“No!” the woman shrieked. “Don’t scratch the couch, my love. Use the scratching post . . . darling.”
She always spoke to him this way. Adding some strange little sweetness to her voice at the end, as if that would get him to fall for her.
He’d heard of those tricks.
And dammit, it was working.
He was falling for his captor.
Such weakness was unacceptable.
He was not the kind of a cat who just . . . gave in.
Who enjoyed humans.
What would the other cats think? If they knew he’d allowed her to stroke his fur, to scratch his chin, to touch his belly? If they knew he’d once gone an entire week without eating a houseplant? Or worse—why.
He hadn’t wanted to upset her by vomiting it up.
He’d refrained. To make her . . . happy.
For so long, he’d tried to deny the lure of the human. But that was getting harder, especially as she bent down next to him, scooped him up, and carried him to the scratching post. Trouble was, she was so warm and so kind.
“Use this, my love. I got it for you.”
He scratched the post, notating the day in his cell, but then, as she stroked him, he feared he’d already forgotten how long it had been. Her touch was strangely enjoyable.
Against his will, he felt a rumble in his throat.
What was that?
A purr? Dear God, he was purring. For his jailer. This was so wrong on so many levels, yet when she carried him to a plush bed in a ray of sun, he flopped onto his back and accepted her attention.
“Oh, you look so handsome like that.”
State the obvious, much?
Of course he looked handsome. That was his J-O-B.
“Your stripes look fabulous. I should take a picture. I bet Logan would find it amusing.”
She sighed, tapping her finger against her lips as she held the device above him.
“I can’t send him a cat photo though. I mean, that would be wrong, right? Or would it be right? Maybe cat photos are acceptable? It’s been almost a week in the same office with him.”
He stared at her, daring her to take his picture, then did something thoroughly uncharacteristic. He stretched for her, posing just so.
This was his best side.
He would look good as he languidly gave her a view of his full, lush body.
“Ah, look at you! It’s like you’re posing. And you look like a handsome devil. I’m going to send this right now. I’ll title it When your cat poses for the very first time. There. Sent.”
She scratched his chin, and oh, dear Lord, that felt good. So good he might stop coughing up hairballs to irritate her. This was better than trying to taunt your captor. So much better.
“Oh! Look. He replied already. And he sent us a picture of Queen Of Tofu. Oh, and she is a stunner. Check her out.”
She thrust the device at his face.
Oh.
Oh, yes.
Meow indeed.
Hello, lady cat.
He flipped to his belly, stretched his arms over the edge of the cat bed, then crossed them. It was a charming pose. This lady cat would likely be quite taken with it.
Surely he looked like an elegant, modern cat.
The woman snapped another picture. “That is literally the best picture ever of you. He’ll love it. And this is what I’ll say: Logan, I’m not sure what’s come over Bruce today, but he seems to be posing. Perhaps your cat inspired him? There. I sent it.”
A few seconds later, she clutched her device with excitement. “Ooh. He wrote back. He said, What if our cats are secretly communicating with each other through some underground cat network that we know nothing about?”
With another stroke of his fur, she spoke again. “Obviously. There is no other explanation.”
15BRYN
There is nothing wrong with texting my boss.
There is nothing wrong with sharing cat photos.
I repeat this mantra as I walk to work on Friday morning, one of those people. Yep. I’m the distracted walker. The ped-text-rian with her head bent over her phone, laughing, unable to tear her gaze away.
As I stroll down my block, Logan and I continue to chat about cats.
Bryn: This might sound crazy, but have you ever thought of entering your cat in a cat photo contest?
Logan: Is that a thing?
Bryn: IS THAT A THING?
Logan: Did you just shout at me?
Bryn: I did, and you deserve it.
Logan: Why do I deserve it?
