not.”
“Good luck convincing him otherwise,” Clarice muttered as she prepared herself a cup of coffee—her eyes lighting with pleasure at the Keurig machine on his counter and the array of Kcup flavors.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” his mother asked.
Other than the fact he was a big boy who didn’t want his mommy protecting him? “FUC needs me.”
“No , we/they don’t.” Clarice and his mother spoke at the same time, and with the exception of one word, parroted each other. Not that they appreciated the fact their minds swung in the same direction judging by their matching glares.
“Yes , they do. I’m the one who knows my patients best. I can help. Not to mention, I make great bait.”
“No son of mine is dangling himself in front of a bunch of crazed killers.”
“Why not?” Clarice taunted. “Can’t your boy take care of himself? Or does he need his mommy to fight his battles?”
Since when was his reluctant ASS partner on his side? He eyed her suspiciously, especially given her benign smile at his mother.
It was a nice play, though. Either his mother called him a pussy, or she had to admit he wasn’t completely useless. In other words, it could go either way. Nolan wished he’d thought to put a shot of something alcoholic in his French Vanilla flavored coffee.
“Nolan is a perfectly fine fighter. He had nothing but the best teachers growing up. However, we’re talking about homicidal maniacs. If half of what my sources tell me is true, then only an idiot would try and face these escaped abominations alone.”
“He won’t be alone.”
“Why? Are you going to stay glued to his side and protect him? Ooh, I’m just shaking in my fur. What are you going to do, big bird? Shake your wings at the attackers? Regurgitate some worms and spit at them.”
Clarice sighed. “What is it with you cats? You know , it’s not all about hand-to-hand combat or animal shapes. We have evolved. There is such a thing as weapons nowadays.”
His mother sniffed. “I should have known you were one of those. ”
“Why you catty b— ”
“I smell breakfast!” Nolan announced , stepping between the brewing fight to answer the door. The catering staff wheeled in several white cloth-covered carts holding an array of covered dishes.
The presence of the human staff kept his mot her and Clarice silent, but the visual daggers flew fast and furious as they each paced their end of the room.
As soon as the caterers left, with a generous tip in hand, Nolan seated himself and lifted the domes from the platters. Steam arose along with mouthwatering scents. “Time to sheathe the claws, ladies. Breakfast is served.” Like naptime, Nolan let very little get in the way of his food. A lion needed to keep up his energy after all, especially when dealing with his mother. And, he amended, when juggling a ruffled bird who looked like she’d rather peck their eyes out than sit down and eat.
“We should be getting to work ,” Clarice admonished.
“Eat first,” he ordered between mouthfuls.
“Let the bird go. I’ll get you to the office,” his mother offered.
Before he could refuse, Clarice replied , “On second thought, I am rather hungry. I guess catering to a male lion’s needs will do that to a girl.”
Nolan almost choked.
*
Barb thrown, Clarice t ucked the robe around her, and ignoring the older cat’s rumble of discontent, sat at the table. Truth was, she did feel rather famished this morning and despite her less than great sense of smell, even she couldn’t resist the rich aromas wafting from the table. The doctor wasn’t kidding when he said he would order everything on the menu. Waffles, big and fluffy decorated in whip cream poufs, a spattering of icing and fruit tempted on one dish. Toast towered. Pancakes steamed. Bacon from barely cooked to crisp, along with sausage and ham made her mouth water. Orange juice beckoned. Coffee promised a return to sanity.
“Where’s the
“Good luck convincing him otherwise,” Clarice muttered as she prepared herself a cup of coffee—her eyes lighting with pleasure at the Keurig machine on his counter and the array of Kcup flavors.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” his mother asked.
Other than the fact he was a big boy who didn’t want his mommy protecting him? “FUC needs me.”
“No , we/they don’t.” Clarice and his mother spoke at the same time, and with the exception of one word, parroted each other. Not that they appreciated the fact their minds swung in the same direction judging by their matching glares.
“Yes , they do. I’m the one who knows my patients best. I can help. Not to mention, I make great bait.”
“No son of mine is dangling himself in front of a bunch of crazed killers.”
“Why not?” Clarice taunted. “Can’t your boy take care of himself? Or does he need his mommy to fight his battles?”
Since when was his reluctant ASS partner on his side? He eyed her suspiciously, especially given her benign smile at his mother.
It was a nice play, though. Either his mother called him a pussy, or she had to admit he wasn’t completely useless. In other words, it could go either way. Nolan wished he’d thought to put a shot of something alcoholic in his French Vanilla flavored coffee.
“Nolan is a perfectly fine fighter. He had nothing but the best teachers growing up. However, we’re talking about homicidal maniacs. If half of what my sources tell me is true, then only an idiot would try and face these escaped abominations alone.”
“He won’t be alone.”
“Why? Are you going to stay glued to his side and protect him? Ooh, I’m just shaking in my fur. What are you going to do, big bird? Shake your wings at the attackers? Regurgitate some worms and spit at them.”
Clarice sighed. “What is it with you cats? You know , it’s not all about hand-to-hand combat or animal shapes. We have evolved. There is such a thing as weapons nowadays.”
His mother sniffed. “I should have known you were one of those. ”
“Why you catty b— ”
“I smell breakfast!” Nolan announced , stepping between the brewing fight to answer the door. The catering staff wheeled in several white cloth-covered carts holding an array of covered dishes.
The presence of the human staff kept his mot her and Clarice silent, but the visual daggers flew fast and furious as they each paced their end of the room.
As soon as the caterers left, with a generous tip in hand, Nolan seated himself and lifted the domes from the platters. Steam arose along with mouthwatering scents. “Time to sheathe the claws, ladies. Breakfast is served.” Like naptime, Nolan let very little get in the way of his food. A lion needed to keep up his energy after all, especially when dealing with his mother. And, he amended, when juggling a ruffled bird who looked like she’d rather peck their eyes out than sit down and eat.
“We should be getting to work ,” Clarice admonished.
“Eat first,” he ordered between mouthfuls.
“Let the bird go. I’ll get you to the office,” his mother offered.
Before he could refuse, Clarice replied , “On second thought, I am rather hungry. I guess catering to a male lion’s needs will do that to a girl.”
Nolan almost choked.
*
Barb thrown, Clarice t ucked the robe around her, and ignoring the older cat’s rumble of discontent, sat at the table. Truth was, she did feel rather famished this morning and despite her less than great sense of smell, even she couldn’t resist the rich aromas wafting from the table. The doctor wasn’t kidding when he said he would order everything on the menu. Waffles, big and fluffy decorated in whip cream poufs, a spattering of icing and fruit tempted on one dish. Toast towered. Pancakes steamed. Bacon from barely cooked to crisp, along with sausage and ham made her mouth water. Orange juice beckoned. Coffee promised a return to sanity.
“Where’s the
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