Who was currently climbing through the window with a dead bird in his mouth.
“Winston!” I exclaimed, jumping up. “What are you doing? We’ve spoken about this! No animals in the house!”
He looked up at me with all the innocence that his Maine Coon arse could muster.
Spoiler: it was none. Fucking en-oh-en-ee none.
He dropped the bird on my armchair in front of me and pounced down, trilling as his paws hit the carpet. I glared after him, but he was entirely unbothered by my annoyance as he strutted out of the office towards the kitchen with his huge, fluffy tail in the air. The tip was even flicking.
And I had a dead bird on my chair.
I stared at it. How in the fuck did he catch a crow? I knew that Sir Winston Purrchill was a little bloody savage, but a crow? Those things were huge. This thing was huge. And dead.
Very, very dead.
Look, I got it. He thought I was a helpless human who was incapable of eating without his divine intervention, but I really didn’t need him to bring me the results of his efforts to control the nuisance that was the local bird population.
I sighed and got up, shoving my phone in my hoodie pocket. I wasn’t touching that animal with my bare hands. What did I even do with a dead crow?
Christ, this was a nightmare.
I was going to rehome this cat.
No, I wasn’t. I was about as likely to do that as Megan was to get a new job. I loved the stupid animal, even if his gifts left a lot to be desired.
Why couldn’t he fetch me something useful? Like, oh, a bottle of wine? Or a packet of crisps? I’d even take a packet of custard creams.
I side-eyed him as I walked to the cupboard to fetch my bag of carrier bags, also known as the staple of every kitchen ever. I pulled out one of the thicker ones and walked back to my office, where the distinct sound of flapping could be heard.
Oh, no.
Not again.
This was an all too often occurrence with Winston’s deliveries.
My brother was going to kill me if I called him to come and get it.
I took a peek inside the room, carefully peering around the edge of the door. Sure as hell, the crow was flying back and forth across my office making the most hideous cawing noise. Winston’s “bird trill” sounded from behind me, and I snatched the fluffy bastard up before he could cause even more damage.
“Absolutely not,” I said, slamming the office door shut. “You are not going in there to wreck the office. You better hope that thing makes its own way out or Uncle Kevin is going to be so mad at you!” I hauled him through the house to the downstairs toilet—a half-bath if you were fancy—then pushed the seat down and put him inside the room.
He let out a mewl of annoyance when I shut the door on him. The bird was still cawing and flapping around my office, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialled my brother’s number.
“No,” he said the second he answered. “No way.”
“Kev, please,” I replied. “It’s a huge crow.”
“A crow? How did that fat bastard catch a crow?”
“I have no idea, but it’s still alive and causing carnage in my office.”
“Have you tried opening a window?”
“How do you think Winston brought it in? He didn’t abseil down the bloody chimney!”
He sighed. “All right. Give me ten minutes. Let me know if it gets out before I get there so I can turn around.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve shut the door, and I’m not about to go and sit in the front garden to watch the window. If Norma sees me out there, she’ll never let me go. She spent an hour last week telling me all the things I did wrong in my last book. It’s been out for three months.”
“All right, all right. I’m on my way. Then you and I need a little talk about training your cat.”
Yeah, well, he could try.
Winston could not be trained.
I’d tried.
And, evidently, failed.
• • •
“Did it seem hurt?”
I pushed a cup of coffee towards my brother with a shake of my head. “It was flying around like it was going for an Olympic sprint for birds. It flew right out as you arrived.”
“Of course it did.” Kevin took the mug from me and gave me a withering look. “It’s almost as if he wasn’t here at all.”
“Oh, shut up. You saw the feathers he left everywhere.” I squished the teabag against the side of my mug and scooped it out with a teaspoon. “Besides, if you didn’t want to come to all the animal rescues in my house, you shouldn’t have started an animal rescue.”
He sniffed. “It was Aaron’s idea.”
“I seem to remember him proposing it to you as his dream and you being happy to go along with it.”
“I wouldn’t say I was happy.”
“How many kittens do you have in rescue right now?”
“Sixteen,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Sixteen.” Kev sighed. “With three mums. They’ll be getting spayed as soon as we’re able to. Aaron just got us signed up to a program that subsidises the cost.”
My lips twitched up. My brother could say what he liked about the rescue all being Aaron’s idea, but he’d do anything for his boyfriend. Like raise sixteen kittens and their three feral mothers.
He was a much better person than I was.
“How many animals do you have right now?”
Kev pursed his lips. “Twenty-eight cats, two hedgehogs, three owls, a blackbird, a ferret, two goats, a miniature donkey, twelve ducks, nineteen chickens, and an emu.”
I raised my eyebrows. “An emu?”
“It was going to be killed. How could I leave it there?”
Yeah, the rescue was all his boyfriend’s idea. Sheesh. “Just accept you’re halfway to a petting zoo and will be getting alpacas at the earliest opportunity.”
“We, uh. We’ve discussed it.”
“Of course you have.” I hid my smirk behind my mug. “So you’ll do it.”
“Why don’t you shut up and tell me how your latest book is going?”
I looked away. “Don’t ask.”
“That well, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Now you know how it feels.” He sipped his coffee and peered over at me in a way that only a big brother could. “What’s the problem? Writer’s block?”
I nodded and explained. “Meg suggested I take Winston and get a change of scenery. She thinks it might do me good and inspire me.”
“I don’t think she’s wrong. Not to mention that you’re probably burnt out, El. You’ve been writing for years without a break.” His gaze softened. “Maybe that’s what you need.”
“Perhaps, but I have a contract that says otherwise.”
“Honey, you’re the most successful author that publishing house has ever seen. You make them bank. If they can’t push a deadline so you can have a fucking holiday, I will personally go in there and wave my law degree around like it’s motherfucking confetti.”
I dipped my chin in an attempt to hide my smile. “I’m free for a while after this one. I just need to get this book done and then I promise I will take a small break.”