Erika set the plate of Fancy Feast on the trunk where she kept a buffet of dried cat food on small plates in her laundry room. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home much. Honestly, I would have been here more often if I could have.” From her place on the back of the washing machine, the white, green-eyed British Shorthair gave a regal tilt of her head as she looked down her nose at Erika. She looked every bit the cool, calm Brit that she was, a gift from an English gentleman who had been one of Erika’s satisfied clients. “Please?” Erika sat on a chair next to the trunk and sighed as she put her elbow on her knee, her chin in her palm. She’d been moping for the past two weeks. It made her wish she had some close girlfriends to talk to about Holden and Dawson. She sighed. “I could use a friend right now, Diva.” She swore Diva could understand her. The cat silently landed on the lid of the washing machine and then jumped down to the trunk. She head butted Erika’s arm, asking to be petted.
