“Happy belated birthday, Cat," he said, giving me a self-deprecating smile. "Aren't you glad Juan picked the place and not me? We wold have had lattes and hors d'oeuvres instead of liquor and G-strings. Anyone get you a gin yet?”

“See, Don, I have this question, and I hope you’ll be honest with me.”He pulled at the end of his eyebrow. “I think you know you can count on my honesty.”“Can I?” I asked with an edge. “All right, then tell me: How long have you been fucking me?”That caused him to stop tugging his brow. “I don’t know what you’re saying—”“Because if I was going to fuck you,” I interrupted, “I’d get a bottle of gin, some Frank Sinatra music…and a crash cart for the heart attack you’d have. But you, Don, you’ve been fucking me for years now, and I haven’t gotten any liquor, music, flowers,candy, or anything!”

“Cat, you asked me before to find out if those dream -suppression pills had any side effects. I’ve checked with Pathology, and they said you might experience depression, mood swings, irritability, paranoia, and chronic fatigue. Have you noticed any of that?”

“But the main point is that he still had swimmers in his sacks.”“Excuse me?”“You know, luv. Sperm, if you want to be all technical about it. He still had living sperm in his juice."Cat and Bones”

“You might be the cruelest person I’ve ever met,” he said in a conversational tone.“What?” I gasped.“My first wife killed herself. Took me centuries to get over it and love again, yet you weren’t going to mention that you might be compelled to slay yourself in front of me.”

“Nathanial can show me how to better control the change, but even so, you never have to worry about me turning into a cat again. Didn't you know, I'm allergic to cats.”

“He picked the wrong profession. Should've stayed a prostitute. He'd have made millions. - Cat”