Page 57 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“Enormous?” Kent cradles Sweetums’ face in his hands and then returns to running his palms up and down his stomach. “Maine coons are the largest domesticated cats. And Sweetums, well, he’s super-sized.”
For a brief moment, the cat looks at me, and before I can scream, run, or set the place on fire, he flips over and crawls toward me.
“Kent, I don’t really like … ”
His paws land on my thigh. Plump and hairy, the pressure of his body creates an indentation in my joggers. As he purrs, the sensation travels through my pants. My entire body vibrates and hums under him. When I work out, I can easily manage twenty-five-pound dumbbells, but out of nowhere, the same weight becomes an overwhelming burden. Sweetums peers at me, his eyes a deep amber, and his nose twitches.
“What is he doing?” I ask.
“Checking out his competition.”
“I’m not competing with a cat.”
“No, but he doesn’t know that.”
Kent leans over and begins petting the back half of the cat. Sweetums’ rear rises at his owner’s touch, and he immediately headbutts my bicep.
“He likes you. Well, your arm. You do have great arms,” he says.
“Flattery isn’t going to distract me from the filthy creature currently walking all over me.” Usually, I’d take deep breaths to center myself, but there’s no way I’m consuming massive gulps of air in such close proximity to this animal.
“Sweetums is very clean. He gets a bath every day. Sometimes twice a day. And I brush him weekly,” he says, burying his face into the cat’s back. Kent’s face. Kent’s lips. That I’ve kissed.
“You bathe him?”
“No, he bathes himself, right, Sweetums?” Kent lifts the cat off me and returns him to his lap. “I think Vincent has had his fill for now, buddy.”
My body relaxes, but only the tiniest bit because while he may not be on me, he’s still only a foot away. I haven’t located Kent’s bathroom yet, and the need for a quick scrub down overtakes me.
“Can I … ” My head darts around, searching.
“Of course. There’s a guest bath right off the kitchen,” he says, pointing. “You don’t want a shower, do you? Because if you did, that’s fine. I’m happy to get you a towel. A toothbrush. Whatever you need.”
A momentary calm washes over me as my heart slows down. He appears completely unfazed by the situation. By me. By my need to flee and scrub myself.
“No, I’m good, just want to wash up after the … ”
“His name is Sweetums. He won’t hurt you. I promise.”
My chin takes a nosedive and I hurry to the bathroom. My brain knows people have animals. My dad and his damn goats. People love their pets. Sleep with them. Dress them up like lumberjacks for Halloween. My mother sent me a photo of one of the goats wearing a crown and tutu. I think it was supposed to be a princess. Or queen. My dad was kissing it on the snout. The filth. The grime. The contact with an unclean beast.
Kent wouldn’t make me do anything I’m not comfortable with. Deep breaths. After triple scrubbing my face, hands, and arms, I return. Sweetums has fallen asleep next to Kent. With his head nestled on Kent’s lap, his stomach slowly rises and falls with each breath he takes.
“He’s down for the count once he’s eaten and gotten a little love.”
“Well, I should go,” I say, eyeing the door.
“Oh, sure. If you need to go, of course. I really appreciate the ride home. Didn’t think out the whole water, wine fiasco, and then spending the night at your place when I asked you to pick me up. But if you wanted to stay, I mean, I can make you some toast. Plain. We could just chat until I need to pick up Lia. I can put Sweetums in the bedroom if you want.”
Do I need to go right now? No. The unfamiliar place. The clutter. The germs from having a living animal inhabiting your home. But Kent’s face. His sweet smile. That beard. The way he held me all night long like the bed was the ocean and I was his life ring.
“I can stay for a little. Sure.”
Sitting as far as possible from Sweetums (and Kent by proxy), I do my best to remain still and focus on Kent’s face and not the hibernating cat next to him.
“There you go, see, he’s harmless. Maine coons are known for their friendly temperament,” he says. Sweetums stretches out his long body, his paws flexing and retracting. “And for their silliness.”
“I’m not really an animal person.”
