Don’t snap at your food, don’t talk with your mouth full, and don’t go potty while we’re eating! There’s nothing less conducive to romance than the smell of poop wafting everywhere.” Moth, sitting on the cooler next to my sleeping bag, gave me one of his indignant looks, as if the last thing he would do would be to use his litter box while we were dining. “And don’t give me that look,” I said, shaking my finger at him. “I know you too well, cat. Just behave yourself. This is my first real date with Walker, and I want everything to go well.” I looked around the tent to make sure everything was perfect. I had cajoled two chairs and a small table from neighbors, covering the table with a big red shawl CJ had packed. Camp lights were set low, dim enough to be romantic, but bright enough to see what we were doing. The pizza and salads I’d ordered from a delivery place had arrived, and I had a bought a bottle of wine off a couple who strolled through the tent city selling libations.
