Page 48 of Fish and Chip

“Oh honey, that stud muffin is at least a nine,” Savvy counters. “Look at those yummy shoulders. That man could chop wood and my heart in one swing.”

“Do you think he’s single?” Georgie looks hopeful. She also looks as if she doesn’t care much what the answer is.

“Does it matter?” Savvy sounds affronted that she bothered to ask. “We’re just window-shopping, sugar, not signing the deed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Georgie mutters. “I’m always in the market.”

“You’re always in the clearance aisle,” Ree calls over without looking up from her book.

A man dressed as a werewolf walks by, and both women actually sigh. In unison. Like a tiny, thirsty choir.

“Sweet honey on a hot biscuit,” Savvy breathes. “Did you see those hairy, scary arms? That costume is doing Heaven’s work.”

“I’m pretty sure Heaven had nothing to do with that costume,” Georgie says. “That’s pure sin and spandex.”

Savvy tilts her head to the side. “The best kind of combination.”

Meanwhile, Cupcake is curled up at Savvy’s feet, looking deeply unimpressed with the entire spectacle.

Hoomans sure do complicate courtin’, she drawls. Just sniff the rear of one you like and be done with it.

Honestly? Her system has fewer steps and possibly a much lower divorce rate.

Fish and Chip are stationed near the entrance in their photo op setup, an elaborate display featuring a glass pumpkin carriage, autumn leaves, and a “Meet Fish & Chip!” banner. A steady stream of guests keeps them busy posing for pictures while a park employee manages the line and collects tips. My cats have a tip jar. My cats outearn several of my ride operators. I try not to think about what that says regarding my management structure.

Between photo sessions, they’re being hand-fed treats by adoring fans.

This is the life, Chip sighs contentedly as a small child offers him a piece of bacon. I’m basically royalty. Do you think they’d carry me everywhere if I asked?

You already make Josie carry you everywhere you ask, you big tub of margarine, Fish points out, accepting a gourmet cat treat from an elderly woman cooing about how beautiful she is.

She’s not wrong.

That’s different, Chip protests. That’s transportation. I’m talking about a full chair situation with those pole thingies. Maybe with tassels.

Fish shudders. You’re ridiculous.

I’m ambitious. There’s a difference.

There isn’t, but I’ve learned not to argue with a cat enjoying his delusions of grandeur.

Also, Fish adds, her eyes narrowing at the crowd, the woman in the pumpkin sweater has taken eleven photos and tipped zero treats. I’ve memorized her face.

That cat keeps better surveillance records than most security firms. I tuck that talent away for later.

My phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. Then starts buzzing so aggressively I’m worried it’s going to vibrate right off the table and file a restraining order.

I glance down to see the family group chat going off.

Of course it is.

McKenna: RILEY TOOK MY COSTUME

Riley: I BOUGHT THAT COSTUME WITH MY OWN MONEY

McKenna: YOU LITERALLY BORROWED TWENTY DOLLARS FROM ME LAST WEEK TO BUY IT

Riley: THAT WAS FOR TEXTBOOKS