I’m about to counter that with a gibing retort when she takes a sudden step closer and holds the white kitten out toward me. I stare at the ball of fluff. “What?” “Hold her.” “Why would I?” “Why wouldn’t you?” “Because she lives behind a refuse bin. You do recall I have a strong sense of smell, do you not?” “Just hold a kitten, Huntsman. It will be good for you. Your grumpy act is getting old.” “If I hold a kitten, can we get on with our business?” “Of course.”
