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A COMPANION’S CONUNDRUM

Barnabas was in heaven.

After his landlord saw the delightful—if dirty—female settled in the windowless room used for storage and such, Barnabas saw her coverings tucked in tight, felt the gleeful attention from dutifully petting fingers that paid the most exquisite attention to the top of his head, behind his ears and yes—oh merciful mounds of mice!—his chin!

Once she’d tended him to his enchanted, chin-thrumming satisfaction, he marched up the noisy planks and jumped up beside his man, who sat upon the edge of the soft rectangle with a besotted smile curving lips that were often far too straight.

Barnabas head-bumped against his shoulder.

“Rrreeeoww.”Don’t let her leave.

“How can we let her leave tomorrow, Barns? Risk never seeing her again?” Mr. Chapman removed his shoes and stood to unfasten his leg coverings before dropping down to sitting again. “If she interviews to be some old woman’s companion…”

“Merrr.” He bumped harder.Youneed a companion.

“Mayhap… I should try again? Hire her as assistant.” The last one had been a nincompoop with numbers, causing his man all sorts of grief after each closing. “Not give her a chance to leave?”

“Mew.”Aye, we need to keep her.

“But it isn’t done.” The leg coverings were tossed in a corner; after three days’ wearing, Barnabas knew they would remain there until his landlord ran upon his last pair and would hire out the washings. If humans could only use their tongues! How much more efficient. “A female shopkeep? In the city? Am I really considering such a thing?”

“Pffft.”Retain her anyway. I need someone who gives good chinnies.Barnabas flopped to his back, wiggling against the coverings alongside Mr. Chapman.

“We’d scandalize the whole street. The town. All of England, perhaps.”

“Rrowl.”You’re still not petting me! And I’m giving you belly opportunity and everything.

“Or would we, perhaps, bring in more custom than ever? It isn’t unheard of, not in the country, I know. Mayhap town ladies might be drawn to the idea, men simply curious to see a working female in trade, one not a relative...”

Barnabas rolled over to his feet and placed his two front paws on the soft upper skin of his landlord’s leg.

“But nay, then all would think she was a tart in truth, living here with me.”

Barnabas stretched his paws, extended claws. Andpierced.

“Aaaahhh! You ingrate!” With gentle care, his human pried the sharp talons from his weak skin andker-ploppedBarnabas on the floor. “I’m starting to think you, my friend, are totally useless as a mouser. Damn, Barns. That hurt.”

“Mew.”Make it right.

“Don’tmewme, you ungrateful wretch.” His man slid under the covers, pulled them up to his waist and sighed. Barnabas considered jumping up. But was peeved. With a flick of his tail, he turned toward the stairs. His landlord’s words paused his paws though. “Mayhap… Mayhap I should consider courting the lass? It’s preposterous. Outrageous. To consider such a thing after only mere hours’ acquaintance? But if ever someone needed Christmas cheer, it is she. And mayhap so do I. Is that not why I spend my holidays here, avoiding family myself? Not wanting to burden them with my un-cheery mien?”

Mr. Chapman thumped and bumped beneath the layers, as though unable to find a comfortable spot to curl up in. Barnabas turned about and rose up, lifting his front paws til he could peer over the edge. His man stared up at the ceiling. “Not to mention how I miss cuddling with someone who doesn’t claw my thigh and avoids earning their keep.” Was that another hit at his hunting skills? “I wonder if Miss Lucinda Thomalin has any talent with numbers or catching mice…”

Definitely a hit, then.

“Rowlll.”I shall show you my skills. With a herd of varmints beneath those covers if you don’t mind your manners.

His man gave a quiet chuckle, rolled over to his side and pointed to Barnabas. “If I keep her, you may just be out of a job.”

Keep her?“Rreow? Merrowl!”Is that not what I have been saying all night?

* * *

Early the following morning, Brier tiptoed down the stairs, careful to stay to the right edge, not wanting the creaking boards to wake her—if she remained, that was. Not sure if he expected to find her eyeing him warily in the light of day or if he would be feeling the fool in five more treads, upon learning she’d snuffled goods and stolen off into the night.

He nearly tripped over the dead mouse at the bottom of the stairwell. Smiled grimly to himself and whispered, “Not quite so useless, after all, are you, Barns?”

He hadn’t seen hide nor fur of the thigh-piercing reprobate all morning. Unusual, for a feline that usually demanded his fill of both attention and victuals before deigning to leave the upstairs bedchamber.