“I thought you wanted a puppy,” Trent said.
“But we already have Ketchup. I’ve never had a cat before. They’re so small and cuddly.”
“Do you remember Murphy?” I asked, thinking of my sister’s late one-eyed cat.
Andi nodded. “His picture is still on the mantel. Aunt Rimmel loved him a lot.”
Travis made a sound and went into the kitchen to stand in front of the fridge with the door wide open.Tell me you don’t pay the bills without telling me.
“Cats shit in a box,” he announced.
“Seriously, Travis?” I warned. “Your mouth is worse than any litter box.”
He made another sound.
“Travis,” Trent said quietly.
Travis pushed the fridge closed and turned. “Sorry,” he apologized. Then, “What I meant was cats use the bathroom in a box.”
Andi raised her hand. “I’ll clean it.”
“Like h—” Both T and I fired a look at him, and his lips pressed together. After a second, he tried again. “I’m not letting my sister clean up poop with a plastic shovel. I’ll do it.”
I held in a laugh. Every man in this house was wrapped around her cute little finger.
Andi’s face lit up. “Really?”
Travis sighed, turned back to the fridge, and opened the door.
“Same thing was in there the last time you looked,” I told him.
“So can I?” Andi asked. “Pleeease?”
Trent smiled. “As long as you give it a better name than Ketchup.”
“Hey, that’s a good name.” I defended.
Andi squealed and patted Trent for him to put her down. “I’ll go get dressed!”
“Thought you wanted apple cider!” I called after her.
“I do,” she yelled back.
I shook my head and went into the kitchen to put water on to boil.
Trent wrapped himself around me from behind, and I turned my face to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a good dad,” I told him quietly.
Ketchup raced into the room, slid over the tile, and knocked into his water bowl. Water sloshed all over the floor and on thebaseboard of the island. He just kept right on going over to the back door where he barked.
Travis abandoned his extensive study of the inside of the fridge and went to let him outside.
Trent pulled away from me to push the door shut and point toward the island when Trav came back. “Sit,” he ordered. “I’ll make eggs.”
“Bacon?” Our son was hopeful.
“And toast,” Trent confirmed.
I poured a fresh cup of coffee, added a little creamer, and plucked the egg out of T’s hand to replace it with the mug. “I’ll crack. You whisk.”
