Well, since Oscar is a lot more aware than the average cat, and I have a means to communicate with him, I need to be more considerate of his needs.
“Do youlikeyour kibble?” I ask with a wince. “Because, I mean, I thought you were a cat…”
“Meh merrgg mah.”
“He says it’s fine but would like some fish every so often.”
“Renee and Drew fish!” I say, remembering her talking about summer activities. “Maybe they can teach me, and I can bring you some fresh food.”
Oscar purrs loudly.
I smile. “Settled then. I’ll try to get you some fresh fish every week.”
He bumps my chin and rubs hard, scent marking me.
“So weird,” I murmur. “You had to learn all these ‘normal cat’ behaviors, huh?”
He makes some low, mumbled noises.
“He sayshetrained cats how to become domesticated,” Bastian remarks. “How to ‘act lovable, be useful,’ and such.”
I chuckle. “You created a whole generation of people who call their cats their furbabies, you know that, right?”
“Brrrdd mah,” he replies pridefully.
“Oh, Oscar,” I say, pulling him into my arms. “My magical boy.”
thirty-six
Restocking Trip
Two weeks of slinging books has left the shelves a little barren; a good and bad thing. It seems every local has been in at least once, and the waitress from the Chubby Radish at least five times—though she’s never bought anything.
It seems as if she’s picked up almost every book in the place by the time we need to restock. She’s dead set on justlingeringandperusing—which is fine! I set up sitting areas for a reason. Some people can’t afford books, or don’t have space in their house. It’s no bother to me if they come in to read…I just wish I could help her find what she’s looking for.
Bastian has repaired everything in the backlog, and so now we’re on a quest for more books. Several local authors reached out to us, and we agreed on a workable consignment rate that helps them more than me, but I’m happy to do it. Independent authors don’tget nearly enough credit for how hard they work to promote their stories.
We skip the July Flag festival in exchange for a restocking trip. Bastian sits beside me and Oscar is harnessed in the back seat as we take a quick drive up to Mayfield for the first pickup:Where the Sun Won’t Shine, a YA dystopian novel about a teen boy fighting to free his people from underground work camps. Then we drive to a ferry that’ll take us to La Pinto forDriving Madness, an MM street racer, enemies to lovers romance. Honestly, I’ll probably read that one before it hits the shelf!
We walk Oscar for a quick potty break as the attendant parks my car snuggly in with the others on the little boat. It’s packed to bursting on this lovely Sunday morning and there’s no question why. Madiland Island is beautiful, at least at this distance.
“What do you think about doing a little meandering when we get there?” I ask as I lean against the railing.
Bastian touches the bag at my side.
I pop it open to show him his Dick. “Safe and sound.”
He grunts. “Then whatever you would like.”
“But what about what you like?” I ask, poking him in his muscled pec.
It’s so strange seeing him in human form, but also, really nice to be out with him.
He hums. “Ipreferto be around you pink flesh as little as possible.”
“That’s not true, is it?”
“Humanity as a whole is quite awful.”
