floor and folded a towel to place in the bottom.
“Are you planning on sleeping down here with him?” I asked, already picturing Gideon curled up on the pristine white sofa.
“No, I sleep upstairs, in a bed.” His right eyebrow arched.
“An actual bed? Not a block of ice? It looks like the Night King fromGame of Throneswas your interior designer.”
The other eyebrow lifted. “Whoa there, design police. I just moved in, but now that you mention it, I need to call the ice bath people and have one installed in the backyard.”
My eyes flickered around his room, falling on the rattiest recliner I’d ever seen. “Do you live with your father and a Jack Russell terrier?” I wasn’t sure if he was old enough to get theFrasierreference, one of my mom’s favorite shows, but a smile spread across his face.
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to make that joke, but no. It’s just me here.”
The kitten yawned and blinked, then, remembering he had been kidnapped, or catnapped, tried to wriggle out of my arms. “He needs to be near you tonight. I thought you said you had cats growing up.” Anyone who had raised a puppy or kitten knew that the first few nights were almost as bad as having a newborn. Almost.
“Whoa.” Gideon held up his hands. “I did have cats growing up—barn cats, and they were tough as nails. When it got really cold, we would put heaters in the barn, but other than that, the cat population was controlled by the elements and predators.”
For someone who seemed smitten with the kitten, his response was uncharacteristically cold, like he was purposely trying not to get attached. “Let’s get him some food and set up everything he needs in your bedroom. Once he gets used to that space, you can let him explore more of the house.”
“This cat isn’t moving in here. This is only temporary.” The kitten squeaked as he yawned, and Gideon rubbed his ear. “That was kind of cute though.”
This was so not temporary. I could see it in the way he smiled at the cat. “Well, last I checked, you don’t have a barn next to your pool and future ice bin, and this little guy is going to need some TLC.”
“I’m sure whoever he belongs to will be able to give him that care.” Gideon walked into the kitchen and set the bags of kitten swag on the counter. What do you think, should he eat off a plate or out of a bowl?”
I tried to hide my smile as he took each option from the cupboard before settling on a side plate. He recoiled as he opened the can of soft food. “Oh. God. This stuff stinks.” Gideon held his breath as he mashed the food onto the plate with a fork, adding some water as the vet tech had suggested. “I’ll feed him down here. There’s no way I’m letting this get on the floor in my bedroom.”
“Have you got carpet in your bedroom too?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Who the hell thought that was a good idea?”
The carpet in Mr. and Mrs. L’s room was pristine, but it was vacuumed every day. Mrs. L liked the vacuum lines to be visible,just like her husband liked perfect lines mown into their lawn. “Is yours pastel pink?”
He rolled his eyes. “Worse, it’s stark white.” He set the plate on the floor and filled up a bowl with the formula mixture. “I’ll probably install hardwood. Or…” He grinned. “Maybe after a few more months in Florida, I’ll be into pink flooring and tropical drapery.”
It was an accurate description of the Lockelhursts’ bedroom. Only their silk curtains featured flamingos, not greenery. My carriage house apartment had a tropical theme, too, but in much more practical materials like raffia. “Look, he was hungry.”
The dish clattered as the kitten nudged it across the floor. “I’ll wait to give him some more. I don’t want him to eat himself into a coma,” Gideon said.
“That’s a good idea. Where do you want to install the cat tree?” I tried to hold in my smile.
“That tree is going home with his owner when he shows up.”
The kitten sniffed along the floor and then rushed back to us, curling up on Gideon’s feet.
“Let’s get him set up next to your ice block,” I said.
He reached down and picked up the kitten. “You mean my bed?”
“No.” I shook my head, and his brow furrowed. “I mean the cat’s bed.”
“Alright.” He let out an exaggerated groan. “Come on.”
