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It would’ve been smart to walk away. He’d told her what she needed to know. There was no use in teasing her, in hoping her face would light up again. It would’ve been smart to remember that.

No one had ever accused him of being smart.

“Och, aye?” His tone was sarcastic, which was the best he could manage to pretend he wasn’t interested. “And what are their names?”

She smiled again. He hated it. He loved it. He hated that he loved it.

“Would you like to meet them? I know we will have to leave them here, but I will miss them. Most of them.”

“Which ones will ye no’ miss?”

She gestured him deeper into her laboratory. “This monstrosity is Long Cat.” So saying, she scooped up a white feline under its two front legs, and held it away from her as she turned. “You can imagine why I named him such.”

“Holy fook,” Griffin whispered, genuinely impressed. The animal’s back legs extended almost to her knees. Long indeed!

“So fook is acceptable to use in polite company, just not around Rupert?” When he scowled, she shrugged cheekily. “I am trying to keep the rules straight in my mind, dear husband.”

The reminder of their subterfuge made him shake his head. “Dinnae use any curses in front of Rupert. He’s a bit single-minded, so I try no’ to introduce any unsavory concepts into conversation with him, because the lad will belabor them. Long Cat is an acceptable name, whereas Lamp Cat isnae?”

She didn’t seem fazed by his change of subject. “I do not have a cat who prefers lamps, so until that point, I shall remain without a Lamp Cat. Long Cat here has been a wonderful subject over the years, but is almost as lazy as Miss Prettypaws.” She nudged the large gray feline with her toe. “I lobbied for Millicent, but even at age three, Bull was very determined to choose her name.”

Miss Prettypaws was exactly the kind of name a three-year-old would choose, especially a bairn who was as interested in appearances as Bull was.

But she said she was new at parenting.

Instead of asking, he nodded to the animal still stretched from her hands. “And ye willnae miss it?”

“Who? Oh, Long Cat?” With a sigh, Felicity draped the ridiculously lengthy feline over her shoulder, where it stretched down her back. “No, I will miss him. Long Cat is old, but puts up with being worn like a fur stole in winter, which is ever so convenient.” She grinned impishly. “And he has been a cooperative subject while working on still photography. He is less helpful when it comes to moving pictures.”

“Because he doesnae move.”

Her smile grew. “Exactly. Now, one troublemaker I will not miss is—” There was a clatter from the other side of the room, and she tsked. “She cannot seem to stay still. What kind of cat does not understand such a simple concept?”

Before Griffin could ask, a ball of fur streaked past him, careened into a pile of boxes knocking them aside, and darted off again. The cat was small and gray, but moving fast enough she seemed to be a blur of different colors.

“That one is Nyan, and I will have to lock my study to keep her out while we are gone.”

“I cannae imagine she made a good subject.”

Felicity’s smile turned wry. “Not for still photographs, definitely, and with moving pictures she appears only as a rainbow-colored blur.”

“Rainbow?”

“Well, not on the final film, of course, but I cannot figure it out either. Nyan Cat is a mystery, absolutely. And now that the boxes have been strewn about, I expect—oh yes, here he is.”

A long-legged, pale feline picked its way across the floor toward the pile of boxes. He chose the smallest one and stepped into it.

He was larger than the box. It shouldn’t have worked. But somehow, the thing folded himself as he sank down, and then it wasn’t so much a cat in a box, as a box-shaped pile of fur with a pair of eyes.

“That,” she announced proudly, “is Sitz. He is my little contortionist.”

Griffin, who was beginning to understand how her mind worked, asked in a sort of horrified fascination, “Because…he sits inside things?”

“If it fits, he Sitz!” Felicity saw his grimace, and burst into laughter. “I admit it is not the most clever of names, but surely it is better than Cheeseburg?”

Remembering the strangely appealing squashed-up expression of the gray cat under the table who’d been begging for food just like a dog, Griffin’s lips twitched ruefully. “Good point, well made.”

There were a dozen things he needed to do, including ensuring his children and Mrs. Mac were prepared for their journey. But right now, he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from Felicity’s study. From Felicity.