Cat-Boy takes pills for a weird autoimmune disorder he came down with before relocating to Nova Scotia. Every other day, The Guy and The Girl hold him tight, pry open his little, sharp-fanged maw and stuff a pill inside.Sometimes, Cat-Boy swallows it philosophically, receives praise and runs to the fridge where he is rewarded with two teaspoons of tuna.
Other times, he tucks the pill in the corner of his whiskered cheek, then spits it onto The Guy's shirt. He clamps his teeth together. The pill dries out and sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he runs around trying to get it out, while his people rush around in distress, trying to get him to drink water.
Cat-Boy is now one expensive creature. Recent surgery in the vastly expensive Bay Area, pills for his condition, special foods and cat-toys add up. But what he costs in money is more than made up when he climbs into a waiting lap, stretches out, and purrs like a small engine until he falls asleep.There is something so primally comforting about a cat's purr that it lowers the blood pressure and heart rate of the person whose lap is so honored. Add to that plush seal-colored fur, eyes the color of icebergs, and the ability to make everyone laugh just by playing with a string, and you have an amazing being. The Guy and Girl are amazed by him. Why, they wonder, would anyone would bother having children, when cats are so much nicer?
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