Methos stared at the sopping wet pile of fur on his kitchen counter. “What… is… that?” he questioned.
“I believe it’s a kitten,” MacLoed replied, eying his friend like he wasn’t sure if Methos was kidding or not.
is it on my kitchen counter?”
“Well, I couldn’t leave it outside. It’s raining.”
“Mac, you are such a Boy Scout.” Methos scooped the kitten up, glaring at it when it hissed at him.
“But you do so well taking care of things.”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone else,” Methos said over his shoulder as he carried it towards the bathroom.
“Did you bother to check the sex? I’m not going to keep calling the kitten ‘it’.”
Wrapping the kitten in a towel, Methos flipped it over, and called back, “She’ll need a name! And I’d still like to know why you brought her to me.”
“I thought you could use a friend.”
Methos stared at the Scottish Immortal who was now standing in the doorway to his bathroom. “So you brought me a half-drowned kitten?”
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