"You have enough to get to the lower levels," Lacey insisted. "We can hide."
Lacey retreated to the top of the refrigerator. Manx sprinted laps around the living room, occasionally leaping toward the fridge to tap her tail. She hissed. He wiggled his nub. No progress. lacey and manx
Lacey came first. I found her at a local rescue, tucked away in the corner of a cage, looking like a Victorian ghost who had seen better centuries. She is a dilute calico with the softest fur you have ever felt—like dandelion fluff. The rescue had named her "Lacey" because of her dainty white paws and the lace-like pattern of her orange spots. "You have enough to get to the lower levels," Lacey insisted