I gesticulate to the entirely non-hallucinated chicken defensively. “You know Delilah is real.”

He furrows his brow. “Yeah, but I didn’t know you were crazy enough to volunteer to take care of her.”

“I didn’t volunteer,” I argue. “But whatever. Can you help me?”

Dubiously, he asks, “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Turn her into chicken tenders!” I yell spitefully.

He gives me a horrified look.

“I’m not serious, jeez! Don’t hurt her. Just help me catch her!”

“And then what?”

“Then...” I try to come up with the next logical step, but I’ve got nothing. So I throw my arms up in exasperation. “I don’t know. But please do something!”

I’m growing hysterical again. All I wanted to do was watch Netflix, for fuck’s sake. What did I do to deserve a goddamn chicken running amok in my living room?

Travis steps closer and pulls me back into his arms. He guides my head to his shoulder, his fingers splayed through my hair, rubbing tiny circles over my scalp. I gratefully lean more of my weight against him. If humans could purr, I’d be doing that right now.

Screw the chicken. She can have the house. It’s not that nice anyway.

Humming softly, Travis kisses the top of my head. Now that’s nice.

Squawk.

He startles, releasing me. “Okay, we’ve got to do something about the bird.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

He gives me a look that suggests I should shut up, so I do. Then he steps farther into the room and assesses the situation before taking control like I wanted him to. It takes a lot of stealth and coordination between the two of us, but eventually we manage to wrangle Delilah into Travis’s arms.

She immediately stops trying to flap away. In fact, she appears perfectly content being held by him.

I know the feeling, girl.

“What now?” I ask.

Travis glances down at the chicken warily. “Let’s go over to Mitch’s yard and put her in her coop.”

I frown. “I’m supposed to be watching her because she’s depressed. Or possibly dying.”

The exasperated look he gives me is probably fair.

“Fine,” I say. “But we have to sit there with her.”

The exasperation grows stronger.

“Well, I have to sit with her,” I amend. “You will obviously be free to go on living your life. I’ll just remain on sacred chicken duty by myself.”

With an eye roll, he says, “I can stay with you.”

I try not to smile too smugly.