And with that, she takes a handful of cat food from the bowl and tosses it across the lawn. I try to stifle my groan. “What?” she says, sliding her gaze to me with mock offense. “You’re the one who set this up. Now you’re gonna make that little bitchy grumble about it?” “I’m not being bitchy,” I reply. “I just… Do you know how meticulously I tend to this grass? The raccoons are going to come around and they’ll dig, and they’re going to—you know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. If my lawn is fucked up but you’re happy, then it was worth it.”
