Page 67 of Unravel Me

“I’m not fucking getting her a cat. It starts with one, next thing you know I’ll have five cats and three dogs and I’ll be sleeping by myself on the couch.” He jabs his friend in the shoulder. “You’regetting the fucking cat, douchewaffle.”

“Uh…right, so…” I thumb toward the cat den. “Cats?”

“Yeah,” that tattooed one says, shooting a feral look back at his friend. “But we’re just browsing, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” That’s how it always goes, mostly, and then they’re back a week or two later, just to see if the cat they fell for is still here. Then a couple days after that, and another day after that, this time with adoption paperwork, a crate, and a brilliant smile to take their new friend home. We have one of the highest turnover rates in Vancouver. Our cats are rarely here more than a few weeks, unless for medical reasons. Archie says it’s thanks to his cats in hats photo sessions.

Piglet and I lead the way to the cat den, and as the men’s hushed whispers trail behind us, I’m fairly certain they’re talking about me.

“It’s definitely her…pink hair…no, dude, he didn’t say it wasallpink, he said it had pinkinit.”

My hand goes to my hair, curling around the rose ends. For a moment, I wish I blended in with the cream-colored walls.

“She heard you, dipshit. Now she’s gonna think we don’t like her hair.”

A throat clears, and I glance back, ears heated, as the blond man offers me a kind smile. “Uh, I like your hair. It’s really pretty and unique.”

His friend’s head bobs. “Yeah, and super cool. It suits you.”

My shoulders inch away from my ears, and my hand falls from my hair. “Thank you.” As I step into the room, Piglet yanks me toward a cage full of kittens. They’re her favorite, rambunctious and full of love, and they’re feral for her.

“Holy fuck.” The blond pokes his finger through the gated door, and a tiny black fluffball attacks it. “Look at this cutie.”

Tattoos rolls his eyes. “As if you’re not adopting a—oh my fucking shit.” He stops in front of our newest arrival, a giant ball of white fluff with a few strategically placed orange blobs, like the ones on all four paws and around his right eye. “Who’s this squishy marshmallow?”

“He doesn’t have a name yet. He just came in a few days ago. He was left behind when his owners moved out of their apartment, so we don’t have any documentation on him.” The cat flops over when I open his cage, paws in the air, belly on display. The man steps forward without hesitation.

“Oh shit,” he chuckles, ticking his belly. “You’re a cute little fucker.” Lifting one paw, he frowns. “Is it just me, or does he have too many toes?”

I nod. “He’s polydactyl.”

“Poly-what’ll?”

“Polydactyl,” I giggle, watching as he hoists the cat into his arms like a baby. “He’s got an extra toe on each paw, but it doesn’t impact his life.” I scratch at his chin. “Just more of you to love, huh, bud?”

“It’s like he’s wearing mitts. Huh, buddy? That’s what your name should be.” He buries his face in the cat’s belly, and the cat mewls, licking the man’s wavy hair. “Mittens.”

The blond snickers. “Mittens? Wow, big, tough Jaxon.” His mouth opens on a silent scream as his friend’s fist lands square against his shoulder, and he clutches the injured limb while slapping at his friend’s face. “Ow, you donkey!”

The cat—Mittens?—hisses and swats at the blond. The man—Jaxon?—hides his smile in his fur. “Good boy, Mittens.”

I grin at them. “You two would make such a cute couple.”

Jaxon pulls his mortified face from Mittens’ belly. His friend’s jaw drops, and he steps back.

“No, but I—I have—Jennie’s my—I have a Jennie!”

Jaxon gestures at him with one flail-y arm. “And I’m way hotter than him!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“I’m a huge upgrade for you!”

Jaxon shoves a finger in his shoulder, and the cat hisses and swats at him again. “You’re a fucking downgrade, bud! Mittens thinks so too! And Rosie. Rosie, tell him!”

I cock my head, frowning. “How do you know my name?”

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