Chapter Fourteen
Gin, TV, and a Cat
A cat by any other name still needs to be fed.
By the time Deirdre arrived home, Agnus had polished off a jumbo pack of crisps, slipped into Lesley’s sweat pants, and was glaring at Jamie Oliver with a “no one wants me” slump.
She looked a sad sight.
“I have a new life now,” she muttered.
Deirdre spied the half-empty gin bottle.
“Gin . . .” She gestured with her glass. “. . . the TV.” She looked down at the cat on her knee. “And a cat to throw things at . . .”
“Well that’s nothing to crow about,” muttered Deirdre.
Agnus thumped her hand on the cat’s head. “. . . and pat.”
The cat with no name grimaced.
“And you know what,” she slurred, “I might just give this cat a name . . . chop my own bleeding wood, even . . .” She took a large sip. “Get a
