Page 43 of Rewrite the Rules

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling for a couple hours.”

“I was napping.” I grab the bag of chips off the ground. The impact must’ve broken the bag because as I lift, Cool Ranch dust is sent all over the hardwood entry.

“You don’t nap.”

When my mind is spinning because the girl I’ve been pining over for two months straight pulled a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde on me last night, my solution is cardio. I woke up this morning and punished myself on the treadmill logging four more miles past my normal stopping point. I needed a nap. So what?

I shrug. “I was tired. Anyway, how was the drive?” I fetch the handheld vacuum from the hallway closet.

“Just peachy. Twenty-six hours trapped in a steel box with a vicious beast. Denver is going to have to keep me because I’m not making that return trip anytime soon.”

It takes about ten seconds to vacuum up the mess I made yet somehow Cody caused. “Denver may keep you.” I hold up the broken tortilla chip bag. “I may not.”

Cody’s face turns down into a vexed grimace. “You’re going to change your tune after you see what I did for you.”

I head to the kitchen to grab a water bottle out of the fridge. The cold drink coats my mouth and throat, energizing me, and forcing the last sleepy remnants of my nap to fade away.

“What did you do for me?” I ask to no one because Cody didn’t follow me into the kitchen.

A new set of footsteps—more like a soft gallop—sounds from the hallway. I don’t have time to question it further because to my extreme surprise and delight Felices leaps onto the kitchen counter and pulls me into a hug by digging his massive paws into my shoulders.

“Felices! Heyyy, buddy.” I smile so wide it physically hurts.

My magnificent boy has put on at least five pounds since I’ve seen him last which doesn’t sound like a lot, but if he gets any larger people will start mistaking him for an actual jaguar.

“How the hell did you get Juliana to give him up?” I ask Cody as he makes his way into the kitchen keeping a safe distance from Felices.

“Oh, I didn’t. Sasha helped me steal him. Brilliant woman. She came up with the whole plan and because he’s not allowed in Manhattan, Juliana can’t say or do anything without risking getting kicked out of the apartment.”

Felices forces his way out of my arms, hops off the counter, and nuzzles against my leg. He’s about as tall as three tabby cats stacked on top of each other so his wet little nose presses just below my kneecap as he uses my shin as a brushing post.His purr vibrates across my feet letting me know he missed me too. I squat down and Felices rolls onto his back immediately to demand a belly rub.

“My funny little buddy who thinks he’s a dog,” I coo.

“Do y’all need a private moment?” Cody asks, unimpressed. He thinks my obsession with Felices is odd, but I’m sure he would not blink twice if my cat was a dog.

“I thought Sasha and Juliana were best friends.” I ignore Cody’s prior comment. He will forever live in my good graces for pulling this off.

“They hate each other now. I don’t know—women…I don’t even…whatever. But the real question is how the hell you’re going to hide him. He’s massive.”

Felices will probably near thirty pounds by the end of the year. He looks more like a jungle predator than a house cat. Hiding him is necessary seeing as it’s illegal to own F-1 Savannah cats in most metro cities. Including Denver. I am normally a rule follower to a tee. This is my one exception. No one is in danger and I take great care of my big baby. And, if my cat is intimidating it’s only his looks. As for his personality? He once cowered, then hid from a miniature poodle. It was not a proud cat dad moment for me.

“I’ll do the same thing I did in Manhattan,” I say simply.

“You’re going to pay everyone off to keep their mouths shut?”

Yup.“No, I’m going to calmly explain that he’s really not that different from a normal house cat.”

Cody snorts obnoxiously. “Okay, let me know how that goes. That thing is a monster.”

I tap Felices’s nose. No, not my little guy.You’re no monster, are you?

“He plays fetch and likes belly scratches for God’s sake. You used to get your shit rocked daily by three-hundred-pound linemen and you’re scared of a cat?”

“Not scared. Just common sense tells me never to turn my back to that thing.”

“Can you stay with him while I go get some supplies? I’m guessing you didn’t bring his toys or his litter box?”

Cody’s expression flattens. “He doesn’t need a litter box. The fucker has the back seat of my truck for that. No need to buy a scratching post either.”

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