Macey
Mikey was pretending to watch football when I walked into the cottage.
He was not doing a very convincing job.
The television was on, some sports analyst was arguing loudly about playoff seeding, and Mikey sat stretched across the couch with one ankle resting over his opposite knee. He looked relaxed enough at first glance, but the second I closed the front door behind me, his attention snapped away from the screen.
Rocky came charging across the living room before Mikey could speak, his paws sliding slightly on the floor as he reached me. I barely had time to set my purse down before he pressed himself against my legs, tail wagging so hard his entire body shook.
“There’s my neglected boy,” I murmured, bending to scratch behind his ears.
Mikey lifted an eyebrow.
“He has not be
