Page 8 of Pack Scratch Fever
“Yup.”
“Absolutely not,” I growl. “I amnotdealing with that. That’s not my problem.”
She continues to look at me, unimpressed. “Whatever you say. Maybe this is a random kitten that ran away from home, who knows. They thought your garden was a buffet.”
I scoff. “I don’t havetimeto deal with that. Can’t you come out and handle it?”
There’s a tiny part of me that wouldn’t mind having her out to our packhouse. I could imagine her in the backyard, and I could show off my herb garden…
I sound ridiculous. Who the hell cares about an herb garden besides me?
Especially after I’ve been such a dick to her.
“It depends if we have the time,” she says. “And you don’t even know if you have any more cats, so just call us if that happens.”
“So, you can’t just send someone to come out?”
“We’re a charity, not a business, you know that, right?” She asks, her button nose scrunched up in displeasure. Her words are tired, and I’m sure this isn’t the first time she’s had this conversation with someone.
“I’ll pay you. I’ll make a donation,” I try.
The last thing I need is to find another kitten somewhere.
Or hear Avery and Maddox demanding that we keep it.
“Just call us if you find more,” she says. “Then, we’ll go from there.”
I scowl, but she holds my gaze, unbothered. The kitten squirms in her arms, its tiny paws reaching out to me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, then turn and leave, doing my best to ignore her sweet lemon and mint scent.
I’m never going to see her again after this.
And even if I were interested in her, cats definitely aren’t my thing.
“I can’t believeyou got rid of Snow,” Avery grumbles as I step through the front door of the packhouse. He’s sitting on the couch fumbling with his camera while his laptop rests on his thighs.
“Who?”
He looks up at me, his eyes narrowed. “Snow. The cat.”
Leave it up to Avery to become immediately attached. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Why wouldn’t I? The rescue took her in. They’ll take care of her.”
“Wecould have taken care of her,” he says. “There’s no reason we couldn’t keep her.”
“There’s no reason weshouldkeep her,” I argue. “Pets take up time and energy we don’t have.”
I can tell he wants to argue with me, but he shakes his head instead.
“Yeah, well, I got some good pictures of her before you stole her away,” he mutters. “Something to remember her by.”
“You don’t need to be dramatic. The guilt trip isn’t working.”
But it kind ofis.
I didn’t even give my packmates the option to keep her. After the kitten ate her food, I scooped her up, ignored her bright eyes and snuggles, and gave her to someone else.
“There’s no reason for us to not have a pet,” he argues. “She just waltzed right into our lives, and you rush her away.”
