Page 27 of Moonshine Kiss
I winced. That cat was exactly the kind of hellion Scarlett Bodine would be attracted to. She stood there entranced, peering through the cage door. The kitten, sensing an audience, launched himself at the front door of the cage, mewling plaintively.
“I’m more in the market for a fat lump that I have to pick up to vacuum under,” I told her. But Scarlett was still staring at the kitten with a mix of adulation and longing.
June sneezed and blew her nose. Though allergic to cats, my sister had insisted on helping me choose my first pet.
“Why don’tyouadopt him?” I said to Scarlett, stepping around her to stare into the next cage.
Bonded pair, read the sign.
I couldn’t imagine a stranger pair. One cat was gray and black and looked to weigh about twenty pounds. He was too lazy to open both eyes to observe me. Instead, he settled for one. The other cat was a skinny, long-legged tabby that alternated between licking its own butthole and biting the tip of its tail.
“You could name the large, handsome one George,” June suggested, peering over my shoulder. She sounded like she was pinching her nose closed.
“George?” I asked. The larger of the cats not obsessed with his butthole lifted his head, made eye contact with me, and yawned.
“George Thompson, more commonly known as GT Thompson, the most consistent receiver in the league.” Some women crushed on shirtless models on Instagram. My sister preferred to admire a man’s football stats.
I chewed on my lip and wondered if I was committing to this cat lady lifestyle too early. Maybe I should go on one more date? Or maybe I should ask Bowie for one more slow dance…
No! I couldn’t spend the rest of my life thinking maybe someday.
“I’ll take them,” I decided. I’d given up on Bowie a long time ago and didn’t need to open that box or door or whatever the hell it was again. One dinner and a steamy slow dance did not mean a man was interested. And it sure as hell didn’t mean I had to be interested either.
George was gazing at me like he could see into my soul. He sneezed, making his younger, skinnier partner freak out and jump across the cage floor. The little one shot me an accusatory look and then immediately flopped over on its back to view me from upside down.
“I can’t bring a cat home,” Scarlett lamented. “We don’t have room for Devlin’s shoe collection, let alone a whole entire cat. Where would I put his food dish?”
“Y’all want to meet any of the cats?” Maribel Schilling, a part-time volunteer at the Meow Meow House, asked, sticking her beehived head in the doorway.
“I’d like to meet these two,” I told her.
“What the hell? Gimme a shot at this guy,” Scarlett decided, pointing at little Lucifer, who was violently attacking his tail while sitting in his water dish.
“You want one, June Bug?” I asked.
She sneezed four times in a row. “Cats are too independent. The ideal pet is a potbellied pig.”
“A pig? You’re going to make a tolerant man very confused someday,” I predicted.
Maribel led us into the meet and greet cat room. This room had a big bay window and a half dozen armchairs.
“Have a seat, y’all. We’ll be back with your fur babies.”
“Do you have any pigs?” June asked.
“Sorry, pumpkin. Just kitties here.”
June blew her nose noisily and flopped down on a pink-checkered armchair. “She said ‘your’ to make you feel obligated to complete the adoption. She’s assigning ownership. It’s basic psychology.” She sneezed three times in rapid succession. The tissue pile on the arm of her chair was growing rapidly.
“Why the sudden need for cats anyway?” Scarlett asked, pacing back and forth like an expectant parent.
I sighed and perched on the rolled arm of a recliner. “I’m giving up, y’all.”
“Giving up on what? Not being covered in cat hair?” Scarlett asked.
“Dating. Looking for Mr. Right. Or even Mr. Semi-Okay and Tolerable,” I announced.
Scarlett stopped mid-pace. “You can’t give up. You’re only twenty-six years old.”
