Still, he cooperated because Wick is a professional. I got the costume on, arranged the feathers, and stepped back to admire my handsome little Thanksgiving turkey. 

“Perfect!” 

Wick stared into the camera with the patience of a cat counting down every second of our agreement. 

Click. Click. Click. 

“Just one more.” 

His eyes narrowed. 

I knew that look. 

Five minutes were up. 

The turkey costume came off, Wick collected his treats, and our annual contract was officially fulfilled. 

Some families have Thanksgiving traditions. 

Apparently, mine involves dressing an eighteen-year-old black cat like dinner.