Since he always bought whatever beer he wanted, I didn’t use up any of my sympathy allotment for the day on him. “We were talking about setting some sort of trap.” Or at least I had been. “Outside of the acknowledged safety issues, do you think it’s a good idea? More to the point, do you think it could work?”

He slurped in a huge bite of noodles while I strong-mindedly averted my ears from the noise, chewed, and finally, after a thousand years, swallowed and said, “Sure. A trap could work.”

“Did you hear that?” I asked Eddie, who was sitting on the floor, equidistant from Rafe and me. I wasn’t sure if he was criticizing my non-use of chopsticks or hoping for something worthwhile to fall on the floor. Or both. “He said it could work.”

“Has to be a good plan, though.” Rafe looked at Eddie. “If you have any ideas on that, now would be a good time to speak up.”

Eddie stared into space, unblinking.

“Right.” I stood to collect the empty plates. “What are you up to the rest of the night?”

“Mrr.”

“Not you. I know what you’re doing.”

Rafe gathered the napkins and utensils. “Toss-up between watching hockey or watching baseball.”

Since I knew perfectly well he was going to work on the basement, I said, “Go with hockey. The season is almost over. There will be baseball for months.”

Rafe grinned. “Look at you, knowing so much about sports.”

I stopped short, plates in hand. Was it true? Had spending so much time with Rafe oozed sports knowledge into my brain? Not that I had anything against sports; it was just that my interests lay in different directions. Opposite directions. Yet . . . it was true. Spending this much time with Rafe had expanded my horizons, exposed me to new things and new ideas. And I’d probably done the same for him.

The thought gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling, one that lasted through my own chore of raking out the flower beds and bagging crumbling leaves.

“What about you?” I asked Eddie, who was sitting statue-like about ten feet away. He’d sat in the kitchen window, howling at me, until I couldn’t stand it any longer and let him out, thus rewarding bad behavior. “I’ve learned a lot from you. Especially the part about making sure to use a lint roller before going to work. Are you learning anything from me?”

He stared at me, his yellow eyes unblinking.

“How does that work? If I looked at you like that, my eyeballs would dry up and fall out of my head.” I gave him a long look, trying to match his stare, and couldn’t do it.

“You win,” I muttered. “I know, I know. The cat always wins, I get it.”

“Mrr.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so smug.”