I smiled at him. John’s dorky sense of humor was part of his charm. I felt that little jolt I always did when my eyes caught his. His Heath Bar eyes were his best feature, a circle of toffee surrounded by a larger circle of chocolate. You could get lost in those eyes.

“But,” I said, “the kittens are supposed to be handled by humans as much as possible to socialize them. I mean, my family doesn’t come in handy all that often, so I think we should put them to work.”

“No offense,” John said, “but your family’s interpretation of ‘as much as possible’ might turn into a bit of a mob scene.”

“I could drive over to Bayberry,” Polly said, “and borrow the bathroom pass from our classroom. That way they can take turns.”

I laughed. “Maybe we could just give my family numbers and herd them in two at a time for kitty handling. We could hose them down first to make sure they’re not harboring any poison food particles.”

“Just in case you think I’m kidding,” John said. “I’m serious.”

I leaned sideways, touched my head to his. “I know you think you are. It’s one of your many endearing qualities.”

Chapter Four

“Enough with the flapdoodle and fiddle-faddle,” my father said as he walked into the cat room carrying a big pink plastic flamingo.

“Where did you find Pink?” I asked. “I thought Christine took her home when we rescued her from the dumpster.” I turned to Polly. “Long story, but basically when we were getting the garage and the secret room cleaned out so they could be renovated for my dad’s man cave, a few valuable family treasures needed rescuing.”

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Nothing in this house goes anywhere unless I sign off on it,” my father said. “No siree Bob.”

“Sarah,” I said.

When my father gave the flamingo a twirl in front of the kittens, I had to admit Pink was pretty light on her single metal foot. I once read that flamingoes are seriously flirty birds that have over 130 sexy moves to attract a mate. If I had a single sexy move that had attracted John, I’d be hard pressed to name it. I wondered if plastic flamingoes gave lessons. Maybe Pink could start with me, and then we could write a sexy moves blog together.

I’d also read that flamingoes are monogamous, but only for a single mating season. I didn’t think either John or I were the least bit flamingo-ish, but I had to admit reading that still gave me pause. Could we make our human mating season last a lifetime?

Oreo, the bravest kitten of the bunch, went into attack mode and stalked Pink across the floor. He swatted at her metal stake with one tiny paw. The other kittens followed.