“That cat likes you and you like it." Lydia looked at the collar. “His name is Felix.”
“I didn’t —” I started, then stopped. “I’m not intending to adopt a pet.”
Lydia smiled, the kind that suggested she knew better but would not press yet. “You are very obvious when you forget to be guarded.”
“I am not guarded,” I defended myself.
She raised an eyebrow. “You are professionally guarded.”
That was probably fair, I decided as I petted the cat.
“It says here Felix is a senior cat whose owner had to give him up when he went to the nursing home. Felix is calm, mostlysleeps, and enjoys the occasional pet. He prefers being alone but does okay with other cats but not dogs,” Lydia read from the character sheet on the cage.
“Hi Fellix,” I greeted the cat softly before standing up. “I can’t have a cat right now.”
“Why not? He likes you and you like him,” Lydia observed, coming over to give Felix a pat on the head.
“My house is currently uninhabitable,” I continued. “The furnace quit so there is no heat. I can’t have running water because the pipes will freeze again. It would be irresponsible until I have all the repairs done.”
Lydia nodded.“Correct.”
I blinked. “That isn’t what I expected you to say.”
She smiled. “You don’t need to adopt a cat today. Or tomorrow. Or even this year.”
I frowned slightly. “You are being suspiciously reasonable.”
“I’m being accurate,” she replied. “Wanting something does not obligate you to take it before you are ready.”
“I’m not—” I stopped, then corrected myself. “I suppose I’m thinking about it.”
Lydia’s smile softened. “I think you and Felix would make a great team.”
The certainty in her voice caught me off guard. I turned to look at her fully, something unspoken hovering between us.
Chapter Seventeen: Atlas, Daisy, and Moose
Lydia
The cat room had a way of swallowing sound. Even with the shelter’s general buzz outside the door, everything in there felt muffled, softened by carpet and quiet paws and the constant expectation that you should speak gently.
Which was lovely. It really was. I liked cats. I liked the way they decided what they would allow and what they would not. I liked the way Ephram had tried so hard not to look like he was thinking about adopting one and had failed spectacularly.
But if we stayed in there too long, he was going to start overthinking again. I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, the mental checklist forming about saying the correct thing and not embarrassing his boss.
I needed to get him out of his head before he stiffened up again.
“Okay,” I said, slipping my phone into my coat pocket. “We’re switching sides.”
Ephram blinked. “Switching sides?”
“Dogs,” I said.
His expression did something small and controlled, like his face was deciding whether it was permitted to have an opinion. “The dog side is… louder.”
“People like dogs,” I told him and walked toward the door before he could argue.
Ephram looked faintly alarmed that anyone would be enthusiastic about this. I tried not to smile.
