Fertility Ritual

“C’mon, c’mon,” Hutch coaxed Starsky out of the kitchen into the greenhouse beyond. The smell alone was intoxicating with the mingled scents of warm, moist dirt, myriad growing plants, and citrus from the potted lemon and orange trees. “Let’s get it on…” he half sang.

“Let’s love, baby,” Starsky warbled, swooping in for a kiss. “Maybe a fertility dance under all this green?”

Hutch laughed in delight, deepening the kiss, dancing Starsky around in a slow circle. “That’s what I like…”

Starsky stopped abruptly, pulling away from the lovemaking.

“Hey!” Hutch moved his arms up from Starsky’s narrow waist to link his hands behind Starsky’s neck. “I was just about to…”

“Do you hear that?” Starsky broke free, pointing into the foliage.

“Hear what?” Hutch shook his head stubbornly.

“A little peeping…” Starsky pushed aside the long branches of a Ficus, peering around to a row of potted ferns.

“Starsky, there’s nothing…” Except there was. Small, baby sounds, high-pitched and… “A cat?” Hutch guessed.

Starsky gasped, moving past the ferns and a trailing vine from the pumpkin they’d planted from the entrails of their Jack O’Lantern. “Not one cat—” He went down on his knees, pushing the concealing planter of dwarf palms aside. “Kittens.”

Hutch leaned over his partner, getting a good look at the black and white Tuxedo mama cat and four newborn kittens. They huddled into Mama’s teats, their fur transitioning between the slick wetness of birth to incredible fluff. “How did they get here?” Hutch marveled.

“Through the broken window in the back, I’ll bet.” Starsky flicked a finger at the pane on the far wall. “Hey! She’s not finished!” A fifth kitten was emerging from Mama’s nether regions, sliding in amongst its sibs.

“Neat.” Hutch breathed in, bending down to put a tentative finger to Mama’s furry ears. She hissed at him, but was clearly exhausted from her ordeal.

“Needs food!” Starsky declared with a chuckle. “Didn’t I tell you to fix that glass or the wind would blow litter inside?”

“Hardy-har, Starsk.” Hutch looked into the kitchen. “I don’t have cat food.”

“Well, you have stuff cats eat,” Starsky said. “Liver.”

“That was for our supper!” Hutch walked in to open the fridge.

“Now I know you don’t really want me eating what you make.” Starsky grimaced. “Slice it up for Mama and let’s go watch our own nature program.”

“What’ll we eat?” Hutch complained, pulling out the organ meat and a knife.

“There’s a restaurant literally downstairs.” Starsky pointed at the floor with a smirk. “Not gonna starve. I may even put out if my date pays for a drink later.”

“You’re on.” Hutch grinned.

FIN