“That’s not true,” I coaxed, crouching down in front of the bathtub, eyes locked on the stunning, albeit lethal cat. “You’re not a bastard, are you, Brian?” I asked as I reached out and stroked Brian’s head. Surprisingly, he let me stroke him without fuss. “Meow,” he croaked out, hackles retracting. “It’s okay,” I soothed, stroking him in a gentle pattern. “You’re okay.” “Jesus Christ,” Gibsie breathed. “Your girl here is like the pussy whisperer.”
