Honey number 2

When we returned from our camping trip in Minnesota, we had to dive headfirst into a flurry of cleaning and washing. Delta and I stood side by side, trying to sort through our packing.

"Here, why don't  you take this, unzip the sleeping bags, and load the laundry," Delta told me distractedly, handing me an armful of stuff to sort through.

And then in the next moment, he turned to Queen Jaffa as she strutted past, and his tone melted instantly.

"Hi, honey," he said, his voice caressingly loving, "how's my sweetie pie doing?".

To the cat. I pouted.

"Hey. When did Queen Jaffa become honey, and I'm just the person who helps you with the laundry?!" I demanded, hands on my hips.

Delta gave me the toothy grin of a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

"Oh don't worry, she's just Honey number 2," he tried to reassure me. "You're the real Honey number 1."

"Hmmmph." I was not convinced.

I with a jealous pout as Delta gently picked up Queen Jaffa, gave her a cuddle, and scratched her behind her ear. QJ for her part preened, stretched and yawned, proffering Delta her belly to get tickled. As she rolled over, I caught a glint in her eye.

Yeah, right, she seemed to say. Wouldn't you want to be Honey number 2 like me.