On Saturday, Lewis showed up around ten in the morning. Fiona was dozing in the sunshine, a model of serenity and quiet grace. Lewis pulled a lightweight, practice golf ball out of his pocket.
"Here, Fiona, I brought you this." He flicked it across the room. She raised her head to watch it roll, then looked away.
Hathaway could tell Lewis was a little miffed. "She won't give you the satisfaction, Sir. But let's have some tea and when we're not looking she'll be after it."
He was right. As they got the tea ready in the kitchen, they could hear her clattering about the flat with the ball, and they peeked around the corner to watch her antics. Out of the corner of his eye, Lewis stole a glance at Hathaway, and smiled inwardly at the delight plain on the younger man's face.
By the time they were done with their tea, Fiona had settled down. Hathaway shook his head. "It's probably under the sofa by now. She's good at getting all her favorite toys stuck under there. Then, as her servant, I have to fish them out."
"Well, I'm sure she'll give you high marks on your employment review. Probably better than what you'll get from me. You never get stuff out from under the sofa for me, and I'm farther from the floor than she is."
"She has cleaner habits than you, Sir. There's no telling what's under your sofa and I'm not going to reach in blindly."
"Can't argue with that."
By six o'clock, Lewis had put in several hours cleaning the front room of his flat, inspired by Fiona's good example of cleanliness. Plus, it had occurred to him what a disaster it would be if he was ever required to bring home an unexpected, furry guest. He had to smile every time he thought about the look on Hathaway's face when he watched the cat. It might be nice to have a furry, little companion.
Hathaway, meanwhile, had settled down to his evening wine and book, complete with his favorite lap-sitter. He was halfway through the glass of wine when his mobile buzzed with an unrecognized number.
* * *
