I can’t.

But is that the answer I’ll give?

19BRUCE

Day 897 in Prison

What?

Who was disturbing his slumber?

Bruce had been training hard to sleep twenty-two hours a day. He’d surpassed twenty-one the other month and had closed in on twenty-two a few weeks ago.

He was enticingly near to making that mark today.

He barely bothered to open one eye, doing so only because he needed to know the enemy.

Ah, the woman.

The jailer.

The human he tried to resist.

She’d flopped down next to him on his bed. She liked to call it her bed, but he knew whose it truly was. His. The entire expanse of soft blankets and warm pillows belonged to him.

He’d commandeered it months ago, his first act of jailhouse rebellion, claiming it as his own, rubbing his body against it, leaving fur where he could.

Marking it all over.

“Bruce,” the woman said with a sigh, sliding a hand along his spine.

Ah, that was sort of . . . pleasant. Her hand felt exceptionally good.

“What am I going to do?”

Bruce hoped she’d pet him. She’d vastly improved her petting skills over all these long days of incarceration. She used to pet his belly, and he’d taught her quickly, with a few well-placed nicks and scratches, NEVER TO DO THAT AGAIN.

Fast learner, she now only stroked his back.

Purr-fection.

“He wants to tell HR. To be open. To try dating. And I want that. Truly, I do. But what if . . .”

What if she stopped stroking him? That would sadden Bruce immensely, so he amplified his noise-making device, using it to encourage her to keep it up.

Petting like this would put him back to sleep, and sleep was what he craved most.

Well, after trout.

And flounder.

And, admittedly, a grilled branzino. His mouth watered as he remembered the one she’d given him a few weeks ago. That was when he’d first started to curl up with her at night. After all, branzinos were branzinos, and he’d wanted her to know he’d appreciated the gift of adoration laid at his paws.

“What if it all comes back to haunt me?” she continued with a heavy sigh. “If it doesn’t work out, I’m just the woman who dated the CEO. Who slept with the boss. And he’s still . . . the boss. Nothing changes for him. It’s harder for women, you know.”

It’s harder for cats who can’t catch branzinos on their own. That was what was hard. Try not having access to a stream for fishing. Talk about misery.

She chattered on as she stroked his fur. “I told him I need to think about it. Maybe over the weekend. Because what if it goes south like everything did with Evan? That can happen, right?”

Evan. The word sounded so familiar.

Ah, Evan. That name she’d used for the wretched man she’d once lived with. That man, if Bruce recalled correctly, had been jealous of him. That Bruce was far more beautiful than any human could ever be was reason enough, but also, the woman liked Bruce, and Evan was jealous of a cat.

Well, that only made him smart. He should be jealous of a cat.

But Evan had never given Bruce a branzino. Bruce’s stomach convulsed at the memory of his long-ago jailer, of Evan’s selfishness in keeping branzinos only for himself.

Bruce leapt up, hacked several times, then proceeded to vomit up his dinner.

All over the covers.

There. That’d show her what he thought of Evan. That would answer her question.

“Oh, Bruce. You poor thing. I hope you feel better soon. Let me change the bedding.” As she cleaned up his sick, she sighed. “That’s obviously a sign that it could all go wrong. Relationships always do, don’t they?”

Bruce climbed up on the windowsill and licked his paw. Then, because he’d once seen her laugh when she watched a cat do this, he swatted a mug off the sill.

Crash.

The mug broke. Yes, that was satisfying too.

“Oh, brilliant!”

She snapped a photo of the carnage, stroked his back, and scratched his ears. She did seem pleased with him, and that was, he had to admit, growing more appealing by the day.

20BRYN

On Thursday I have meetings all day with our content partners.

As I zip around town, I think.

As I dart into meetings, I contemplate.

As I march down the sidewalk, I wonder.

The whole time I dip into the big ol’ bag of advice my mom left behind, fishing around for that one perfect bit of wisdom.

But I’m not sure which one to clutch, the go for it adage or the do the right thing motto.