Trevelyn told Atticus. He folded the cell phone and looked down at the bird fussing around his feet. The silly seagull was begging for another chunk of shortbread. Trev broke off a piece and dropped it for the insistent creature before adding, “But then, I suppose if Jago knew I was holding a conversation with a one-legged seagull that thinks he’s a cat, my brother would be quite concerned about me as well.” The bird bobbed his head up and down, and then partially raised his one good wing. “I’m not sure if you’re agreeing with me or doing a happy dance because I’m sneaking you junk food. Remember—a bird that pecks toes doesn’t get Twiglets or Walkers Salt & Vinegar Crisps.” The bird was a junk food freakaconus. Having discovered Atticus’s weakness, Trev wasn’t above slipping him bribes. The family dinner at Colford Hall had gone surprisingly well, and Trev found himself liking both Cian and Mac. Thus, the start of Sunday found him in a mellow mood. Trev glanced over to the two cats, dead asleep, melted into puddles on the floor of the sunshine-filled greenhouse.
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