“Teddy is my cholla, commonly known as a jumping cactus. No, he can’t actually jump, but he has all these cylindrical joints. So when someone touches one of his spines, the whole joint breaks off and sticks to the victim. His spines are amazing. They can penetrate the toughest hide and are barbed like fishhooks. He’s quite a guy.”

“Hmmph. That was an unprovoked attack. He should be behind bars.” Asima had found her voice.

“He didn’t attack you. You brushed up against him and he stuck to you. It’s what a cholla does.” Cinn knew she sounded as weary as she felt.

“Why is he in the corner with your weed warriors?” Dacian looked as though he didn’t believe she’d given them the whole story.

She hadn’t.

“Umm, no real reason. I just didn’t want anyone to touch him and get hurt.” Cinn felt righteous indignation. This was all Asima’s fault. But maybe she should apologize to the cat. She turned toward Asima… just in time to see her licking her paws. “No. You’ll wash all the pollen off.”

Asima cast her a slit-eyed, pissed-kitty stare. “I quit. You didn’t warn me that this could be hazardous employment. Do you have insurance? Perhaps I should sue. Is animal cruelty a felony?”

Cinn huffed her frustration. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m sorry, okay?”

Asima didn’t answer. Instead she stood frozen, staring into space.

“Now what?” Cinn was getting tired of all the drama.

Asima cast an awe-filled gaze her way. “Vince spoke to me.”

Just peachy. Vince spoke to everyone but her.

“He said he forgives me for tossing him in the trash, and he’s sorry I was hurt.”

“Kind of him.” Why wouldn’t Vince speak to her?

Before Cinn could stop her, Asima leaped onto the counter and bounded over other plants to get to Vince.

“Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare touch him.” Too late. Asima stuck her nose against one of Vince’s leaves. Cinn groaned.

“I told him I was truly sorry he had to spend time in the trash. I feel like I just went to confession. Of course, I’m not a Catholic, so I don’t know exactly how that would feel. Besides, the priest might refuse to give absolution to a cat. The church has these silly rules that—”

“Shut. Up.” Cinn spoke through clenched teeth.

“Why?” Asima looked sincerely puzzled.

Because you make me crazy. “Vince can communicate, he has feelings, and he’s sensitive. You’re not sensitive. You’ll hurt him.”

“Uh, excuse me? One of your plants attacked me with malicious intent, and you have the nerve to accuse me of insensitivity? Perhaps you need to explain your reasoning.” She made a contemptuous cat sound.