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My cat stood waiting at the threshold, flicking his tail so violently I worried it might snap off.“Don’t even think about it,” he grumbled.

But I refused to be scared off. His bedroom was the safest place for the squirmy kittens. After all, it had already been thoroughly cat-proofed and there were no large pieces of furniture for them to hide under. Octo-Cat would just have to suck it up for a change.

I set my jaw firm and my gaze straight ahead as I stepped past him into the room.

He trotted after me, screaming like a banshee.“I will throw up! I’ll shred the curtains! I’ll go on a hunger strike. I’ll—”

“I’ll tell Grizabella they’re yours,” I countered.

He sank back.“You wouldn’t.”

“I know this is mildly inconvenient for you, but they’re babies and they need our help. Can you please try to be civil for once in your nine lives?”

He scoffed and turned tail.“You owe me. You owe me so big, Angela,” he shouted as he ran fast and far from that room.

Whatever. I could worry about him later. For now Charles and I had kittens to attend to.

After shutting the door tight, we unwrapped each kitten and set them in the middle of the carpeted floor.

“Daddy?” one of the striped kidlets asked.

Then all the others joined.“Daddy! Daddy!” they whined, becoming increasingly agitated with each syllable.

“What got them so worked up all of a sudden?” Charles laughed, failing to realize that the cries were ones of anguish and not excitement.

“They want Octo-Cat back,” I explained as Charles sat with the kittens on the floor and I stood awkwardly by the doorway. “They think he’s their father.”

Charles laughed.“Do they?”

“Either that, or they’re just calling himDaddy.They don’t seem to know many words.”

“Well, they are babies.” He picked up one of the kittens and set it on his lap. “Maybe they need to learn to talk the same way humans do. Then again, I haven’t heard you talkto them yet. Justabout them.”

“You’re right.” I shook my head at this oversight, then lowered myself to the floor and sat cross-legged so the kittens could approach me. “Hi, guys. My name’s Angie. What are your names?”

“Want Daddy!” one of them informed me. His whiskers brushing up against my bare foot as he sniffed me. Even though the mewling fuzzballs were adorable, they were already proving to be a ridiculous amount of work.

“I’ll go get him in a second, but first I was hoping you could tell me how you wound up on my porch?”

No sooner had I asked this question than the entire litter broke into hysterics—even Charles could sense their distress. He reached out to pet the nearest kitty and received a clawed swipe for his efforts.

“That settles it.” I pushed myself back to my feet, careful not to make contact with any of the angry babies as I stood. “We need to get Octo-Cat.”

“Something tells me he’s not going to be happy about playing translator.”

I giggled.“And whatsomething is that? Every single past experience to date?”

Now we both laughed. It was funny because it was true.

Charles followed me out of the room, carefully shutting the kittens inside before looping his arms around my waist.“This reminds me of the first time we really got to know each other. Remember the Hayes double homicide?”

“How could I forget? But it’s kind of weird that you seem to consider it a romantic memory.” I spun out of his arms and headed down the stairs.

“Hey, our relationship may be a little bit different, but it’s all ours,” he explained, trailing behind me. “Speaking of, I can’t wait for Friday. I am going to knock your socks off with my big Valentine’s Day surprise.”

At the bottom of the stairs, I surveyed the foyer and the living room but couldn’t see Octo-Cat anywhere. Turning back to Charles, I frowned. “Either tell me now or stop teasing. You know I hate surprises.”

As we headed toward the kitchen, Octo-Cat shot out from under the couch and raced away as fast as his little paws could carry him.“You hate surprises? Well, not as much as me!” he yelled while fleeing.

We gave chase.“I need your help,” I called to the raging tabby. “Please. It’s important.”

“Not going to happen,” he muttered from the safety of the litter box where he’d taken up refuge.

“Please?” I asked, sticking out my lower lip pathetically and attempting puppy eyes. I didn’t expect either gesture to work, but I had nothing else at my disposal. Even when he was in a good mood, Octo-Cat made a stubborn opponent—and he was far from a good mood now.

“No,” he spat.

I sighed and hung my head.“Just remember. You forced my hand.”

“Where are you going?” Charles asked as I left Octo-Cat behind and headed toward the kitchen.

“Stay here and keep watch,” I instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

After a minute or so rummaging through the junk drawer in the kitchen, I found what I needed and returned to the guys.“Last chance,” I warned the cat.

“Still no. No, no, no, no, no,” came my cat’s reply.