Six, six fleas-no! Make it seven now! I just picked off and killed seven fleas from my own human body. All thanks to that damned cat. I scratch at the numerous flea bites on my body and card my hands through my hair nervously.

Scratch tick tick clack scratch

THAT IS IT, MOOSE! I am so done with this thing, so done! I load up the stupid animal in a carrier and slam the door on it. I pick up the feathered boa he was playing with and ball it up, shoving it in a plastic bag on my way out. I practically chuck the two items into the back of my rundown Chevy pickup and get behind the wheel.

I’m speeding down the expressway, looking for any place that looks like it’ll take on a new cat. I stop at a Petco, thinking maybe they’ll take in a ‘stray’. I dump the feathered boa in a trash can on the way into the store along with Moose’s collar that we never got tags for anyway.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asks me.

Moose stares at me with big green eyes. _ Can we keep him?…I love you, y’know_

“He needs a collar.”