CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them.”
DION BOUCICAULT
While they waited for Holly’s sedative to wear off, Sam made them each a cup of coffee. Greg’s eyes remained glued to the cat and her softly rising stomach as she slumbered peacefully.
“She looks like a kitten sleeping like that,” he said taking the coffee mug Sam passed him.
“Like a little angel until she starts tearing paper to shreds when I don’t give her enough attention. Angie got so mad once when Holly tore up one of her photos.”
“Maybe she needs a brother or sister. Have you ever considered adopting another cat?”
“I have, and I still may. It’s just that I don’t have time to spend housebreaking and raising a new kitten.”
“It doesn’t have to be a kitten.” Greg poured a touch of milk int
