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“Meow,” Neil said. He was a cat.
“Mrow,” Andrew said. An orange tabby. One of two identical ones although the difference was obvious in their scent. Neil could never tell what Andrew was thinking. Fish maybe? He was thinking about fish? Probably.
Pretty sure his answer was right, Neil, the smoke-colored street cat, wandered away from the Minyards’ house and went off to catch a fish for him in the river.
When Neil came back it was with a fish he could barely carry the weight of in his mouth. He set it on the porch and waited for the smell to lure Andrew out. It was a very good fish so Andrew would like it.
Andrew walked out of the kitty door. He looked at the fish and then at Neil with unimpressed eyes. “Mrow,” he said.
“Mrrrp?” Neil said.
Andrew stared at a bird for a few seconds and then back at Neil and the fish. He smelled it and said, “Meow.”
Neil meowed approvingly.
Andrew took a bite from his side.
Neil took a bite from his side.
It was a good fish.
When the good parts of the fish were gone, Andrew headed for the rocking chair on the porch. One of his human’s beeswax candles was on the porch railing, and Neil already knew Andrew liked to look at the pretty fire.
As Neil walked over, he wound his tail around Andrew’s. Andrew made a soft,
mrp
sound and leaned into the touch. Neil took that as approval and pressed his body closer to Andrew’s.
They both fit on the rocking chair.
Just as the sun was setting, Neil smelled the smoky air, whiskers tingling, and said for once and all to Andrew;
“Meow.”
Andrew looked at him with his golden eyes. It was a meaningful look. Nothing at all like the look Andrew had viewed the bird with earlier. It was different from the look he gave the fish, too. Those looks meant hunger. This look meant something stronger than hunger.
“Meow,” Andrew finally said.
Neil nuzzled his side against Andrew.
Andrew nuzzled back.