Page 109 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“I’m not falling in love with a cat, Beatrice.” Mike sips his coffee. I mean, water.
Mitzy daintily walks between the buttons again, stopping to press both Friend and More.
“Oh my goodness, Mitzy.” I laugh. “You’re relentless.” Can’t say I blame her.
“Mitzy?” Mike sets his cup down and bends to look the cat in the eye. “Are you asking for a new friend? A Mitzy-size friend?”
She struts over and pushes the Mitzy button. She then kicks the More button with her back paw. And Mitzy again.
“You want a buddy? A kitty buddy?” Oh my stars. The cat can actually communicate!
“A companion,” Mike corrects. “Her Highness wants a companion. Is that right?”
The cat meows and scratches the More and Mitzy button a few more times.
“Are we talking about a second cat?” I ask.
Mike strokes Mitzy, who has settled in his lap. “Yes, I think she’s advocating for additional feline companionship.”
The cat starts kneading Mike’s leg, and I get up to stop the video there.
“And here I thought she just wanted treats. That’s adorable, Mitz.” And slightly heartbreaking. Mitzy is lonely. I download the video and pin it to Mitzy’s account. “You mind if I at-you in the comments?”
“Fine,” Mike says, not looking up from the large ball of fur in his lap.
I grab our mugs and head into the kitchen.
“I can do that,” Mike says, getting up.
And I don’t know how it happens. I’m at the sink one minute, and he’s behind me, taking the mugs out of my hand. But I don’t move. I stand there. His arms aren’t around me, but I know they could be in an instant.
If we weren’t just friends.
Gently, Mike sets the mugs in the kitchen sink. “You’re crying, Bea.”
I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. “I’m not.” I sniff. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry.” He swallows.
I look up into his honey eyes, and it’s a mistake. I feel myself free-falling.
Mitzy’s phone starts vibrating like it is possessed. The cat hisses and darts to the back room.
I grab Mitzy’s phone and check the notifications. “Your coffee chat is going viral, Mike.”
More. Mitzy. Friend. More. More. More. Mitzy. Friend. More. More,is playing in the background.
“And yours haven’t? Mitzy is a sparkling conversationalist. Vulnerable. Sincere. Witty.”
“There’s a lot of crying emojis…and prayer hands.”
The garage door slams open. “Where is he?” Cheryl demands. “At MikeBenedickTXCA—where is he?”
Before I can defend Mike, Cheryl runs at him, grabs him in a hug, and starts sobbing. “Thank you! I knew she was in a funk for ages. We’ve run all sorts of tests. Bought the stupid buttons and…” She’s sobbing hard. “Of course. Of course this house needs another cat.” She lets go of Mike long enough to pick up her cat, who bolted back into the kitchen when she heard the garage door. “Mitzy, honey, let’s go find you a new best friend.”
“A new friend,” Mike corrects. “You’re her best friend.”
Cheryl smiles, blinking back tears, and then bursts into more sobs. “Bring him back, anytime,” she says to me. “Anytime. Come on, Princess Mitz. Let’s make some phone calls.”
