Menaa

They wandered around the shelter, laughing and cooing at the different cats. It was a lot of kittens, which surprised Tori. They were extremely cute, but so much work. She always pictured herself with an older cat. Something mellow and standoffish, like her.

"Ow!" Michael yelped as one of the kittens he was playing with climbed up the back of his shirt. "I'm not a pincushion!"

Tori laughed and removed the kitten. It wriggled in her hand until it was on its back, paws up ready to play.

"You're a little psycho," she said affectionately, and she placed him back into his play pen with his siblings.

"You had enough?" Tori asked.

Michael stood and turned around. "Yeah, am I bleeding?"

"No I don't think so."

They walked out of the cat introduction room back towards reception. "Just wondering," she asked the volunteer, "what we would need to adopt, like in the future. Our landlord said we could, but do you need proof or something?"

"An email is fine," the woman said. "Or a letter. Something in writing."

"Okay thanks." She started towards the exit when the volunteer called after her. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Tori turned. Where was Michael?

She smirked and walked back down the corridor to find him bent double, face pressed up against the glass.

"What are you doing?"

He turned towards her, tears streaming down his face.

"Michael! What's wrong?"

"He's been here for a year, Victoria."

She peeked through the window to see a small black cat with huge yellow eyes. He was curled down in his bed, his tail draped over his tiny body like a scarf.

"A kitten?"

"No, he's five. He's five and he's so sweet, look."

Michael ran a finger across the glass and the cat tracked it, then he rolled around in his bed until he was on his back, reaching towards Michael with his little paws.

"Look at his toe beans," Michael sniffed. God, this was too adorable.

"You want to meet him?"

Michael shook his head. "No, because I'm already in love and then I'll want to take him home."

"It seems like you already want to take him home."

He lifted his glasses and wiped at his eyes.

"Come on, let's go fill out the application. Which one is he? What's his name?"

Michael just smiled and pointed at the sign. Tori laughed.

"Well, we're changing that. We can't have a cat named Charlie."

An hour later Tori found herself in a taxi, a small cardboard box at her feet. Meanwhile, Michael was completely enveloped by a litter tray, a bag of cat litter, a bag of cat food, a 'starter box' of toys, and the cat's bed and blanket. She had already taken to calling him 'the cat' while Michael tried on different monikers throughout the ride home.

"Chuck? Chucky? What about Chaz? Chazzer? Oh, what about Chaplin? That's a cute name."

The cat meowed quietly from his place between her feet.

"Oh, I think he likes that one!" Michael said excitedly, jostling his box of supplies. "Huh, Chaplin? You like that name?"

"Let's get him home first," Tori said, "then we can rethink his name."