When he walks into the kitchen, Douglas is momentarily nonplussed. There, amongst his pristine bowls and cutting boards is a wet ball of…orange. Orange fur. With whiskers, four paws, and a tail guaranteed to make a mess of anything it touches.
“Martin!” he bellows into the house. “What in heaven’s name is this..this…animal doing in my kitchen?!”
Martin comes skidding in, rescuing the small kitten from where Douglas has grabbed it off the worktop. “Douglas,” he chides. “You’ll scare him!”
“If it means it stays out of my kitchen and I don’t have to pick fur out of my food, so much the better.”
Martin glares at him half-heartedly and takes the little furball out into the sitting room, Douglas in trail.
“Where did it come from, anyway?”
A quick, mischievous grin. “Oh, Douglas. Didn’t your mother ever tell you? When a mummy kitty and a daddy kitty love each other very much, they do a special kind of hugging....hey!”
Douglas has grabbed Martin’s collar, turning him so they’re face-to-face. Or, given Martin’s vertically-challenged stature, face-to-chest. “You’re lucky,” he says, as he takes Martin’s face in his hands, “that I find you so irresistible when you’re being snarky. Or rescuing things. Or at any time at all, really,” and then kisses him soundly. “But that...cat is your responsibility. If I catch it in our bed, you’re sleeping on the sofa.”
Martin grins at him. “You big old softy,” he teases. “You’ll love him. I’m sure