“That’s not nice,” I scold them.
The two look up at the screen and lick their lips. “And guess who I caught about to poop under the rug…” Janis adds.
“Moonshine…” I say in a warning tone. “I thought we talked about that…”
“No. Not Moonshine. You guys have been blaming the wrong cat all along. It’s Muffin. I caught her with my own two eyes.”
Brinley’s eyes widen. “No way. You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I was.”
“You really saw Muffin do it? I’ve never been able to catch the offender in the act, so I just assumed.”
“That’s what you get for assuming,” Janis says. “I saw her paw back the corner of my rug, spin around, and move to take a dump. I screamed, of course, since it was terrifying, and she took off down the hall and went right to the litter box.”
Brinley and I look at each other. “Wow,” I say.
“Seriously,” she says back.
“Okay, lovebirds. Give me a quick view of that place before you go, will you? It looks like you’re in your own private heaven out there with all those flowers.”
Brinley comes to a stand and circles in place holding the phone out so Janis can see. That’s when I remember.
“Oh,” I say, hopping to my feet as well. I’m quick to unbutton the top shirt I’m wearing so I can reveal the undershirt I wear beneath. I stand in the camera’s view and lift my arms to either side. “I wanted to say thanks again for the wedding gift. I love it.”
I glance down to admire the Number One Cat Dad shirt she got me, complete with cartoon images of both Moonshine and Muffin.
“You know that was just a gag gift, right?” Janis says.
“Not to him, it’s not,” Brinley assures. “He wears that thing like it’s a trophy.”
“You’re dang right, I do,” I say. “I earned it.” I squint so I can see the cats on her lap. “Didn’t I, you two?”
“Wow, doing baby talk with cats now?” Janis says. “That’s sad.”
I laugh, but only because I know she’s right. “Well thanks for taking care of them. And if you want Moonshine to stop swiping your popcorn, you’ll have to speak a little baby talk yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Go…get busy, you doting little newlyweds.”
“Bye, thanks again for watching them,” Brinley says. Once she’s got the phone back in her pocket, I reach into my own back pocket and retrieve something I’ve been dying to show her.
“I’ve got a little surprise,” I say.
Brinley looks at me leerily, which I admit I deserve since I do like to joke. But this—she’s going to love.
I turn away from her to unfold the page, grinning as a rush of nostalgia floods in. “You ready?”
“I guess…” she says.
I spin in place and wordlessly hold up the list so she can read it.
Brinley gasps. “Our Italy Wish List!” She gingerly takes the page from my grip and brings it closer to her face. When I found the thing in an old memory box a few weeks back, I could have done backflips fueled by the joy it brought. The moisture in Brinley’s eyes says it does a similar thing for her.
My grin turns as wide as the Colosseum as she runs her fingers over it gently, lovingly. “I can’t believe you found it. There are the lip-liner grapes,” she says with a head shake. “And your Olive Garden-inspired addition in green crayon,” she adds with a laugh.
“I’ve actually got a few of the items—the gelato and pizza class included—booked for next week.And,”I’m happy to add, “the wine tasting at the vineyard we liked best.”
“You do? Oh my gosh, I can’t wait.”
