Cuddly Behavior

by L A Witt

  Mark rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his eyes, something I hadn’t thought him capable of doing before now. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “You’re not supposed to be lifting more than ten pounds,” Ryan shot back. “I can carry her.”

  “Then how will you catch me if I fall?” Mark asked sarcastically.

  “With grace and dexterity and a lot of swearing, probably.” Ryan held up her harness and leash. “Compromise?”

  Mark looked a little annoyed—probably at being outmaneuvered—but also a little grateful. “Fine.” He harnessed Harley, and she jumped off his lap and onto the floor, ready to go. Andreas bent down to scratch her right beneath the chin, and she closed her eyes in kitty ecstasy. I pet behind her ears, a notoriously safe spot, because the last thing I wanted was for Mark to see her claw me, then braced myself and stood up straight.

  “Thanks again,” Mark said. “Really. It was a big help.”

  “We were happy to do it,” Andreas replied.

  On that interpersonal high note, Mark and Ryan left. Andreas shut the door behind them. I expected him to head to the kitchen for a beer, but he just stood there staring at the wood for a long moment. I tried to ignore the tightness in my throat as I said, “You can admit you love her. I won’t even hold you to the bet.” He didn’t say anything. “I mean, Harley was obviously exceptional and I’d never expect you to feel that way about just any cat, but maybe after some time and when you’ve had the chance to think about it a little, you might want to—”

  “Oh my God, stop,” Andreas growled as he turned around to look at me. His eyes were suspiciously red. “Stop it, for fuck’s sake, fine. Fine. We’ll get a cat.”

  And that was a tacit admission of love. Damn, I was good at this. I wrapped my arms around Andreas’s waist and kissed him, gentle and reassuring. All his squishy parts were safe with me. Especially the ones that ended with us having a cat of our own.

  “I know just the place to look.”

  Chapter 7

  Andreas

  It was almost three months before Darren and I had a chance to visit the Humane Society that Mark had apparently recommended. The unpredictable nature of our jobs was what it was, and it wasn’t all that surprising when a triple homicide had us out of bed at two in the morning. We’d transferred to homicide earlier this year after spending several months on low-key cases just to get a break from the chaos that had resulted in both of us doing stints in the hospital, and a roller coaster of boring paperwork and balls-to-the-wall investigations dominated our lives. It was a good thing we were partners at work as well as at home, or we’d probably never see each other during busy stretches like this.

  During the frenetic early days of the investigation, I’d wondered if maybe this was a sign we shouldn’t have a pet. Definitely not a dog—even if our landlord allowed one, we’d never be home enough to walk it and give it attention. Cats could fend for themselves longer, but still, was it fair for us to get an animal if we were going to be gone this much?

  But during the brief periods when we could sleep, if Darren was too restless for me to pull him close, I found myself searching for that lump of fur, and I’d just found an empty pillow. Despite Harley only spending two weeks with us, her absence was jarring. Without even realizing it, I’d gotten used to whiskers in my face and the low rumble of her purring when I petted her in the darkness. It had become comforting, and now that I needed that comfort, it was gone.

  Christ, when had I become this sentimental over cats?

  And when I’d run into Mark at the precinct, I’d asked him how Harley coped with him—and now Ryan, apparently—being gone all the time. He’d chuckled and showed me a live feed from a webcam he left in his living room. Harley was stretched out on a bed he’d attached to a windowsill, basking in a sunbeam and clearly not giving two flying fucks that her human staff was gone.

  “She’s a cat,” he’d said dryly. “She’s always happy to have me there and waiting on her hand and foot, but as long as she’s got a window where she can watch birds, plenty of food and water, and some toys, she couldn’t care less if I’m there.”

  Huh. So maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, getting a cat even when we weren’t there all the time.

  And that was why, once our investigation had calmed down and we were in the weeks-long holding pattern of the toxicology and DNA labs, Darren and I pulled up to the Humane Society on 75th Street. We’d already cleared it with our landlord (apparently shelters had a policy of calling and asking), and we’d picked up some cat supplies. All we needed now was a cat.

  “At the risk of being the pragmatic one this one and only time,” Darren said on the way in through the front door, “I don’t think we should get a kitten.”

  “Agreed.” I didn’t know much about cats, but if kittens were half the pain in the ass that puppies were—no.

  A receptionist signed us in, and we followed her into a long room lined with cages stacked three high. “If there’s a cat you want to visit with, just let a staff member know.”

  Once she’d left, we looked around.

  “We have to pick one?” Darren whispered. “I want to take all of them home and—”

  “One, Darren. We can—don’t turn those puppy dog eyes on me. We’re only getting one.”

  He huffed, shoulders dropping in a pouty move I was pretty sure he’d learned from Emily. “Fine.”

  Chuckling, I put a hand on his waist and kissed his cheek. “Come on. Let’s pick one.”

  As we wandered from cage to cage, I could see why he thought choosing one was daunting. They were all pretty damn cute.

  “Good God,” Darren muttered. “Who picks these names?”

  I snorted. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.”

  “I’m kind of amazed you haven’t said anything about it. I mean—Ricky and Lucy? Really?”

  I laughed, and okay, he had a point. The sleeping ball of orange and brown fluff in front of me had been dubbed Fi-Fi by someone who’d apparently run out of ideas.

  Behind me, Darren gasped. “Oh my God. Andreas. Look at this one.”

  I turned around, and my eyes immediately went to the creature in the cage in front of him: sitting up straight and tall was an enormous long-haired black-and-white tuxedo cat with a Charlie Chaplin mustache and a look of disdain that would have made Harley say “Hey, chill.”

  The cat glared down its nose at me, and I was instantly in love.

  Stepping closer, I said, “Oh. Wow. He’s—”

  But then I realized Darren wasn’t looking at the black-and-white tower of spite. There were two cats in the cage, and the second was lounging up against the door, watching Darren carefully pet her through the bars. Her coloring was similar to the other, except with an all-black face, white whiskers, and a white chin. She peered at Darren as if to say yes, human. You may pet me.

  I looked back and forth between the cats. “Uh…”

  He glanced at me. “What? You don’t like her?”

  “Oh, she’s cute. But…” I gestured at the other.

  Darren shifted his attention to the other cat, and he chuckled. “Why am I not surprised you’d go for the one who looks like he should be working in IAB?”

  I snorted. “What? He doesn’t look like Mark.”

  “No, but he kind of looks like an asshole who’s suspicious of every move anyone makes.”

  “Uh-huh. So the question is…” I gestured between them. “Do we get—” I glanced up at their name plate, and had to roll my eyes. “Do we get Cagney or Lacey?”

  “Oh my God. Cagney and Lacey? Seriously?” He shook his head, but then turned his pleading eyes on me. “You have to admit—kinda seems like fate for a couple of cops.”

  I groaned. “One cat, Darren.”

  “Okay.” He turned a challenging look on me. “So which one?”

  Well, that was a good question.

  “Why don’t we have someone take them out of the cage so we can see what they’re like?”
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  Minutes later, we were in a back room littered with cat toys, and two staff members put Cagney and Lacey—Christ, really?—on the floor. One of them left, and the other—Carly—hung around to keep an eye on us and the cats. She also briefed us on the two of them. They were both females (which I supposed I should’ve known from their names), about three years old, and spayed. They were vaccinated, and microchipped, and had recently been surrendered by a family who were having a baby and didn’t want them anymore. I somehow managed to withhold my opinions about people who abandoned pets like that, and just focused on the cats.

  Lacey was the disdainful one who’d caught my eye, and she watched us with a mix of contempt and curiosity as we sat on the floor beside her and her sister, the more chill Cagney. Cagney sprawled between us, and her expression said we were permitted to pet her. Lacey stayed just out of reach, but she still seemed interested in us in her own aloof way.

  Darren could charm anyone, and apparently Cagney was no exception. In under a minute, she was rolling around and letting him scratch her belly. When he trailed a toy in front of her, she flailed for it and purred loud enough to shake the building.

  I turned my attention to Lacey, who was still watching me. “You’re not a friendly one, are you?”

  “She’s a little aloof,” Carly admitted. “She’s not mean, and she doesn’t scratch or bite, but she’s not really sure about people, so she—”

  Right then, Lacey got up, marched across the floor, and parked herself in my lap. She didn’t curl up or lie down, though. Instead, she stood up on her hind legs, put her front paws on my chest, and looked straight into my eyes.

  “Um. Hi.” I glanced up at Carly, whose mouth was still open after she’d stopped midsentence.

  Facing the cat again, I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but she was not a small cat, and her back paw was digging uncomfortably into my leg. I hesitated, but then decided to hell with it. Carefully, I put my arms around Lacey, and…

  … and I’ll be damned if she didn’t wrap her paws around my neck, tuck her head under my chin, and start purring.

  I kind of froze.

  So did Darren.

  So did Carly.

  Cagney didn’t really care—she kept batting at the toy Darren had been waving around for her.

  “She’s, um…” Carly cleared her throat. “She’s never done that before.”

  “Wow,” Darren said. “I think she likes you.”

  “Uh-huh.” I absently petted the cat who was hugging me like a little kid. Then I met my husband’s eyes. “Darren. I want this cat.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” His gaze drifted to Cagney. He started petting her, and apparently Cagney decided that was her cue to get into his lap. She didn’t crawl up on his chest, though—she curled into a ball on his crossed legs, still purring loudly, and kneaded the air with her upraised paws.

  Darren met my gaze, puppy dog eyes activated.

  Cagney purred. Lacey purred.

  Beside us, Carley quietly cleared her throat again. “You know, they’re littermates. They would probably be happier if they were kept together.”

  Darren shrugged, scratching the belly of the blissed out cat in his lap. “You were concerned about a cat getting lonely while we’re at work.”

  I shifted my gaze from Carly to Darren to Cagney to Lacey. I wasn’t winning this one, was I? But the only way I could win was to convince Darren to walk away from the cat who was clearly melting his heart right in front of my eyes. I couldn’t do that to him, and I was ready to beg him not to make me leave behind the creature currently Velcroed to my chest.

  With a defeated sigh, I turned to Carly. “Do we at least get a bulk discount if we take two?”

  She smiled. “You do, actually. Should I go get the forms?”

  “Yeah.” I stroked Lacey’s back. “Go get the forms.”

  She left, and I turned to Darren. If my heart hadn’t already melted, it did right then and there because I hadn’t seen him smile like that since our wedding.

  “You serious?” he asked. “We’re getting both?”

  Nodding, I sighed again, though I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Yeah. We’re getting both.”

  “I would absolutely come over there and kiss you, but…” He gestured at Cagney.

  “Yeah, well…” I gestured at Lacey.

  He laughed, tousling Cagney’s belly fluff. “Our daughters are going to lose their minds. You know that, right?”

  It still kind of made me weak when he called Erin and Emily our daughters, and now he was getting all heart-eyes over this cat while I did the same over the other. Goddamn. Much more of this and I was going to end up crying into Lacey’s fur. She’d probably hate that, which made me love her that much more.

  Cagney and Lacey weren’t Harley, and there was a part of me that would probably always miss that cantankerous gray thing, but now we were taking these two home. I might have to thank Mark for taking that bullet, which would probably annoy him (so yeah, I absolutely had to do it).

  Lacey fidgeted, let go of my shoulders, and made circles on my lap with absolutely no regard for my space or how heavy she was. Then she flopped down, rested her chin on my knee, and wrapped a paw around my shin. With a big, satisfied sigh, she relaxed, and though she didn’t purr nearly as loudly as her sister, she had a low, steady rumble going as she snoozed in my lap.

  I met Darren’s eyes across the cats. He smiled. So did I.

  And what could I say?

  Cat-sitting for Mark for a couple of weeks had been one of the best decisions we’d ever made.

  About the Authors

  Cari Z. is a Colorado girl who loves snow and sunshine. She writes award-winning LGBTQ fiction featuring aliens, supervillains, soothsayers, and even normal people sometimes

  Cari has published short stories, novellas and novels with numerous print and e-presses, and she also offers up a tremendous amount of free content on Literotica.com, under the name Carizabeth. Follow her blog to read her serial stories, with new chapters posting every week.

  Want to follow along or get in touch? No problem!

  Website: http://cari-z.net

  Email: carizabeth@hotmail.com

  Twitter: @author_cariz

  L.A. Witt and her husband have been exiled from Spain and sent to live in Maine because rhymes are fun. She now divides her time between writing, assuring people she is aware that Maine is cold, wondering where to put her next tattoo, and trying to reason with a surly Maine coon. Rumor has it her arch nemesis, Lauren Gallagher, is also somewhere in the wilds of New England, which is why L.A. is also spending a portion of her time training a team of spec ops lobsters. Authors Ann Gallagher and Lori A. Witt have been asked to assist in lobster training, but they "have books to write" and "need to focus on our careers" and "don't you think this rivalry has gotten a little out of hand?" They're probably just helping Lauren raise her army of squirrels trained to ride moose into battle.

  Website: www.gallagherwitt.com

  Email: gallagherwitt@gmail.com

  Twitter: @GallagherWitt