Page 14 of Hold the Pickle
Maybe they’re already in love!
It’s also possible he hasn’t seen her yet. Catzilla is extremely skittish with anyone but me, so if someone enters the room, she hides until she’s comfortable.
Maybe she’s been under the bed the whole time.
I draw in a steadying breath, then unlock the door.
It’s dark inside, the blackout curtains drawn and the lights out. My rectangle of sunlight hits the floor in front of the sofa, and … what is that?
A head. Dalton’s head is on the floor.
I rush inside. Is he okay?
He lies on his side on the beige carpet, his head resting on one arm. He’s not in scrubs this time but baggy shorts and a blue T-shirt.
I drop to my knees next to him. “Dalton?” I shake his shoulder.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and my heart lurches. “Dalton?” I say more urgently.
He rubs his eyes. “What’s going on?”
Now I’m mad. I slug his shoulder. “What are you doing on the floor? I thought you were unconscious!”
“I was. What time is it?”
“Ten-fifteen. I thought I would beat you home.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working at the deli?”
I stand up so that I tower over him. “I came to talk to you.”
“About that?” He thumbs behind him, and in the shadowy gloom of the bed, I spot Catzilla on the pillow. She’s pretending to be asleep, but I know better.
The jig is up. I close the front door and turn on the light.
Now Catzilla lifts her head. She opens her mouth, but of course there’s no sound. It’s a little eerie when she does that, but I’m used to it.
“Is that a Transformers bedspread?” I ask, turning back to Dalton.
He yawns. “Yes. And your cat, or whatever that thing is, took it from me. Have I only been asleep for thirty minutes?”
“I thought you wouldn’t be here until eleven at the earliest.”
“They turned us loose.” He rubs his head, making his hair stand up. “I only have twelve hours off, though. I need to go back to sleep.”
“On the Transformers bedspread?”
“Optimus Prime makes a good bedfellow.” He lifts himself up onto the sofa. “I guess I could have tried to make this work.” He lies down, his head on the armrest. He doesn’t come close to fitting, his knees drawn up so his feet don’t hang off. “Nope, that sucks.” He sits up again.
I lift Catzilla off the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cattarina the Great ahead of time. I planned to tell you on the way to the car, but then you got caught up in a conversation with Evan.”
“Cattarina? That’s what you call her?”
“Catzilla for short.”
“What is she?”
“A Maine Coon. She’s big, I know, but she’s very sweet and she can’t meow. She’s very neat?—”
