I tell Brian that I’m scouring the humane society website. Looking at black cats.
“Why black cats?” he asks.
“Statistically speaking, people tend to not adopt black animals. I want to adopt the cat that nobody wants. So my next cat will absolutely be black. I’ll name it a Halloween name. Maybe Abyss. Or Cinder. Or Jinx. Or Spooky. Or—”
Brian interrupts, “So you’re ready to replace Bob—your dead cat—now?”
“But you’re looking at cats at the humane society.”
An incredulous look grew on his face. “You’re picking out names.”
“Right. Halloween names.”
Brian folded his hands over his face.
I continued, “I really like Abyss. But that’s kind of a dark name for a cat, don’t you think? Maybe I should choose a happier name. Like Casper. Would Casper work if I got a girl?”
Brian's hands opened like shutters. He said, “For a cat you’re not even close to adopting.”
Brian bellowed a primal scream.
“What?” I asked.