Page 66 of Hold the Pickle
But then it’s Greyson who straight up launches himself over the top. I catch him with both hands, my palms stinging from tiny baby cat claws.
“Back in you go.”
Greyson mews at me, probably using some kitten-curse words.
The lock jiggles as Dalton inserts his key. I know that sound well by now. So do the cats, as they look up at the door expectantly.
I inhale sharply as my anticipation peaks. My heart actuallyleaps.
Should it be doing that?
It doesn’t matter.
It’s doing it whether or not it should.
The aroma of hot pizza reaches me before I see his face.
He’s brought dinner?
The door opens only a crack. “Is it safe to avoid escaping cats?” he calls.
Greyson is sneaking over the wall of the crate. I lift him off and set him next to his siblings. “All clear!”
Dalton enters quickly, holding the pizza box over his head as if the cats could reach it.
The smell does something to them. Mama Cat abandons the bed to weave between Dalton’s legs.
Catzilla hops down after her to sit at his feet.
“Apparently our kitties like pizza,” I tell him.
“I see that.” He steps carefully across the floor, trying to avoid errant paws. Both cats follow closely.
“You stopped for food?”
“I thought it would be too crazy to cook. And if you had, we would have something to heat another time.”
My chest flutters like someone blew a dandelion inside of it. He thought of us, of me. “I haven’t had a moment to cook at all.”
“Then we can eat it hot.” He sets the box on the bar and the two older cats immediately hop up to investigate.
“Cattarina!” I cry, standing to pull her down.
Dalton laughs. “She’s motivated.” He picks up Mama cat. “Or maybe MC Catter, Can’t Touch This, is a bad influence.” He lifts the kitty to his nose. “Are you, now?” He sets her on his shoulder and strokes her back. “So skinny.”
“That will take some time, especially if she keeps letting the babies nurse.” Both Greyson and Ferris have escaped the crate. They are getting too strong to stop, recovering much faster than their mother.
“Into the litter box,” I tell them, lifting both and scooting toward the bar. I set them both inside, letting them sniff so they start to understand what happens there.
Greyson already gets it, letting a stream of pee fly into the litter.
Ferris takes a bite.
“Ferris!” I lift him out and clear out his mouth. “That’s for pooping, not eating!”
Dalton laughs. “They’ll figure it out.”
“Greyson just peed in there!”
