Making lesbians happy – one book at a time!

Imaginary Pets

I woke up this morning, eyes wide. “I forgot all about Rascal.”

“Rascal?” Layce asked, setting down my coffee. We have coffee in bed on the weekends. Then we read the online New York Times because we’re liberal elite snowflakes.

“Yeah, remember the dog in 2nd book of our new True Heart series.”

“Oh, him. I like Rascal. I like that he’s pit bull mix from the shelter. And Parker saves him.”

“I know, me too. I’m on page 47 and I haven’t mentioned him once. Where is he all that time?”

“You need to fix that,” Layce said, sipping her coffee and checking out the New York Times to see what fresh hell the powers-that-be are unleashing on us this morning. “You know, if you didn’t put animals in our books we wouldn’t have to worry about tracking them.”

“It’s just Rascal. One dog. I can fix it.”

“I’m talking about your fixation with putting pets in our books.”

“Like what?” I inhaled the aroma of my coffee. The first cup is always the best.

“Let’s start with our very first book together with Mr. Pip (More than a Kiss), then the hedgehog and Oscar the Weiner dog in (Crazy Little Thing),  the telepathic cat (Kiss and Tell), all the dogs in Jamie Bravo’s Worst in Show. Moving on to the books you wrote solo, the Burmese Mountain dog, (Back Talk), Annie and Jane the mixed breeds (Family Affair Trilogy), the Pipster the amazing catching dog, (Date Night Club) to name a few. I’m sure I’ve missed one or two.”

“Okay, okay, so I have a soft spot for imaginary animals.” I squinted at her. “If I remember correctly you have Asshat in A Perfect Romance who kills squirrels and eats everything except their butt holes.”

“There is that,” Layce said. She went back to reading the paper. “But it’s only one cat, one time.”

I harrumph. “Don’t let me forget about Rascal.”

“I won’t, but maybe next time we could have a pet free book.”

“Sure thing.”

“You say that every time we write a book and every time an imaginary pet shows up.”

“I can’t help it that strays keep showing up at our fictional front porch,” I said.

Mister Beans, our real cat who showed up on our real porch, leapt up on my lap and nearly sent my coffee flying. “And imaginary ones don’t spill your coffee either. No offense, Mister Beans,” I said.

“None taken,” he said, stalking off, his tail in the air.

gingerb, tux, mittens 006

Layce and I stared at each other. “Did he just talk?” she said.

“No, I’m pretty sure we just imagined that.”

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