Bad Luck
"We shouldn't keep him around if you don't know what to name him," Quentin continued. "Besides, aren't black cats supposed to be bad luck? That's the last thing we need before we get to California."
Peter set the cat back in his lap and scratched him between the ears. The cat went stiff for a second before relaxing into his touch, closing his eyes and purring. Peter's always had bad luck, but that had seemed to turn around once he met Quentin. "He's not bad luck." Peter tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at the cat. "I'll come up with a name for him, I swear."
Quentin lifted one hand from the wheel and held up three fingers for him to see. "Three days. That's all you get." He placed his hand back on the wheel and smiled to himself. "Then it's bye-bye, Mr. Kitty."
Peter first saw Quentin in a field of yellow wildflowers on the side of the highway. The rest is history.
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