The Writer Packs Her Cat

Ah, finally. The morning of departure. This is the last cup of coffee I’ll be having in Arizona. I don’t want to leave this dry place, as amazing as it may seem.

Scooter has positioned himself on my left hand, pinning it down with bulk very disproportionate to his size, and it looks like he isn’t going to move any time soon.

I think I’ll pack up the journal now. I’ll see you in Ireland, I guess.

As I zipped the suitcase closed, Scooter howled in protest. Only then did I realize I had partially zipped part of his fur up, too.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I gasped, freeing him immediately and giving him a hug. “I’m sorry, Scoots. I promise it won’t happen again!”

“I don’t know what’s scarier: the fact that he acts like a bodyguard, or that you actually love the mangy thing.”

“Don’t insult my Scooter!” I snapped, and hugged my cat tighter. “He’s the best friend a girl could ask for!”

“Sure he is…” Raine had seated himself on the couch.

“Would you like to take the cat carrier?”

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