Chapter 11 Nisha #2
“Nisha, why is there a skinned chicken hanging in the corner behind me?”
My brows furrow, and I twist around Patton to get a better look.
There, upside-down and frozen, with his entire body aligned to the floor-to-ceiling climbing rope, is my hairless cat, Beaver. His stark white body is a mix of wrinkles and lean muscles as he grips the rope with all four paws, his piercing blue eyes trained on Patton with the intensity of a sniper.
He must have slipped inside while we were .
. . distracted. His quiet stealth and his ability to turn doorknobs and open doors no longer surprises me.
I’ve found him watching from inside cabinets he’s pried open or perched in impossible spots, peering down at people like a porcelain gargoyle.
His ninja-like grace can unnerve unsuspecting clients who aren’t expecting a hairless, blue-eyed phantom to materialize out of nowhere.
Sarina, Piper, and I rescued Beaver and his sisters, Vajayjay and Snatch, from a bad situation a few years ago. At the time, they were three traumatized cats who had been abused so badly, they were scared of their own shadows. But once they started to trust us, something just clicked.
Interestingly, each cat chose one of us. Vajayjay chose Piper—though, she’s probably more Dev’s cat these days. Snatch immediately loved Sarina, and might be responsible for Troy’s untimely demise at some point. And Beaver decided he was going to be my little protector.
Over the years, Beaver and I have developed an understanding based on love and shared quirks.
For example, we’re both quiet observers by nature, preferring to be in the shadows rather than taking center stage.
We’re also both strong and agile, sometimes using our bodies in ways that feel like we defy physics.
And we both have a death glare that makes grown men cower.
“That’s not a skinned chicken. That’s my cat, Beaver.”
“Your . . . cat,” Patton says slowly, like he’s testing out new vocabulary. “That thing is a cat?”
“Hey! Beaver is a highly sensitive and extremely intelligent Sphynx cat.”
“He looks like the spawn of Yoda and a mole rat.”
“He does not. And even so, he’s still more sophisticated than the massive beast you brought over to ruin my rare plants.”
“I’ll have you know that Bob is also very sensitive. He always cries at the end of Finding Nemo. Besides, at least he has fur.”
“Ah, yes. Because his fur makes up for his lack of bladder control.” I place a hand on Patton’s chest—mostly to stop myself from dragging him back into our almost-kiss—before moving past him toward my cat.
“Beaver’s always had a sixth sense for when I’m in trouble and in need of rescuing. And as always, he’s right on time.”
“And how do you think he’ll rescue you? He looks frozen. Are you sure he’s real? He hasn’t blinked.”
As if to prove how real he is, Beaver slides down the rope, landing on the floor like a ghost. His movements are so graceful, the rope barely sways. And like a predator having spotted his next victim, he prowls toward Patton with calculated steps.
The scene is all very Animal Planet.
Patton takes a hesitant step back. “Bro is giving axe-murderer in a horror film. You know I can’t sleep for days after watching those. Should I lie down or run? I’m starting to see my life flash before my eyes.”
I try not to laugh, watching my six-foot-one ex-husband, who’s ridden on the hood of a car during a high-speed chase scene, squirm under the scrutiny of a twelve-pound cat.
“He’s figuring out how fast he can get to your carotid artery. You should probably start making peace with God.”
“Nisha—”
Tail flicking, Beaver slinks closer before coming to a stop in front of Patton. Then, finally breaking his eye contact, my cat opens his mouth and drops something small and dark directly on his shoe.
Patton looks down in horror. “Is that . . . a dead cricket?”
“Well, at least it’s not a client’s wallet like last week. That made for an interesting and awkward conversation.”
Patton stares at Beaver, who is now sitting on his haunches, waiting expectantly. “What’s . . . what does he want?”
I roll my eyes.
I remember Patton telling me a long time ago that he wasn’t “a cat person,” but watching this interaction between them has got to be the highlight of my day. And after what his ogre of a dog did to my Monstera, this just feels like poetic justice.
I sigh, crossing my arms at my traitorous cat. “He’s showing you affection.”
Patton chuckles darkly. “He and I have very different definitions of affection.”
“Beaver’s love language is gifts. If he decides he likes you, he will bring you things. Whether it’s a stolen Rolex or the remains of a squirrel. He’s a giver that way.”
I can’t help but smile at the adoration and curiosity on my cat’s face. Patton may not be a cat lover, but my cat has decided he’s a Patton lover, and I can see the determination in his eyes to change Patton’s views.
Patton lifts his gaze from the dead bug on his shoe to me. “So, what you’re telling me is, this is his version of a proposal?”
I nod. “I don’t think he’s going to take no for an answer.”
Patton’s eyes gleam, his words loaded with meaning. “At least he and I have that in common.”