“JESUS,” VANN SAID, as we drove to Alton Ortiz’s town house. “You’ve had that cat for fifteen minutes and you’re already spoiling it.” “I’m not spoiling it,” I said, petting it as it sat contentedly in my lap, purring. The name on the tag said “Donut.” I assumed it was the cat’s name. “You just fed it tuna. You made me stop so you could get tuna, and you fed it to the cat.” “That’s not spoiling the cat. It’s feeding it.” “Feeding it tuna. As opposed to cat food.” “It’s had a rough day,” I said, petting Donut. “You don’t understand,” Vann said. “Once you feed a cat tuna, it doesn’t go back to
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