Chapter 3 #3
Adam cradled it in his palm and passed it to Mo. “You can hold him like this because he’s still tiny, but they’re a little unsteady, so it’s better to cup your hand a little or let them rest against your chest.”
Before Mo was really prepared, Adam deposited the kitten in his palms.
Its tiny body weighed almost nothing. Its sharp claws barely even registered on his skin.
It took an unsteady step and would have face-planted—maybe even fallen—if Mo hadn’t brought his hand close to his body so instead, it sort of headbutted his chest.
“Oh my God,” he said again, quieter. Less than a minute ago, he’d been ready to give Adam a piece of his mind for handing him the uglier cat. Now he traced a finger down its warm, downy spine and almost melted into a puddle. “People can just come here and do this? Like, whenever?”
“I mean, I’m pretty sure there’s restrictions. Kittens need to sleep.”
The orange one had wandered over to Adam and was attempting to use its claws to pull itself onto his thigh.
Mo averted his gaze before he could make any observations about said thigh.
“And they grow up pretty fast, so you don’t want just anyone doing it. What if they mess them up? Then they won’t be as adoptable and they’ll end up barn cats or something.”
The orange cat succeeded in summiting Mount Thigh.
“Being a barn cat doesn’t sound so bad,” Mo murmured, scratching under the kitten’s chin. “No one to tell you what to do all day, hm? Where to be seen or what to wear. Just you and the mice.”
“And the snakes,” Adam pointed out. “And the coyotes, and the owls—”
Mo hissed and pulled the kitten close to his face. “Okay, okay! Point taken. Freedom is not without its perils, I guess. No need to scare the little guy.”
“It’s okay, I don’t think he’s developed language yet. He won’t be fluent in English until he’s a year old, at least.”
Rude and sassy, if understated. Mo was starting to suspect Adam had a hidden sense of humor.
Keeping his gaze away from the other man, Mo locked eyes with the kitten and said in a cutesy talking-to-babies-and-animals voice, “Captain Grumpy Pants is mocking me. I may not know much about kittens, but I know you only talk in cat, yes, I do.”
The kitten mewed and reached out its front paws, batting at Mo’s nose.
“So no cats as a kid,” Adam said as he stroked the orange kitten’s head. “Any other pets?”
“Nope.” Mo kept his focus on the adorable kittens.
“None?” Adam pushed.
“Well… sorta.”
“How do you sort of have a pet?”
He really wanted to talk about Mo’s childhood? “It didn’t last.”
“Why not?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Oh. You had to send it back?”
“Not really. I just couldn’t return to the stables, so my parents sold Mr. Rainbow Cupcake.”
“Stabl—your only sorta pet was a horse?” Adam’s eyes went wide and his tone had reverted to the default judgmental.
Mo shrugged like the memory didn’t sting. “Animals do not live in Du Pont homes. I was ten and the only animal I could talk them into was a pony. Horseback riding is genteel and, most importantly, is done outdoors and in stables.”
“Wow. So your childhood actually involved Mommy and Daddy getting you a pony?”
“For my tenth birthday.” Mo’s kitten, long since bored of his face, had climbed onto his shoulders and was now digging his tiny pinprick claws into his traps as it tried to figure out where to go next.
Winching, Mo held out his hand and the little thing stepped forward.
“I started wheezing and coughing almost immediately,” he confided in the kitten.
He’d gotten as far as naming Rainbow Cupcake and touching his nose.
It had been so soft and warm and velvety under his little hand, and he’d gazed adoringly at the increasingly blurry equine features until his dad had scooped him up into his arms and hauled Mo out of the stable.
It was the only time he could remember his father holding him.
A doctor gave Mo antihistamines and delivered the bad news. Mo had cried for a week straight, so he looked permanently impacted by allergies.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
Mo forced himself to shrug. “It was a long time ago. Besides, can you imagine me on a horse? Not really my vibe.”
“No, not really,” Adam said after a pause.
“What about you? Grew up in a menagerie, did you? Surrounded by furry friends?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Er, no, just—”
“Wait, wait, let me guess! Goldfish? Gerbils? Chinchillas? Boa constrictors?”
Adam gave him a deadpan look, which would have been more effective if the orange beast weren’t trying to climb his shirt and the black kitten hadn’t just slipped off his thigh to land in the V of his legs.
“Fine. Tell me the boring truth. I can take it.” Mo lifted the kitten and pressed him next to his cheek so that they’d both be staring at Adam. “And so can Georgia Bartholomew Adrian Hampstead the third.”
“The third? No, never mind. I’ll let Maryan know you’re not to be trusted with naming any of the animals.”
“Gasp! Horror of horrors. Adam Murphy, are you suggesting that Georgia Bartholomew Audrey Hampstead the third’s name isn’t perfect?”
“Wasn’t there an Adrian in there somewhere?”
Mo blinked. “Huh?”
“A guy who can’t even remember the name he just gave to a cat loses all naming privileges.”
“You are mean to me, sugar lips. Vile.”
Adam twitched at the nickname, but instead of commenting, he tickled the tummy of the black cat who’d given in to its fate and curled up between Adam’s legs. Maybe it was into that. Maybe it had the soul of a gay man. Who knew?
“It was dogs and cats. The pets. My parents had a cat before I was born. Apparently, she first hated, then loved me, the new baby. After she passed, we got a dog. My parents have two cats now—one on purpose, the other a gift from the cat distribution system.”
“Showed up on their doorstep?”
“Brought home. Parents still have no idea how Inigo managed it—he’s an indoor cat—but he just showed up with a blond kitten one day.”
“Defying the laws of nature? Secretly opening doors?”
Adam laughed. “Buttercup probably snuck in through a vent or something, looking for warmth, and then got adopted.”
“And you think I’m bad at naming.” Mo sniffed.
Adam opened his mouth to retort, but just then, Orange Beast released its grip on his shirt and dropped to the floor before galumphing in Mo’s direction. How it didn’t fall on its face, Mo didn’t know. It did bowl over its orange-and-white sibling, though.
“Why is kitty-on-kitty violence cute?” Mo wondered out loud.
“Everything kittens do is cute.”
“That’s true,” Maryan agreed as she stepped back into the room. “Do you mind if I take some pictures and video?” She held up her phone in demonstration.
Mo wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her to go away so he could enjoy his kitty therapy in peace.
Mo wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have—always had. So he smiled and told her to make sure she got his good side, and then held Georgia up to his face for pictures.
“How’s this?” he asked, pouting like he was posing for a selfie in 2014.
Maryan laughed and snapped the picture. “Cute. Though I was mostly thinking I’d just try to document the spontaneous cuteness that is the kittens.”
Mo nodded sagely. “You should focus on the captain over there, then. He’s made an excellent climbing gym so far.” Too bad Orange Crusher had left him for greener pastures. “The kittens really hammer home the enormous professional athlete thing.”
Adam gave him a quelling look, but the black kitten had curled up in the center of one of his thighs and was in zero danger of falling off the edge, so it didn’t really land when he said, “I am a normal size.”
He didn’t get the words out entirely before Maryan gave a cut-off laugh and met eyes with Mo. Oh God, she definitely thought Mo was talking about Adam’s dick.
Whoops. Nothing to do but lean into it.
He winked.
Adam flushed crimson.
“Awww,” Mo cooed, almost without meaning to. Something made him climb to his feet, careful not to jostle Georgia. Cats liked heights, right? Not that Mo’s chest level counted as a height. Unless it did, to a cat. He smiled at Maryan. “Hey, I have an idea…”
He wasn’t quite as good at scooping up kittens as Adam.
He had smaller hands and less experience.
But he did have practice with finicky mechanical bits, which kittens were mostly made up of.
“No, just stay there and look cute,” he told Adam, who couldn’t go anywhere anyway because he had a kitten nesting on his thigh.
Mo deposited Georgia the gray tabby in Adam’s right hand, mostly to further immobilize him.
Orange Crusher was waging war on Maryan’s shoelaces, but Mo scooped him up and brought him over next. “Left hand, please. Hold them like they’re your tits.”
Adam held the kitten, but he glared at Mo while he did it. “Seriously?”
“Girl, please. We already had the talk about how big you are everywhere else. I wouldn’t want your rack to feel left out.”
“I don’t have a—” Adam exhaled through his nose.
Mo wasn’t even looking at him; he could tell from several feet away, where he was corralling the final kitten in the corner of the room. Meanwhile, Maryan was coaching Adam on posing for the camera. She sounded half a breath from laughing out loud.
Mo loved a captive audience. Maybe he should’ve done theater with Sage. Then his parents could’ve disowned him years ago, and he’d be working some minimum-wage nightmare job instead of trying to hold on one last year until he turned twenty-five.
“You got the last one?” Maryan asked as the kitten finally let Mo get his hands around it. “Bring it over here and stand behind your man.”
“Ooh,” Mo said. “A role reversal.”