Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
I tried to get pets on the blundering mess who were more interested in the lump of human play palace that had landed in their midst than getting love as I asked, “They’re good roaming free?”
“They have separation anxiety, unsurprisingly. I created zones in the house. I heard your car come up, I moved them to their zone for the landing.”
I glanced up at him and saw he was pointing at plastic coated wire barriers that were blocking the cats, and he and I, into their zone.
“When I move rooms, and I’m going to be there for a while, I move their bed and their things. As they get older, their zones will get bigger. For now, we keep it pretty tight.”
“Every time you move rooms?”
He shrugged. “They’re getting better. But if I’m out of sight, and they notice, they start crying.”
“What do they do when you sleep?”
“We had no sleep Sunday night when they first came home. They were wretched. Scared of the dark. Scared of a new place. Light didn’t help. Being in their carriers scared the shit out of them, which isn’t surprising after that box. Setting them up in my room where they could see me didn’t work either. Last night started much the same. So I got in their zone with an air mattress so I could sleep on the floor with them. They settled. I slept. It was a win-win.”
Now my chest wasn’t feeling funny.
It was just my heart.
“You slept on the floor with them?”
“I’ll give them a few nights of that, then we’ll be weaning them off it too. They’ll get used to warmth and safety and food, and I’ll probably wish I had an excuse to keep them locked in their zones again.”
He’d slept on the floor with five kittens.
This man was just…
He was just a good man.
“Keep them occupied, will you?” he asked. “I’m going to check the kitchen zone and make sure it’s still good.”
“I…sure,” I agreed.
He strolled off.
I watched with no small amount of fascination as he hitched one long leg, followed by the other over the fence that made the landing zone, rather than moving it so he could get through.
The kittens were still enthralled with the opportunity for thigh-aided somersaults and tumbles into a lap that I afforded.
For about twenty seconds.
They then noticed Tom wasn’t there, and it was Ace first who broke off, trotted toward the kitchen and started keening.
Venus went next, Serena followed, Nala and Boris weren’t far behind.
I got to my feet and scooped up Nala and Serena, which took their attention, but they still mewed pathetically.
Tom reappeared, things quieted a bit, and he claimed Ace, Venus and Boris.
“Follow me,” he ordered, and at hearing his voice, the noise stopped altogether.
After he set aside the barrier so we could get through, I followed him.
There was a large, caged-off area in his fabulous kitchen, angled so the cats could see him if he was working behind the island, or anywhere. It was filled with a plush cat bed, a mess of a few blankets, all of this on top of something that was plugged into the wall, so one of those blankets gave off heat. Completing this were an abundance of toys, and a sturdy bowl of water kittens couldn’t turn over.
Down went Ace, Venus and Boris.
I put down Nala and Serena.
They all sat on their behinds and gazed up at Tom in a way I didn’t hesitate.
I pulled my phone out of my bag, quickly activated the camera, made my adjustments, shifted into position to fill the frame as I wanted it and snapped ten shots.
Tom strolled to the island while I did this.
The cats’ eyes followed him.
I kept shooting.
“Wine or a cocktail?” he asked.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked back.
“Spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread and salad.”
It was good I brought a red.
“Wine,” I told him.
The cats were now wandering to various things of interest in their space, so I scrolled through the pictures I took.
I named the series immediately.
“Hero Worship.”
“Normally, we’d eat outside. Enjoy this weather and the firepit. But for the kids, we have to eat at the counter,” he told me.
The kids.
“That works,” I replied, dumping my bag on the island.
He was pouring from a bottle already opened, and I saw he had his glass close by.
His wineglasses had a curved edge at the bottom of the full bowl, and they fit him and his aesthetic like they were purposely made for it.
When he handed my glass to me, I noted, “I like your house.”
“It’s getting there. I’ll give you a full tour later.”
“Getting there?”
He moved to the range. “Chloe, and a designer she browbeat into seeing her vision, set the stage. I thought I’d win Genny back. I didn’t have interest in where I lived until that happened. It didn’t happen, and I took an interest.”