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“Oh,” she squeaked before sinking back onto the couch and curling into a tiny, shivering ball. As much as I hated to wait, I hated seeing her like this even more.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said, putting on the happiest voice I could manage, given the current circumstances.

Her deer-shaped Chihuahua head popped up, oversized triangle ears erect once again as she tilted her muzzle to the side.

“Let’s play fetch,” I said as I slapped my palms against my lap to make this declaration even more irresistible and exciting.

Paisley flew off the couch in an impressive display of athleticism, then slid across the hardwood floor until she found the small stash of toys she liked to keep tucked away. She pranced back over with a tiny stuffed lamb clenched proudly between her teeth.

“Good girl,” I enthused. Octo-Cat hated being talked to like a baby or a pet, but Paisley lapped it right up.

She dropped the toy at my feet and began to kick her legs back in excitement, my sweet little chicken.

I picked up the toy, faked throwing it once or twice, and then launched it across the room.

Paisley scampered after it, barking the whole way.

I waited.

And waited.

When she didn’t return after a full minute had passed, I got up to check on her…

And found Octo-Cat nestled on top of her hoard of toys with the little lamb clutched between his paws, claws extended and pressed right into the soft fleece.

“Why?” I demanded, thrusting a hand on my hip.

“You’re anxious, which makes her anxious, which makes me anxious. It’s a whole vicious cycle,” the tabby said around a yawn. He let out a low growl as he so often liked to do when he was feeling testy, which was almost all the time. “I’m ending it here.”

“No, you’re only making things worse,” I countered, reaching down to snag Paisley’s toy from him.

Octo-Cat growled again and batted my hand away. He didn’t even bother to retract his claws first.

Paisley began to bark and kick back her feet again. Unlike Octo-Cat, who always had something to say, Paisley sometimes stuck to the pure guttural sounds of barking, whining, and woofing—no added context necessary.

“Ouch,” I cried, ripping my hand away. “Why do you have to be so mean?”

“It’s for your own good,” he answered, eyes narrowed and tail flicking. That thing was like a metronome, steadily counting the beats until his next tantrum.

I narrowed my eyes right back at him and crossed my arms over my chest.“No, it’s not.”

“Fine, whatever.” He sighed mightily, as if this very conversation were miles beneath him. “It just makes life more interesting, you know?”

I rolled my eyes. Why could he never give me a day off from his signature snark? And it was even worse when he admitted that he bugged me simply for entertainment’s sake.

“Well, I don’t exactly need your help with that,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“Because waiting by the window for Prince Charming to ride up on that white horse and rescue you from your boredom is oh-so riveting?” Octo-Cat shook his head then sneezed.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you subscribe to Disney+,” I shouted in a huff.

He let out a laugh worthy of a classic animated villain but refused to relent.

“Sorry, Paize,” I said at last, drifting away from the bad kitty and taking up my seat by the window once more.

Did my cat have a point?Yes.

Would I ever admit that to him?Oh, heck no!

Doing so would only make his sizable head even bigger. That cat was already vain enough without any added assistance from me.

“I’m coming, by the way,” the feline bully informed me once Paisley had finally stopped barking at him and come to settle on my lap. He walked over, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, tail and nose both held high. I imagined him on a tight rope in the jungle with angry crocs snapping underneath, but that only made me feel marginally better.

“Who says you’re coming?” I demanded, blinking hard to clear my eyes of the imaginary crocs.

“I do, and as you know, I’m the highest authority on this and all other matters.” He jumped up onto the coffee table and sat before me, padding at the polished wood as if it were a warm blanket.

“Why do you even want to come? Remember how you used to hate the car? What happened to that?”

“What can I say? I’m evolving. It’s possible for some, though not for others.” He shot a sideways glance at Paisley and sneered. Sometimes I really questioned his love for her, but he liked the little pound puppy as much as he could like anyone, I guessed.

I waited for him to go on rather than pointing out the slight to Paisley. It would only hurt her feelings.

He sighed when I didn’t take the bait. “Okay, maybe Pringle got me somewhat invested in his reality TV programming.”

“So you’re going because you want to see Sharon and Chessy again?” He’d hated meeting them both last weekend, so this made zero sense to me.

Octo-Cat made a terrible noise like he was about to barf on the carpet.

And then he actually did it.

“Eww, gross!” I cried. “What is wrong with you?”