“You're not his lover, then. I can tell that by the look in those pretty blue eyes. He would have snuffed out that anxiousness and you'd be more like a cat. Victorious that you'd snared the neighborhood tom."
"Okay, that's enough." Cleo found her voice again. The woman was anything but grandmotherly, and if she wanted to talk about cats, she was plenty catty--- although Cleo found offense to that on behalf of Murphy, who was now perched on the car's dash, staring at Mrs. Tremblay with an aura of censure.
Censure away, Murphy. The woman deserves it.”