I watch them warily. One is gray with misty pale blue eyes, the other with mint green irises and long white fur. Their stares bore into me. “They seem a little . . . hostile?” “Hardly. They’re easygoing seniors.” Unpacking a bag of produce, Jamie sets everything in a neat pile by type on the counter. “Have you had them since they were kittens?” “Not as such. They’re fairly recent additions.” “So they’re the old cats from the shelter that nobody wanted and were about to get euthanized.” Sweet Jesus, if he rescued these cats— Jamie clears his throat, then says, “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
