Her eyes widen, and she jumps from the chair, sending it flying into the wall behind her. “No!” she exclaims. “We can go upstairs!”
I’ve reached her now. “Good,” I mutter, then I bend, scoop, and lift. “Hold on tight, love.”
Her arms wrap around my neck as I carry her up the stairs and to the closest room with a couch—the meeting room.
I lay her out on the green sofa and quickly follow her down, landing kisses along whatever skin I can reach as I fall. “You’re so perfect,” I praise. “Prepping for our marriage kitten. Nosing around my home. Finding your way to Ted and not being disgusted by what I’m doing to him, but by him complaining about it. Pilfering in my computer until you found cameras, then watching me.” I groan against her throat. “My princess. My love. Made for me.” I kiss her jaw, then her lips.
“I love you,” I say with my words.
I love you,I say with my hands.
I love you,I say with my body.
I love you,I say with my soul.
“I love you, too,” she pants back, clinging to me so ferociously that if I had ever doubted it, I’d know myself to be wrong.
“One hour,” I mumble, threading my hands through her long, soft hair. “One hour, and then we have to decorate the catio.”
She moans what could be an agreement or could be a plea for me to shut up and keep kissing. Either way, I oblige.
?
Three hours later, Sarelia and I sit disheveled on the catio floor putting together cat trees by the light of a single lantern hanging in the middle of the ceiling, out of cat-reach. Beneath us rests a large jute rug covered in several smaller, less abrasive rugs in various shades of blue and yellow—colors we discovered in our research that cats are best able to see. Scratching posts line most of the wooden frames of the room, and tiny hammocks hang in the corners. Along the house wall, I’ve attached a network of shelves for our cat to climb and explore.
Two cat-proof chairs sit unassembled in boxes against the door, waiting for us to be done with the trees. Once put together, we will have only to discard boxes and packing materials, and then our job today will be done—just in time for dinner, which Sarelia does not yet know will be specially-made bentos from Rosie.
Today has been a long, exhausting, exhilarating, splendid affair.
“I hope she likes it,” Sarelia says after tightening the last bolt on the bright blue tree she’s been putting together. She tips the tree upright, then slides it to the corner that’s been waiting for it. “And us.”
“She?” I ask, placing my tree opposite hers in the space. “You want a girl?”
She nods, cheeks blossoming sweet rose. “I do. If we find a boy we like, I won’t be upset, but I’ve been thinking of her as a girl.”
I grab the boxes holding our chairs and move them to our work space in the middle. “I don’t have a preference,” I reply. “So long as they enjoy a little mischief. Heidi and Basil’s cat tears up their toilet paper regularly and has learned how to open their cabinets to get her treats out to gorge herself.” I grin. “That’s the sort of cat I’d like. Intelligent and troublesome.”
Sarelia laughs. “I hope that we get one that likes to cuddle, at least sometimes. One of my neighbors growing up had a cat that you wouldn’t have even known existed if it weren’t for the food disappearing twice a day and the litter box needing to be cleaned. His owner said he liked it that way. They co-habitated fine.” She grimaces. “I would hate that. I want a little friend who wants me back.”
I smile gently, digging chair pieces out of a box. “You want to found family the cat.”
She shrugs. “Wearefound family-ing the cat by the mere process of adopting it. What I want is for the cat to found family us back.”
I pass her the directions to the chair, and she recites the first step to me. As I follow, I say, “She’ll love us. And if she doesn’t, we can resort to what Stryker did to make his crotchety cat love him.”
“What did he do?” she asks, brows raised.
I picture the huge Garfield-like cat in my mind and snort. “He bribed him with copious amounts of wet food and treats, giving him cat diabetes.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I think we’ll keep that as a last resort.”
“Probably for the best,” I agree.
We finish putting together the chairs in peaceful silence after that, only speaking when it’s time for Sarelia to give me the next instruction. When they’re done, we set the round, yellow chairs in the center of the rug facing the yard, then we gather up all of the boxes and packing materials scattered around the room.
I pause by the door to the house, admiring our work. “You did amazing.”
Sarelia blushes. “You did all the hard stuff. I just… bought things.”
