@NicoleandCocoa25:
Don’t know your situation or what kind of client you have, but if you’re both single, there’s an easy solution! ;)
@pawsforlife42:
I swear this is a Maine Coon thing, and my cat fell in love with our mailman and climbed into his truck once. DO NOT LET YOUR CAT OUT OF THE HOUSE.
@footballislife1:
As a pro football player, I feel like I should warn you: this is exactly how groupies start. Next thing you know, your cat's going to be waiting outside with a sign that says "marry me" and wearing your client's jersey. Block him on Instagram now before it gets weird.
@jedthefish:
Use a squirt bottle whenever your client is around so Beef learns to hate him? I don’t know. This is why I have an unemotional fish.
@tabbylove:
@jedthefish Doesn’t your fish have an unhealthy obsession with the plastic mermaid in his tank?
@jedthefish:
@tabbylove I don’t know what you’re talking about.
@snugglepaw7:
You need to form some positive attachments to other things or other people so your client isn’t your cat’s only happy place. Reinforce with treats and snuggles, and your client will be just another part of Wednesday.
@goldenboymom:
Is this the same cat that was causing trouble when you first got him? You might want to think about returning him…
Chapter 8
Savannah
“Savannah,darlin’,areyoulistening to me?”
“I sure am, Mama.” I’m not. She’s been waxing poetic about the latest gossip at the country club, and I’ve been staring at my cat for the last five minutes, trying not to worry about the way he’s watching the door so intently.
Waiting for Logan.
“If you’ve been listening, then tell me the name of the plastic surgeon who just moved into the neighborhood.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going on a date with him, so what does it matter?”
My mother scoffs. “I should hope not. He’s far too old for you.”
Huh.I should have been listening better, since I can’t think of any other reasons she would want me to pay attention. “Oh.”
“His son, on the other hand…”
I groan loud enough that Beef actually interrupts his vigil to look at me where I’m leaning on the counter of my kitchen island. His ears twist down, a clear sign of distress, and Iappreciate his solidarity. “Mama, I’m not buying a plane ticket to South Carolina just to meet a plastic surgeon’s son.”
“Good, because he’s in California. I knew you weren’t listening.” An outside observer might hear my mom’s pained tone and think she’s genuinely hurt, but I know better. She knows her way around manipulation. I’m just glad she’s not a cruel person, or she could do some real damage.
“California or not,” I say, “I don’t have time to date. My business is—”
“Your business is clearly not good for you if you’re having to work this hard,” she interrupts, almost like she was waiting for me to give her an opening. “We never get to see you, Savannah! When are you going to realize that your time would be better spent here?”
