Sure, she’d seen plenty of muscled men in the dancing world. After all, the male dancers had to have the strength to lift and hold their partners over their heads. Their bodies were their instruments, although with egos bigger than Texas, they believed their bodies were their temples that mere mortals should worship. With that attitude, it didn’t matter how perfectly formed they were, Portia didn’t pay attention. She preferred modest men. Oh, and straight, which was a rarity in her world.
Ryan’s body was indeed a work of art, and for a moment, she forgot why she’d tackled him in the first place. Until the lump in the bed moved.
She flinched and grabbed his arm. “Kill it.”
His gaze searched the room. “With what?” He smiled as he found an item suitable for killing Mickey and he started off in the direction of the nightstand next to the bed.
On tiptoes, she followed, cringing with each step she took as she got closer and closer to the terror hidden under the blankets.
He picked up the beautiful stained-glass Tiffany lamp sitting on the nightstand and held it high in the air, ready to bash in the brains of their little friend. “On the count of three, I want you to pull back the blanket.”
Oh, she so did not want to do this. She forced her hand to the edge of the blanket and took a deep breath.
“One . . . two . . . three!”
She yanked off the blanket, expecting the rodent to scurry off to his escape. Instead, the large lump of silver fur didn’t move at all, obviously content to sleep soundly on the bed, indifferent to the humans’ fears. She squinted and moved closer. It was purring.
Ryan laughed, obviously relieved. “Zeus?”
What the heck was a cat doing in the bed? She dropped the blanket and pivoted to Ryan. “Yours?”
He shook his head and lowered the lamp back to the nightstand. Thank goodness they didn’t have to damage it. “Nah. He is—was—Uncle Al’s. Lord, he must be somewhere around twenty years old. I would’ve thought he’d be dead by now. Especially since no one’s lived here for months.”
The cat opened his eyes as if he understood the comment and daintily licked a paw.
“He looks alive to me. I’m guessing he’s the ‘rat’ we heard last night.” She moved to pet him, but Ryan caught her shoulder.
“He bites.”
“He slept curled up to me and didn’t take a nibble.” She gave him a smile. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you.” On her hands and knees, she crawled on the bed and gently placed a hand on the cat’s huge belly. The cat made a noise similar to a sigh and continued purring, closing his eyes. “See? He’s harmless.”
“Tell that to my brother and his scar.” He covered his nose with his hand and sneezed. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I’m allergic. We’ll have to drop him off at the shelter this morning. I can stop and get some coffee on the way back. How do you take it?”
She stroked the cat’s silver fur as he continued to give himself a tongue bath. Her mother hadn’t allowed them to have a pet since they constantly moved from place to place. She’d believed it wouldn’t be fair to the animal since animals needed to run wild and free, not sit around in a cage waiting for a human to feed it. Luckily, her mom had loved animals enough to bring her daughters to the animal shelters to volunteer. Portia loved taking dogs on walks and throwing a ball high in the air for the dog to catch. She often felt like those dogs. Trapped and reliant on someone else to care for her. No matter how free her mother claimed them to be, Portia and Viola had lived in a cage of their mother’s making.
“We can’t take Zeus to a shelter. No one would adopt an twenty-year-old cat. They’d euthanize him.” The cat stopped licking his paw and butted his head against her hand. “See? Look how sweet and docile he is.” She rubbed the spot between his ears and his tail wagged up and down, whipping the bed. “Please?”
Ryan ran his fingers through his hair. “Fine. I’ll take an allergy pill, and as long as he stays away from me, I should manage. But as of now, he’s your cat. You feed him and deal with the litter box. I don’t want to know where he’s been going to the bathroom in this house or what he’s been eating.” Holding his towel closed, he traipsed toward the closets.
She patted the cat on his belly and then went to her suitcase, crouching down to open it. Since she’d get dirty later, she decided to wait on the shower and chose clothes to wear for the day. “I’ve been thinking we should work on the kitchen first. It’s disgusting in there and if we don’t have any rodents, we will soon if the dishes aren’t cleaned. I’m not certain anything is salvageable.”