It’s not New York, but I’ve learned to love that about it. Sometimes, you don’t realize how much you’ve started to call your cage “home” until you finally get the chance to walk around outside the bars a little bit.
“Uh-oh. We’ve been spotted,” Jasmine mutters.
Madame Duvall hobbles toward us with the grim determination of a gossip bloodhound. Her toy poodle, Pierre, beats her to us, circling around and furiously yapping at our ankles.
“Mes chéries! How is the little whale today?” Her knuckles dig into my belly before I can dodge.
“You must rest more! My niece’s neighbor’s cousin, she ignored her hypertension and… pop!” She mimes an explosion.
Jasmine steps between us, forcing a polite smile. “We’re heading home for a nap right now, actually.”
“Good, good. Remember, rosemary tea with
