Still, I slide the bubble bag off my shoulder and unzip it halfway.
Sass blinks at me. Then lets out a tiny, approving chirp.
“That’s my boy,” I murmur.
Before I can even reach for him, he climbs straight out, stretching across my shoulders like a scarf, his purr vibrating against my throat. He nuzzles under my jaw and gives a little trill that sounds dangerously close to smug.
The TSA agent blinks. “Uh… is he supposed to do that?”
Orion deadpans, “He’s very advanced.”
I sigh. “He doesn’t like his carrier. He prefers… this.”
Sass shifts slightly, curling tighter against my neck, his leash draped loosely in my hand. His purr gets louder, like he knows he’s winning hearts left and right.
The agent looks at his coworker, then back at me. “As long as he’s leashed, it’s fine.”
Orion grins like the devil. “See? He’s officially a sanctioned cat scarf.”
Sass presses his nose against my cheek, purring harder.
And for the first time all morning, a real smile sneaks onto my lips.
I nuzzle into his fur as he does the same to my hair, and we just wait.
* * *
Thankfully, my first trip through TSA as an amputee was a breeze, and the flight was as uneventful as it can be with an unmedicated shelter cat. I haven’t even been with him a month, and I didn’t know how well the flight would be.
The little guy handled the flight like a champ. He didn’t cry, bite, or panic; he just hid his face under my jaw whenever the plane jolted and trusted me to keep him safe. I don’t deserve that kind of faith.
“Over here!” Orion shouts, as if the driver might overlook the six-foot-four lighthouse of a man waving both his arms.
The driver leans out the window. “Are you Orion?”
“Yep,” Orion replies easily. “Two bags and one cat-shaped scarf.”
Sir Sass chirps softly, head-butting my jaw like he’s defending my honor.
“Yeah, I know,” I murmur to him. “You’re perfect. He’s just jealous.”
The driver chuckles as we load in. For a while, the city lights blur past, Sir Sass stretches across my lap like he’sreclaiming personal space after a long day. Orion hums off-key to whatever’s on the radio, probably to irritate me.
Thankfully, the drive to the hotel is uneventful. By the time we pull up to the hotel, Sass is half-asleep again, paw curled around my finger like a toddler. I hate moving him, and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to move sleeping pets, but I shift him gently to my shoulders before stepping out. He clings to my shoulder, purring the whole way inside.
The lobby is sterile and too fucking bright; it smells faintly of lemon polish and overpriced hope. The front desk clerk looks like he’s about twelve and running on Monster Energy and anxiety. His name tag saysChadwick,which feels like a red flag and a punchline all at once.
“Evening,” Orion says, flashing his most charming grin. “We’re here to check in for Smith. One room. Two beds. One… uh, emotional support scarf.”
Chadwick blinks, clearly trying to process the information he’s been given. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say emotional support…scarf?”
Orion gestures at me like he’s presenting a prize on a game show. “Behold. Sir Sassafras the Sassy Ass Emotional Support Scarf.”
Sass lifts his head, blinks once, and lets out a sleepy chirp.
I sigh. “He’s an emotional support animal,” I clarify, setting my ID on the counter. “We’ve got paperwork if you need to see it.”
Chadwick leans forward slightly, peering at Sass wrapped around my neck. “Uh, right. So… emotional support animals aren’t actually recognized under the ADA as service animals. The only ones that qualify are dogs. And miniature horses.”
