Harlan walked through the door. He was in casual-day-at-the-office mode. Olivia doubted that anyone on the street or in the lobby of the apartment tower had bothered to give him a second glance, but when she went into her other senses, she was aware of the heat and power of his aura flooding the small space.

“I got your message saying you would be late,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is great. I hope.”

He had a sack in one hand. In his other hand he gripped a cat carrier. A pair of glittering eyes surveyed her through the mesh screen. The cat made a cat sound. Olivia couldn’t tell if the beast was viewing her with approval or disapproval.

“Okay,” she said. “I did not see this coming.”

“And you call yourself a psychic.” Harlan kissed her soundly. When he raised his head, anticipation whispered in the atmosphere, but there was also a hint of anxiety. “This is Joe.”

“Joe.” Olivia looked down at the carrier. “The cat I was thinking of adopting the night you found me at the speed date event?”

“I hope it’s the right Joe. I only got a glimpse of him on your phone that evening. When I went to the agency to see if he was still available, the staff told me that a cat named Joe seemed to be waiting for someone. He didn’t have any objection to coming with me, but it turns out there’s a lot of paperwork involved in this sort of thing. Also, I had to pick up cat food and kitty litter. The whole process turned out to be time-consuming. That’s why I’m late.”

He handed the cat carrier to Olivia. She took it in both hands, carried it into the living room and set it on the floor. She went into the kitchen and opened a can of expensive, line-caught, sashimi-grade albacore tuna and put it on a plate. She put the plate on the floor outside the carrier.

Joe watched the process with great attention. When everything was ready Olivia unlatched the screen.

“Hello, Joe,” she said softly.

Joe stepped out of the carrier and gave her a long, considering look. Apparently satisfied, he butted his head against her hand.

“It’s the right Joe,” Olivia said.

Harlan smiled. “Joe the junkyard cat?”

“Joe the excellent cat.”

“You’re sure?” Harlan asked.

“Positive.”

She reached out to stroke Joe. He tolerated her for a moment, sampled some of the food and then set out on an exploration of the living room. When he reached the collection of cat paraphernalia lined up under the window, he checked each item with great care.

Olivia smiled at Harlan. “I think he likes it here.”

“I like it here, too,” Harlan said.

Joe vaulted up onto the back of the cobalt blue sofa and stretched out in a regal pose.

“There’s going to be cat hair on your sofa,” Harlan warned.