“Oh, Scotland,” Finch whispers. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Can I hold it?”
“Of course.”
Finch reaches over and pulls the rest of the kitten out of Scotland’s jacket. So small it could fit in my hand, scrawny and fluffy and bright. I have to admit: it’s a cute little devil.
Finch sets it on her lap and strokes its back. “Just look at it, Coop.”
“Nice, sugar. Very nice.”
Scotland stands up and walks over to the stove, peers into the frying pan. “Smells good.”
“What’s its name?” Finch asks.
“It’s a he. And his name—well, that’s up to you. He’s yours.”
Finch gasps. “Really? For real?”
Scotland looks at me. “Well, as long as your daddy says it’s all right.”
As far as I’m concerned, it’s common courtesy to ask a parent before giving a kid a pet. But of course that’s the opposite of how Scotland operates. Because now if I say no—and, given our circumstances, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to do so—I’m the one who’s a jerk.
Finch stands up carefully with the kitten. She carries him over, tight against her chest. “Can we, Coop? Can we keep him? Please?”
I glare at Scotland. “Let me think about it, Finch.”
“But look at his face. Look at his blue eyes and long whiskers. He’ll be good, I promise. Please, please, please?” The kitten crawls up her chest, perching itself on her shoulder. Delighted, Finch begins walking around the room.
I lean toward Scotland. “You should’ve asked.”
“I figured you’d say no.”
“Exactly.”
“Listen, Cooper. The girl lost a friend yesterday. She’s grieving. Studies show that a pet can lift one’s spirits, make a person generally more at ease. Did you see Finch’s eyes light up? That kitten can be her companion. Her friend, since she has none out here, aside from you and me. He’ll be a comfort to her, he already is.” He nods toward the couch, where Finch has the kitten nuzzled against her neck.
“Another mouth to feed, when we’re already in a pinch and you know it.”
Scotland shakes his head. “A feline is a competent and merciless predator, Cooper. People tend to forget that. They feed their cats, let them lie around the house all day and play with fluffy little toys. It’s a disgrace, really. To the cats and to us humans. Sure, give the cat scraps here and there to keep him around. Let him know he’s wanted. But don’t feed him. Trust me, I’ve got a whole gang of cats in my barn, and I don’t feed them a thing. They’re robust and efficient, just as God intended them to be.”
“If he’s trouble, I’m getting rid of him.”
Scotland frowns. “I don’t like the way you say that, Cooper, with a sinister tone. And just so you’re aware, felines are sensitive creatures. He will sense your distrust, your malice, and he won’t like it. The two of you won’t be friends.” He leans against the cracked edge of the counter. “But fine, if he’s trouble, I’ll take him back. How’s that sound?”
Finch looks at me from the couch. “I’ll take care of him myself. You won’t even know he’s here. He’ll be no trouble at all. I promise.” The kitten licks her chin. “Please, Coop?”
I scrape the eggs onto two plates. “Guess I don’t have much choice in the matter.”
Finch carries the kitten over to the table and sits down. “Thanks for my kitten,” Finch says, leaning against Scotland. “It’s the best thing anyone ever gave me.”
He rests his hand on her shoulder, runs his finger over the kitten’s snout. “Glad you like him, little bird. I knew you would.” He turns to me. “Listen,” he says. “You gonna try a supply run?”
I set my plate of eggs on the table, the steam pouring off. I pick up the saltshaker, pat it on my palm. It’s empty, I know, but there’s something about the gesture of it, the habit. “I don’t see a way around it.”
“You can’t go anywhere in town,” Scotland says. “Not with a big order like you’re planning. You know that. People will notice. They’ll talk. There’s a Walmart about fifty miles south, down in Somersville. Right off 93. Can’t miss it.”
I’ve already accounted for this and mapped a route to Somersville, but I nod.
“You want me to come down and look after Finch?”