She tried. At least once a month Selina made an effort to create the sort of home she supposed other people had, but she didn’t have a gift for domesticity. She had other gifts. A gift for getting into things and out of them, for taking what she needed, for thriving where others might barely survive.
Her home looked like what it was: a scavenger’s sanctuary. Some of it had been stolen, some rescued from dumpsters, most of it bought from thrift shops and sidewalk vendors. Selina gathered the things she thought belonged in a home—not the home she remembered, but a never-never home where everything was bright, glittering, and safe.
Selina took a deep breath as her possessions worked their magic. She hugged herself, swaying gently. Tensions drained down her back, through the floor, out of her life. Street sounds and building sounds pierced the walls—they always did in the East End—but the apartment itself was purring and peaceful.
The gray tiger kitten poked his head out and sneezed.
Selina triangulated the sound. “There you are! You haven’t won yet. Not hardly you haven’t. I’m still getting my free meal, and you—you little devil—are still coming with me.”
Four-pawed backpedaling was a skill the kitten hadn’t quite mastered. The hands followed him into the safe place. He spread his claws into the light. He folded his ears against his head as a hand unhooked his claws one by one.
“No putting holes in the costume.” Selina tapped the kitten on his nose, letting the length of supple leather fall. “I share everything else, but that’s mine.” She scowled melodramatically at range two inches, and the kitten cringed.