Page 119 of Fish in a Barrel

“Sammy-Joe.”

“No.”

Jackson laughed and tried again. “Cletus.”

“God no.”

“Azazeel?”

“As in Satan? No.”

“Charlie Satan?”

“Jackson!”

“Johnny Satan?”

“I will name him Carl if you don’t think of this seriously.”

Jackson sighed. “There’s really only one name. You know that, right?”

God, Ellery loved this man. So much. Enough to let the inevitable wash over them both and christen the little furry thing in his arms.

“Lucifer, then,” he said sighing. “My mother will be thrilled.”

And she probably would be. She adored Billy Bob already, and knowing Jackson had named a cat after her? Well, his mother did have a sense of humor.

And she loved Jackson almost as much as Ellery did.

But not quite. Ellery set the bar pretty high.

Clinging to the Curtain

A Fish Out of Water Ficlet

“JACKSON?” ELLERYgrumbled, reaching for the empty spot on the bed. “Jackson, where are you?”

Jackson didn’t answer, and Ellery listened for a moment for bathroom noises, but there were none—and no light on either. He almost fell back asleep then, but a sound from the living room got his attention.

“Billy Bob, you no-thumbs-having-motherfucker, did you do this?”

To his surprise, there was an indignant “Merowl!” in response.

“Don’t lie,” Jackson muttered. “This has you written all over it.”

Another “Merowl!”—this one a definitive, “Fuck you, bub. This isn’t my fault.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jackson muttered flatly. Then, in a completely different voice, he said, “Okay, Baby Satan, it’s fine. I’m here. I need you to let go, okay?”

The teeny-tiny “mew” that came next was not exactly a surprise, except Ellery had no idea Lucifer had started talking back. In the two weeks since they’d brought home the kitten, the tiny three-legged sleekly-furred tornado had been responsible for more broken plates, glasses, and vases than any other creature, human or animal, that had ever been in Ellery’s home.

Ellery was terrible at discipline, but Jackson wasn’t much better.

The day before, they arrived home from work to find a vase of flowers that had been on the table cracked into pieces on the floor. Ellery had been—finally—working up a real head of steam about how they had sixty-zillion different toys and an entire cat tree in the guest room, and how could the little shit know unerringly where to run to do the most damage, when Jackson had pulled out an old movie quote and stopped him with his mouth wide open to deliver the scathing comedown.

“That was a very expensive vase, you bitch!” he said with pitch-perfect inflection, and that quickly, Ellery couldn’t stop giggling.

The kitten would live another day. Maybe.