At the moment, he sat in his bag on the desk next to me, watching my every move. I suspected he was hoping I’d drop some of the paper I was holding into his bag so he could shred it into oblivion, but I wasn’t giving in. He’d have to wait for the hotel newspaper just like yesterday.
But as I looked at my little guy in his plastic tote, a thought occurred to me. “Adaire, did you know that Davis MacDonald had a cat?”
Adaire turned from where he was carefully reshelving a thin blue book and looked at me. “He did? No, I had no idea.”
I looked around the room, and sure enough, there in the corner of the window seat was a cat bed. “Look,” I said, pointing to the window. “And he adored that cat. He paid for it to have cancer surgery and chemotherapy last year.”
“Wow, that’s devotion,” Adaire
