Page 19 of The Tiger in the Sack

Jules

Found the perfect little place in Highland Heights right near campus.

Cool. When do you move in?

For some reason known only to my little sister, she’d decided to do her masters at Kentucky North University. Sure, sure it had one of the nation’s top sports psychology programs, but did she have to pick a school seven whole miles from Cinci?

Denver State had a perfectly good graduate program and she could have lived at home and tormented at least four of our older brothers to her hearts content. But no... she was moving here for the next year. .

And I was going to love having her around. On occasion.

She would also be laughing her ass off at my current romantic entanglement. Although, she did give solid advice when she wanted to

Jules

I’ll be there Friday.

Ah, fuck a duck.

THE HILL I'LL DIE ON

CLOVER

Tuesday started with a text from Cat Daddy at seven forty-three in the morning while I was still in the phase of existing where I was technically awake but had not yet committed to it.

Cat Daddy

Vito Catleone here. I have completed my review of Tig O’Bittlesworth’s professional and romantic references. They are acceptable. Please find enclosed my Instasnap for your consideration. Further correspondence may be directed to my assistant, the Dread Pirate Poptarts, at this number. Good day.

The handle that followed was @VitoRides.

I stared at this for a moment. Tig stepped on my face. I relocated him to the other pillow, sat up, and opened the account.

Forty-seven thousand followers.

I scrolled for twenty minutes and was late to work.

The content was...I didn’t have a word for what the content was. There was Vito in his helmet and leather jacket, sitting upright on the motorcycle with perfect badass cat posture. There was Vito in rain gear, which was a small yellow jacket, looking extremely prepared for precipitation.

There was a video of Vito spotting a pigeon from the bike after they’d parked. What happened to Vito’s face when he spotted that pigeon, the ultra-adorable cat chittering as he eye-stalked his prey was what did it for me.

And then there was the hot dog video.

Someone had dropped a hot dog on the sidewalk. Vito, in his harness, jumped down and conducted a full forensic investigation of this hot dog from a distance of approximately four centimeters, including a very thorough sniff analysis complete with that hilarious open-mouthed stinky face. He did not touch it. He did not look away from it. Then he hissed at it and jumped back up on the bike.

I saved the account, texted the video to my mom, and went to work.

My mom texted back before I’d made it to the elevator.

Mom

So cute!! You know who loves cats? Warner. Such a nice young man. Any chance you’re ready to give him a second chance?

I had not mentioned Warner. I had sent a cat and his disdain for street hot dogs. My mother had a homing instinct, and the home was always Warner.

At lunch I texted Cat Daddy back.

Vito’s references check out. Tig’s formal response is attached.