The sky grayed with clouds scudding in from the north and spitting cold raindrops. Jared walked the compound, zipped up in a jacket and noticed that the cats were on edge. Pinhead huddled on top of his den, ears flattened. Even Rhiannon, normally affectionate, gave him one quick swipe of her tongue, then retreated to her den. Tasha huddled in the back of her cage, hissing at anyone who walked by.
Must be that change in barometric pressure or something.
At noon, when he stepped into his office to face Scott Cowan, the FEAPA inspector, his own mood mimicked Tasha’s. Peter was dirt-smeared from crawling into lockout cages that kept the cats confined while staffers had to work in their habitats. His eyebrows were furrowed and his normally cheery mouth was turned down.
Scott signed a yellow
