“I have to get whatever this is out, before it moves again, so … watch out.”
Before I have the chance to contemplate running into the living room and dive bombing onto the couch, he pulls the tile down, and dust explodes everywhere.
Coughing, from the onslaught of insulation falling out I jolt when something smacks into my chest.
I scream, ready to lodge the thing off of me when I hear the tiniest, most pitiful meow.
“It’s a kitty!” I exclaim in surprise. It comes out sounding more like kittaaay. I see big blue eyes and dusty oatmeal fur before I hug the kitten to my neck.
Jamie steps off the toilet lid, sets down the tile he cut out, and rubs drywall dust and insulation from his hair. “A cat?”
“A kitten.” I hold out the fluffy furball proudly so he can see. “My ceiling gave birth.”
He frowns at the kitten. “It’s dirty.”
“She’s perfect,” I croon, cuddling the squirming kitten to my chest. I don’t even know if it’s a girl, but it feels like she is.
“You’re not keeping the cat, Miranda,” he growls in warning. “Animals are not allowed.”
I jut my bottom lip out. “I should get special privileges. I am fucking the landlord.” I wink at him while petting the kitten on the top of her fluffy head. To the cat I say, “How’d you even get up in my ceiling?”
Jamie sighs, scrubbing his hands down his jaw. “Its mom probably got on the roof somehow and this one got separated.”
I hold the fluffy puff out at arm’s length. “You can be the Beta to my Alpha. The Fettuccine to my Alfredo. Ooh, that should be your name, Fettuccine.”
Jamie groans. “You’re not keeping it.”
“No, of course not,” I assure him. “I’ll take her to the animal shelter tomorrow.”
“Mhmm.”
He doesn’t believe me. He’s right to be wary. No way am I willingly giving up this cat. It feels like some sort of sign. If a kitten falls from your ceiling, clearly it’s chosen you, right? The wand chooses the wizard, after all, so can’t the cat choose the cat lady?
“I promise,” I tell him, crossing the fingers of my left hand behind my back. “Fettuccine will be out of here before you know it.”
Sure, I won’t be able to keep this a secret forever, but hopefully I can come up with a way to persuade him later.
His eyes narrow and I hope to God my nose isn’t twitching, because I’m in deep shit if it is.
“You shouldn’t name it. Names lead to attachment.”
“You shouldn’t call me sweetheart. Nicknames show a kind of fondness,” I mock playfully.
He leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling as if he’s begging it for answers.
“Between you, Toby, and my mom, I’m headed to an early grave.” I grin widely at him as he lowers his head and looks at me. “What?” he asks with confusion.
“You called him Toby.”
“Dammit,” he curses, bending to move the tile out of the way. “Don’t tell him I slipped up.”
Petting the cat, I lean my hip against the counter. “Ooh, blackmail. I won’t tell if you let me keep the cat.”