by L A Witt
“She’s great,” I said, completely honest. “She’s basically the ruler of the entire apartment.”
“Sounds like Harley. No lost limbs yet? Any severed fingers or toes?”
I laughed. “Why, are you looking for something to do?”
“Some people are shy about admitting when a cat gets the better of them, so I thought I’d get it out of the way,” he replied. “I actually did have a patient almost lose a… body part to a cat scratch because he was so embarrassed over it.”
That was a suspiciously vague sentence. “Is this the kind of thing I want to know more about, or…”
“Nope,” he said earnestly. “You really don’t.”
Aaand that answered that question. “Jesus, how?” I marveled, standing up to go get myself a glass of water. “Why would you let a cat anywhere near all… that?”
“I don’t know, and he wasn’t telling.” Ryan cleared his throat. “Anyway, things are good with Harley? You don’t need more food, do you?”
“We have enough food here to get this cat through an apocalypse, we’re good,” I assured him. “Plenty of litter, too.”
“That’s great. Mark’s hoping to have her home by the end of this week, and the way he’s healing that might not even be unrealistic.”
“Oh.” Oh, that was… yeah, great. That was just… great. “That’s fast,” I said, water glass forgotten in my hand as I stared at the countertop.
“I know, I was surprised too, but I’m happy about it.”
“Of course.” Of course he was. And of course Mark was—naturally he wanted his kitty home where he could love on her. Who wouldn’t?
“We won’t know for sure for a while though, and it could be as much as another few weeks if something unexpected happens, but as long as you’re fine with that…”
“Absolutely. We are one hundred percent fine with that.” One hundred and ten percent.
“Okay, good.”
“Yeah.” There was a moment of awkward pause before I added, “Is there anything else?”
“No. Just…” He sounded like he was smiling. “Erin didn’t say anything about the two of you being such cat people.”
“Erin is a font of knowledge, but she doesn’t know everything yet,” I joked. Although quite honestly, I hadn’t known we were cat people before now. I hadn’t had any pets as a kid other than some fighting fish, and the only animal in Andreas’s life that I knew of was Scruffy.
“I guess not. Well, I’ll let you go. Mark or I will call about Harley later in the week, okay?”
“Sure thing.” We exchanged a few more pleasantries and ended the call, and I stared at my phone for a long moment.
Harley had apparently decided waiting was beneath her, and hopped off the couch to join me. She wound around my ankles, which was so cute, except when she tried to do it while I was walking. I reached down and picked her up, cuddling her against my chest. “What do you think?” I kissed the top of her fuzzy head. “Wanna make a break for it? Should we head for the border? Andreas could get us new identities, he knows some guys.”
Harley’s look was decidedly unimpressed. She pushed off my chest with her hind paws and a second later landed in a graceful crouch on the floor. I, meanwhile, was breathless thanks to her solid punch to my solar plexus.
“Smart, smart,” I croaked, rubbing my chest to take the sting away. “Just say no to a life on the run, got it.” I filled my water glass, then went back to the couch. Another half an hour of work and I could—
Harley was on my lap before I could even reach for the laptop, settling in with an air of smugness. “Excuse you,” I told her. “I’m working here.”
She butted my stomach with her head.
“Little pasha.” Maybe if I grabbed my laptop, I could sort of scoot her down and—
Her claws abruptly extended, going from gentle kneading to the edge of tearing in a second, and I swallowed. Maybe this was how the guy had gotten cat scratches on his… parts.
Eh, what the hell. My time with Harley was limited, whereas I would have the rest of my life to spend on paperwork. I closed the laptop and settled in for some kitty time.
Andreas came home an hour later, the aroma of burgers from our favorite diner wafting in with him. Harley immediately abandoned me. “Haskell is a fucking idiot,” he called out from the door. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of—oh, hey.” His tone changed from irritated to indulgent in a heartbeat. “Hey there, Harley. You want some burger? I bet you do, but it’s not kitty food, no.” Andreas walked into the living room a moment later, Harley purring in one arm, the dinner bag in the other.
“You keep her.” I got up to take the food from him. “I’ll get all this ready.”
“Okay,” he said easily, his eyes still on the cat against his chest.
Harley stayed with him, purring in his arms even once I walked off with the delicious, burgery goodness. I smiled a little bittersweetly as I pulled plates out of the cupboard.
Yeah, it was definitely love.
Chapter 5
Andreas
The gods favored no one—I’d been stuck in court all day yesterday, but this morning, Darren got called in for a deposition about a shooting during his time as a beat cop. Apparently he and his then-partner had both been involved (though neither had been the shooter), and with the city reopening dozens upon dozens of cases like that after Mark’s investigation, it was inevitable that we’d all get called in sooner or later as a matter of procedure.
I hoped plenty of dirtbag cops went down in flames over this, but I was confident that every time I’d ever had to use my weapon on someone—twice in all the years before I’d been partnered with Darren—they’d been good shoots. They’d haunted me for months and years after, but in both cases, I’d had no choice. Darren had only ever fired on anyone since he’d become a detective, which was also when he was partnered with me, so I could say without a doubt that he’d been similarly backed into a wall.
So for today, Darren was at the precinct, and tonight he’d probably want to relax as much as possible. He didn’t like thinking about those situations any more than I did, and I suspected he’d be having nightmares about them again tonight. We’d both take the flared-up PTSD, though, if it meant the city was truly making an effort to weed out cops who’d murdered civilians in cold blood. Especially the racist fuckers.
While Darren was getting grilled, it was my turn to stay home with case files and paperwork. I was making some steady progress, but even on the sofa where I usually lounged while I worked, I could not get comfortable. If it wasn’t a foot falling asleep, it was a cramp in my hip or some spasm in my neck or back. I just wasn’t used to contorting this much anymore. Not since the days when I’d tried desperately to study for exams or fill out forms while working around—and trying not to disturb—and infant or toddler.
With a sigh, I set my clipboard aside and glared down at my lap. Usually I’d have a cushion propped on my thighs, which put the clipboard at the perfect angle so I could work without fucking up my neck or twisting something in my back.
Usually.
Right now, though, I had one foot tucked under the other leg, and a certain fluffy someone was sprawled across my lap like she was trying to hold some dramatic pose for a painting. Her tail was still for once, stretched out across a neat stack of papers beside me, and her head was hanging over my shin while her paw held onto my thigh with just the tips of her claws hooked into the denim of my jeans. She almost looked dead, and I was about to poke her gently just to be sure I didn’t have to have an awkward conversation with Mark, but right then she did one of those huge full-body sighs she seemed to do whenever she was relaxed.
And since when had my lap become her bed of choice? And when exactly had I started allowing this?
There was a cushion right beside me that I’d designated as hers, and there was a sizeable dent in the middle—not to mention a layer of gray fur—that said she’d been using it. Plus she loved the pillow I’d con
fiscated from Darren in the name of keeping her furry ass from sleeping on my pillow. Or my head. I’d put up with her walking over the top of me to get to and from her pillow, and I’d grudgingly tolerated her habit of hopping up on one end of the couch and stomping across me to get to her cushion. Why she didn’t go along the back of the couch or just jump up at the right end, I had no idea, but arguing with a cat seemed pointless. At least she got out of my way quickly.
Or at least that was what she’d been doing.
But now we had this inconvenient arrangement of limbs and fur all over my lap while I for some reason twisted myself into knots to get my work done without disturbing her highness. Clearly that last part was just a habit from when my kids were little. Harley wouldn’t have a screaming tantrum if I jostled her and woke her up. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. Maybe I shouldn’t take that chance.
But that didn’t answer how she’d made it into my lap in the first place. Had I really been so lost in statements and forms that I hadn’t noticed fifteen pounds of cat claiming my lap?
And I was pretty sure I’d had my usual cushion in my lap earlier.
Craning my neck, I found the cushion in question on the floor, leaning haphazardly against the coffee table.
The sight of the cushion jogged my memory a bit, and reaching back through the brain fog from all that paperwork, I remembered her brazenly wedging herself between me and the cushion. Over time, as she’d shifted around and gotten comfortable, there’d been no room for both overstuffed fluffy things, so I’d given up, let the cushion fall, and held my clipboard in the crook of my arm so I could work while she slept.
“All right.” I tapped her back paw, which was jabbing into my side. “Time to move. My foot’s asleep.”
Harley lifted her head in a slow motion like it weighed twenty pounds, and gave me a look that reminded me of when Darren had had a few too many drinks and woke up hungover the next morning. Her fur was going everywhere. One eye seemed permanently closed while the other was like half open. Somehow she managed to seem both pissed off and smug, though now that I thought about it, those were both kind of her default expressions.
With an enormous yawn, she started to stretch, and I jumped when “stretching” included digging her claws into my thigh.
“Whoa! No, no, no.” I popped her claws free. “Let’s not.”
Harley jerked her paw away like I’d offended her, but apparently cats didn’t understand physics very well, and she forgot that she was half hanging off me and that gravity was a thing.
She fell backwards and flailed, which was funny right up until the part where I remembered how cats kept themselves from falling—with their claws.
She went one way. I went the other. When all was said and done, I was on my feet and she was on the floor, sitting primly while my papers drifted down onto the carpet beside her. As forms settled beside her paws, she glared up at me and swished her tail, kicking up some of the papers again. Then, of course, she started licking one of her paws as if this whole thing bored her.
I inspected a scratch on my arm. It wasn’t bleeding and didn’t hurt all that much. There were some pinpricks on my legs, but they didn’t seem to be bleeding through my jeans, so presumably they weren’t serious.
I glared down at her, and I swore she seemed to be smiling. I just rolled my eyes, picked up my empty coffee cup, and went into the kitchen.
I’d barely started pouring a refill when Harley bumped against my legs. She was a big enough cat she almost made my knee buckle.
“Are you trying to murder me, cat?”
Another bump. Now she was purring audibly.
“That’s what I thought.” I carefully stepped around her, pulled the milk jug from the fridge, and started back toward the counter, but Harley immediately jumped up and put her front paws on my leg. I stopped dead. “What?”
Keeping one huge paw on my leg, she used the other to bat at the jug.
“What? This?” I held it closer. She tried to grab it and nearly succeeded in knocking it out of my hand. I lifted it out of her reach. “Nope. Sorry. This is for my coffee. Not for you.” As I headed for the counter, she dropped back to the floor, but she didn’t give up. I’d barely started pouring milk into my coffee before she put her paws on the cabinet door again and tried to swipe at my wrist.
“Harley. Get down.”
She got down. She... actually got down.
And oh. God. In that moment, I discovered something more manipulative than puppy dog eyes—cat eyes. Especially coupled with purring. And now she was kneading too, her claws making little clicking noises on the linoleum.
“Sorry, cat.” I shook my head. “I can’t give you any.”
More kneading. More purring. The kitty eyes intensified. How was that even possible?
I glanced at the milk jug again. Then back at her.
She lifted a big gray paw and pawed at my leg. No claws, just very insistent pawing.
“Look, I’m sure you… I can’t just give… It’s not good for…”
The purring got even louder.
Christ, it was like trying to explain to my youngest why she could only have one cookie, and my husband, ex-girlfriend, and ex-wife all thought it was hilarious how easily Emily could always con that second cookie out of me.
And why was I even hemming and hawing about this? She was a cat. An annoying cat with no respect for personal space, a penchant for breaking shit, and—
Harley stood on her hind legs again and reached for my sleeve. Still no claws. Still more purring. Still those damn eyes.
With a heavy, resigned sigh, I let my shoulders sag and I reached down to scratch behind her ears. She butted her head into my palm.
Cats liked milk and cream and stuff, didn’t they? Wasn’t that a thing? But I thought I’d heard that wasn’t good for them.
Okay, she obviously knew what was in the jug, so she must have had some before. Was it that bad for her?
I nudged Harley back to the floor, took out my phone, and did a quick search. As I did, Harley stood up on her hind legs again and tried to reach for the milk. She almost got it, too, so I slid it out of her reach.
My search revealed that milk wasn’t great for cats, but a small amount was okay. Sighing, I unscrewed the cap, poured a little milk into it, and then dipped my finger in it.
“You bite me,” I warned, “I’m throwing your treats away.”
Then I offered her my hand. She stood up, wrapped her paws around my hand (no claws), and delicately licked the milk off my finger, purring so loud I wouldn’t have been surprised if the neighbors heard.
She sat back on her haunches, licking her chops, and looked up at me expectantly.
“That’s all you get.”
Oh fuck. She added a head tilt. A fucking head tilt. It was bad enough Emily had picked that up from Scruffy. Now Harley was doing it and… and…
I sighed. As I dipped my finger in the cap again, I shot her a pointed look. “Don’t you dare tell my husband about this.”
She just purred.
The sound of a key in the front door jostled me out of… Was that a dream, or had my mind just been wandering? Well, either way, I was awake now. When the hell had I fallen asleep?
I blinked a few times, absently running my hand down Harley’s back.
Harley.
Because I was lying on the couch, and Harley was sprawled on my chest, a paw stretched out over my shoulder and her head tucked under my chin. I was pretty sure she was out cold, too, though she did start purring quietly as I petted her.
I tensed as the second lock on the door clicked. Oh hell, there was no rearranging myself or the cat before Darren came in and—
He froze in the doorway, mouth open like he was about to say something. He blinked. I groaned.
On my chest, Harley shifted a little, stretched, and burrowed deeper under my chin. I thought she might’ve drooled on me too.
“Not a word,” I grumbled to my husband.
“Not say
ing a thing.” A camera shutter snapped.
I glared up at him. “Are you taking a picture?”
“I’m taking”—he snapped two more—“several pictures.”
Rolling my eyes, I flipped him off. Of course, he took another.
Darren pocketed his phone and came around behind the couch. “I knew you two had become friends, but I didn’t think she’d distract you from your work with some cuddling.” He reached down and scratched her shoulder, which prompted even more purring. Harley lifted her head and looked up at him, then yawned.
“Oh God.” I winced away from her. “Your breath is almost as bad as his morning breath.”
“Hey. Shut up.”
I laughed, grabbed his tie, and pulled him down. “You deserve it for taking pictures of me pinned down by this creature.”
“Pinned down. Uh-huh.” He kissed me. “You were petting her when I came in, and you both look completely comfortable, so don’t act like—”
“Shut up.” I pulled him down again and kissed him harder.
Darren grinned against my lips.
Then the cat shifted a little, and Darren broke the kiss with a laugh. “Excuse you, kitty. That’s my tie.”
Harley batted at it anyway, and… Goddammit. She was pretty cute, and watching her and Darren playing was fucking adorable.
As he dragged the end of his tie along the back of the couch and let her chase it, he looked at me. “So I see you two are getting along.”
I grunted. “More like I gave up on trying to work with her getting in the way.”
“Uh-huh. So you just gave up on paperwork and surrendered to cuddling with the kitty.”
“I’m not—”
“Andreas. Come on.” He made a sweeping gesture at me and the cat, but before he could add whatever smartass thing he planned to say, she went after his hand. Which was funny aside from the part where she used most of my internal organs as a springboard.
“Oof. Jesus, cat.” I patted her side. “I can see why your dad didn’t want you near his stitches.”
“Her dad?” Darren grinned. “Aww, you’re—”