A thin bar of wet sandpaper rasped over a rib.
Mitch yelped and opened his eyes.
Gordon bobbed back. “What’s wrong?”
“The cat,” Mitch said in an urgent whisper. Chelsea was licking his side with single-minded purpose, laving away at a steadily-growing red patch on his ribcage. It felt like someone was going to town on him with a cheese grater. “The cat! What’s she doing?”
Gordon got off the bed. Mitch immediately slapped his thighs shut for protection. “She’s licking you,” he said, then gave Mitch one of his big, beautiful smiles. “Hey, maybe she’s starting to like you!”
“You think so?” Mitch asked hopefully. The cat was rasping dangerously close to his right n****e, but Mitch didn’t dare move in case he startled her and she killed him. Then Chelsea started to rub her face back and fo
