Page 6 of Remington’s Mate

“I have pants.” Titan looked down at himself. Pants were all he was wearing—all he ever wore. They were made from something he’d skinned himself—Remy did not want to know what.

“Daniel Boone buckskins don’t count,” he said. “Is there a Big and Tall Shop near here?”

Kitty licked frosting off her fingers. “I think we need a Ginormous Shop. Where do pro wrestlers and linebackers get their clothes?”

“Like I know?”

Brandon handed Kitty a plate with two pancakes, a heart and a dick. Remy guessed this one was a romantic dick, not a ‘fuck you’ dick.

Kitty clearly thought so too, because she made a little ‘awww’ sound and pulled Brandon down for a kiss.

Dude. Who would ever want to be that sappy?

I would, his leopard said. If we had a mate I would lick her until she purred.

She would not purr, his owl said. She would simply be wet. And annoyed.

I’m with you, Remy said to the owl. The leopard sulked.

Titan abandoned his online profile and accepted another pancake from Brandon, covering it in butter, maple syrup, and chocolate sauce. Kitty turned the laptop around and began reading the screen while she ate, the grin on her face getting wider the entire time.

“Sheeyit,” she said finally. “Who the hell wrote this?”

“Me,” Squatch said, through a mouthful of pancake. “Is something wrong with it?”

Kitty read aloud, “Likes long walks in the woods, playing fetch with ghosts, and throwing people off balconies.”

Remy facepalmed. “You deleted what I wrote.”

Squatch rumbled, “I needed to be true to myself.”

Was he kidding? Remy could never tell when he was kidding. Probably because hardly ever smiled.

Kitty went on, her voice shaking with laughter. “Hobby: carving gravestones. Favorite movies: Valley of the Sasquatch, Abominable.” She stopped. “The cute animated Abominable, or the B horror movie?”

Squatch turned his head to look at her out of those freaky eyes. “The cute one, of course.”

Of course.

Kitty went on, “Favorite books: Captured by Bigfoot, When Bears Attack, and Bigfoot Stole my Wife.”

Seriously? Remy said, “There’s no such book as Bigfoot Stole my Wife.”

“No,” Titan agreed. “It’s a short story, by Ron Carlson. Excellent use of voice in the first person narrator.”

Brandon almost snorted his coffee. Remy gave him the finger.

Kitty finished, “Favorite saying: ‘Do bears shit in the woods?’ Hint: I know the answer.”

That set Brandon off again. Titan continued eating his pancake.

“I should never have left you unsupervised,” Remy grumbled. “And I just wasted the last fifteen minutes, because all these pictures suck.”

“They can’t all suck,” Kitty said. “You took, like, six gazillion of them.”

“Yeah. And he looks like a serial killer in all of them. Except the ones where he looks like he escaped from an insane asylum.”

Squatch said solemnly, “On TV, women are always falling in love with serial killers. So I don’t see why that should be a problem. Is there any more coffee?”