Chapter 2-1
445 Words
Chapter 2
“Looks like you’ve been making friends.”
The voice woke Dez out of a doze. He blinked awake, trying to orient himself. There was a weight on his stomach—Riley still lay there. It was Francis Green who’d spoken. He stood in the open doorway, head bandaged, looking quite the orphan of the storm, wearing a coat over pajamas pants, a hospital gown, and shoes with no socks.
“How’d you get in?” Dez asked. He didn’t sit up. Riley wasn’t the only cat cuddling up to him. A couple more had sneaked closer during the night and lay either on or right beside him.
“Those CSI people are working on the doors,” Francis said.
Dez glanced at a clock on the wall. Almost nine. Good grief.
“SOCO, not CSI. How’s your head?”
“Fine. Well, fine enough.” A couple of the cats had greeted him, and he picked up an all-white, elegant shorthair. “You stayed in here all night?”
“You asked me to take care of the cats and this is where the cats are.”
“Fair enough. Give me a second, I have to change clothes. Then I’ll make some breakfast.” He passed the white cat to Dez, obviously not finding it strange that Dez wasn’t getting up, still pinned down by cats. “Look after Daenerys while I change.”
Dez took the shorthair and it settled on his shoulder, like one of its namesake’s baby dragons. He sighed. “I can’t stay like this all day,” he told the cats. He ticked Riley behind one ear.
Whiskers twitched, then Riley opened his big amber eyes. He yawned enormously, unfolded, and stretched.
“No, no, no—no claws!” Dez begged.
Too late. Riley didn’t dig in too hard, but Dez definitely felt the points of those claws touch his skin. Riley caught a claw in the fabric of Dez’s sweatshirt, impatiently shook it out, then jumped off Dez’s stomach. The others on and around him woke and stretched, too. Daenerys stayed on his shoulder, and this time he felt the prick of claws in his shoulder as she held on while her ride stood up. Well, there wasn’t much she could do to mess up that shoulder worse than it already was.
That was a new experience, he thought, having to shake off a lot of cats to stand. He futilely brushed at the hair they’d left behind. Riley still stood at his feet, looking up at him. The others wandered off, some to their climbing frames for a bit of exercise, others to the kitchen door. He could feed them, but he’d better let Francis decide about that.
He rubbed his stubbly and itchy chin. How long would Francis take to change and make breakfast? Would Dez have time to shower and shave? He abruptly felt highly conscious of his disheveled appearance. Maybe he should say “thanks but no thanks” about the breakfast.
But he was hungry. He sat down again.
- Writer
