Curse those overcast skies, lamented Anton, recalling why he had lost a day due to “bad lighting.” At least, that’s what the picky photographer had said. It never rained on them, but that was beside the point, as he insisted the gray skies would not enhance in any way, Magdalene’s white gowns. And that’s another thing: All the gowns she modeled were white. Didn’t anyone get married in a peach or lavender wedding dress? Oh right, he quickly corrected himself. Those questionable colors were reserved for the bridesmaids. Can’t outshine the bride, after all. That brought a smile to his face, as he noticed the vans were nearing their destination.<br/><br/>“What’s so funny, Anton?” Magdalene asked. Unaware that he was being watched, he turned toward his right and explained his theories on white wedding gowns. When he was done, she lightly cuffed him on the shoulder, and stated, “Silly. Women always wear white. It’s right there as Rule #1 and #1A in<i>The Complete Wedding Handbook, 8th Edition.</i>” That made him laugh, and she smiled in return.<br/><br/>“What color did your wife wear?” she asked. “Uh, how do you know I’m married?” was his rather absent-minded retort. Her answer was just a glance at his left hand, which resided on his lap. “Oh, um, right. Yes, she did wear white,” he confirmed with a weak smile. Magdalene then discreetly slipped a small piece of paper into his right hand. Ahh shit, he thought, not the dreaded phone number, as he highly doubted it was her mother’s famous macaroni salad recipe. He already had a dreaded phone number; he didn’t need two of them, he whined internally. Correction: Stella's was no longer dreaded, remember?<br/><br/>Back at the modeling agency’s parking lot, everyone said their farewells until next time, whilst climbing into their respective vehicles. Magdalene waved at him from her car, and he waved back. Anton just wanted to get home, and perhaps play with his four-legged roommate, even though he anticipated being on the receiving end of a feline reprimand for his extended absence.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>Skipping every other step on his way up, he was eager to be back in his own bed with his familiar surroundings. The black Persian was a bonus. While he’d been gone, he wondered how many of Stella’s “concerts” he had missed. He was just glad it was Friday, with the weekend right around the corner, and their surf 'n' turf dinner. Now on his floor, he spied a familiar solicitor at his door.<br/><br/>To his surprise, instead of waiting at the door like he had done the last time, Tesla trotted toward him. Upon arrival, the Maine Coon brushed against his legs. Anton surmised that the cat could probably knock over a toddler if he chose to. “Why, hello there, Tesla,” he said while looking down at the beautiful cat. “I’d pick you up, big guy, but I’m not entered in<i>The World’s Strongest Man </i>competition.” Tesla returned his gaze with a resounding<i>meeooowwww. </i>That was, more than likely, kitty-speak for “Screw you, too, pal and just open the dammed door already!”<br/><br/>Laughing, Anton was more than happy to oblige the Panzer-of-a-cat. It didn’t escape him that this was yet another battle tank comparison with Tesla. Switching things up, it wasn’t difficult to imagine an F/A-18 Hornet landing on the Coon’s back. Okay, so that was an aircraft carrier reference, as he could hear the theme song from<i>Top Gun </i>ringing in his ears.<br/><br/>Door now open, he casually sauntered into unit #508 as if he owned the place, and surprise, surprise. A black kitty was there to happily greet him (Tesla, not Anton). Anton was positive Licorice didn’t even bother with a glance his way.<br/><br/>Bag dropped near the couch, he plopped onto it, while reaching for his phone. Sure enough, the paper from Magdalene contained 10 digits, written in an elegant, feminine hand. He entered Stella’s number instead, then typed,<br/><br/><i>Guess who’s home? And guess who’s here? Take your time. They’re, um, getting to know each other all over again. No worries, as there’s no ‘nip in sight.</i><br/><br/><i>Anton</i><br/><br/><b>SEND </b>was lightly tapped, while he watched the pair of felines chase each other around the apartment. Eventually, they ended up on the treehouse. To Anton’s surprise and to Licorice’s enjoyment, Tesla began to groom her. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Princess.” He was sure that if she could have, Licorice would’ve flipped him the middle claw. He smiled at the relaxed and engaged pair.