Copycat Killing

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I took the second boot off and Hercules shook one paw and then the other. I stroked the fur on the top of his head. “Maggie was just trying to help,” I said. “She knows you don’t like getting your feet wet.”

Hercules was a total wuss about wet feet. He didn’t like going out in the rain. He didn’t like going out in the snow. He didn’t like walking across the grass in heavy dew. Maggie had seen the cat boots online and ordered them. I didn’t know how I was going to explain to her that boots just weren’t his thing.

I stood up, went over to the cupboard to get a handful of kitty crackers and made a little pile on the floor in front of Herc. “Here,” I said. “These’ll help.” Then I scooped up Owen. I could tell from the way his tail was twitching that he’d been thinking of swiping a cracker.

“Leave your brother alone,” I warned, carrying him upstairs with me. “Or I’ll put those boots on you and I’ll tell Maggie you like them.”

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