The lion nuzzled his head over the backs of Nancy's knees and made a
growling, purring sound. The tip of his tail flipped against the smooth
white stove.
Holman frowned at the lion and dropped back into his chair. "Shandy?
The last time I saw him he was a St. Bernard dog."
Nancy rumpled the lion's mane. "Well, you know how Shandy is. He
doesn't stay one thing for long. He saw a picture of a lion on a sack
of meal last week and off he went."
"When you're through fondling him I'd like my coffee. And where's the
rum?"
Gently pushing the leaning lion away from her legs, Nancy said, "I'll
get it, Ken." She patted Shandy on the back. "Go outside and play,
Shandy. That's a nice boy."
Without looking at Holman, the lion left the kitchen.
"That's ridiculous," Holman said, turning from the empty doorway.
"Damn it, Ken. He's my pet and I like him." The rum bottle made a hard
flat sound as she put it in front of Holman. "You might try to accept
him. He's a very nice pet."
Holman unscrewed the bottle cap. "Love me, love my whatever the hell he
is."
"For somebody who came by to court me you're not being very pleasant."
She poured out two cups of coffee.