Page 44 of The Tracker's Revenge

At the dumpster, I disposed of the garbage, holding my breath the entire time. The smell of those toxic juices got me gagging faster than anything. I started to head back, but a rustling sound made me whirl on my heel.

My heart went into overdrive, but it immediately settled as I noticed a smoky-colored, amber-eyed cat walking from behind the dumpster.

“Aw, how cute are you?”

The cat walked closer. Something about it told me he was male. He was big, probably over fifteen pounds of muscle, not flab like his indoor counterparts. His face was round with fluffy fur though, and his eyes were just breathtaking.

I squatted and put a hand out. He approached and carefully sniffed my fingers before letting me pet him. I rubbed his head, then under his chin, and he flopped to the ground, purring and twisting his body this way and that.

“You’re a lovable fur ball, aren’t you?”

He purred harder in response.

“Where is your collar?”

He licked my fingers.

“Are you a boy?” I checked to make sure. It was never good to go on assumptions. His parts were all there, safe and accounted for.

“A stray for sure. Well, keep away from animal control. They’ll make sure you’re singing soprano if they catch you.”

I stood and walked around the corner. When I glanced back, I found him following me. I frowned, but figured once I turned the other corner, he would head back. The traffic on the main road would dissuade him. Except it didn’t, and he followed me all the way to the agency’s front door.

He blinked when I glanced down at him.

“You hungry?”

The cat appeared well-fed, strong, though.

“Thirsty?”

He meowed as if in answer.

Rosalina came to the door and opened it. “Why are you just standing there? We have work to do.”

I gestured toward the cat. “I’ve made a friend, it seems. He followed me from the dumpster.”

“Oh, my gosh, he’s so cute!” She got down to pet him, mumbling endearments and scratching him behind the ears.

“I think he’s thirsty,” I said.

“Well, let’s get him some water.” She held the door open, standing aside. “C’mon.”

I didn’t think the cat would walk in, but to my surprise, he moseyed on, his tail high up in the air. Rosalina and I exchanged an amused glance.

I filled up a plastic cup and set it in front of him. He drank his fill, then moved around the room, exploring. After a moment, he found his way into my office, hopped on a chair, and made himself comfortable, curling up tightly and closing his eyes for a nap.

I frowned. “What the heck?”

“Well, you said you wanted a cat after Cupid... you know.”

I shook my head. “I can’t graduate to a cat. I killed the fish.”

“Oh, you didn’t kill it, Triple T. Cupid was almost two years old. Betta fish don’t live very long.”

“You think?”

She nodded, glanced sideways at the cat, and smiled as if tempting me to a brand new toy. “I would take him, but they don’t allow pets at my complex.”