Smokers’ corner on the pub terrace, by the back door to the toilets.
She is smoking, sipping from a pint of lager, and looking at her phone. He approaches, nods, places his own pint of lager on another wobbly old table, and lights a cigarette.
She stares intently, clears her throat, and says: “Not being rude… What’s that on your T-shirt?”
He sits upright and stretches the fabric away from his gut to display the graphic.
“She’s yours, is she? Aw, she’s lovely.”
“Yeah. Love of my life I always say. Expecting kittens, as it goes.”
The woman freezes with her beer half way to her mouth and pantomimes astonishment.
“Really? REALLY? You won’t believe this but I’ve literally been looking to get a new cat. I’ve always had cats, ever since I was a little girl, but I couldn’t have one in my last place. Now I just want loads.”
“Well, Princess is white with black patches and the one we think is the father–” He rolls his eyes. “–is black with white. So the kittens’ll be one way or the other.”
“How much, then? If I wanted two, say?”
“Hang on, hold on…” He pulls out his phone, fiddles with the screen, and then holds it for her to see. “Add me on FB and we’ll sort it out later, alright?”
They both go back to smoking, in silence, and staring at their phones, those two cat people, basking in the sun.