Matt served the salmon on a small dish, setting it before the cat as if the feline were just another person sitting around the table. He’d warmed it, to boot—from where Vic sat he could faintly smell it, and though it turned his stomach at such an early hour, he held his tongue. What was the use of arguing? Matt always got his way in the end. As his lover set a plate heaped high with scrambled eggs in front of him, Vic let himself be kissed on top of the head. Diving into the eggs, he groused, “I bet Mrs. K doesn’t even let it eat on the table. And you know that’s one of our plates. We eat off that.”
“All cat germs will come off in the dishwasher,” Matt told him.
He chose the seat beside Vic, as the cat ate at the end of the table where he usually sat. Already that part of the table wa
