We all have our own superstitions. Some have more superstitions than others though, and I happened to be the case. In spite of my imposing stature thanks to my stallion father's genes, everyone knew me as the weird guy who avoided everything that could lead to bad luck. I never stepped on any cracks, tipped over salt dispensers, went out on Friday the 13^th or even saw the movies out of paranoid fear.

            The friends I did have at work didn't care about my 'quirks', as Jenny and Brad teasingly called them, and it helped me avoid any trouble over the years. That is, until Patrick Smith transferred to our store a couple months ago. He was everything you wanted in a guy: cute, friendly, fit and addicted to video games as much as I was, to the point he enjoyed recommending them in the entertainment department, unlike our other coworkers. The feline rarely frowned unless it was late into a shift, but that happened to everyone. All these qualities seemed like the perfect match for me.

            The only problem? He was a black cat.

            Bit of a problem for someone like me, wasn't it?

            That didn't stop me from going to this regal, fancy restaurant downtown, where I felt out-of-place wearing a t-shirt and casual jeans that went down to my hooves. Sitting at the table as I waited, my eyes wandered helplessly around the open room for either my date or an exit.

            At long last, the dark-colored feline appeared from the front of the restaurant, also wearing casual clothing that contrasted with everything around him. I doubt either of us carried a straight face when the maître d' escorted him to our table.

            “Thank you, sir." He nodded, sitting across from me.

            “My pleasure," the stuffy tiger lied through his smiling fangs. “What can I get for either of you gentlemen this evening? We have the finest foods to offer from all over the world."

            “You got any good burgers?" Patrick asked him, picking up the menu. “Oh, I'll have the mushroom and swiss with a side of uh…coleslaw. And some cola."

            “…excellent choice, sir." He bitterly wrote it down, then turned to me. “And what will you have tonight?"

            I froze in my seat, still unbelieving that this was happening.

            “I-I guess…whatever he's having…?"

            The maître d' jotted it down and left us at our candlelit dinner table, and to the nervous silence that surrounded me and Patrick amid hushed conversations between the other restaurant guests. Here we were, together in a restaurant, and I kept reminding myself to calm down. I didn't need to pour salt over my broad shoulders or watch out for any tiles. The carpet underneath ensured that.

            “Isn't this expensive, Zack?" the cat chuckled. “I swear to God, more restaurants need to hire someone to park your car outside…"

            “Y-Yeah," I nervously laughed. “I uh…I heard this place is a great sport to go out…on uh, ya know…on dates…and things…"

            “I was surprised when you asked me out though," Patrick smiled the same smile that made my stomach dance. “Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered obviously, but you're often quiet whenever we work together on a shift. I know you're shy, but…what changed exactly?"

            “My stupid friends," I mumbled to myself.

            “What did they do?" he asked me, twitching his ears.

            Damn it. Why did felines need to evolve with great hearing?

            “Uh…well, ya see…" I stammered, trying my best not to freak out, “they…they knew I uh, I liked you…but they forced me to ask you out. They…They got tired of me waiting…"

            Patrick blinked in deep surprise. “What did they do?"

            Not much. Just threatened to nail upside down horseshoes on my door.

            “So why didn't you ask me out then?" the feline changed the conversation, probably after my silent response. “Were you scared or something that I'd reject you? I mean, you're a handsome guy after all…"

            “I'm so sorry if I sound offensive, Patrick, but…" I blushed and felt sweat drip down my mane, “but I didn't ask you out sooner b-because…because—"

            “I'm a black cat?" he finished.

            I covered my face with my hands, incredibly ashamed of myself. I expected Patrick to disappear from his seat next and storm out the door. Or berate me in front of everyone in here.

            Instead, he started laughing.

            “Oh my God! If I had a dollar for every…" he snickered, placing his elbows on the table before raising his amused muzzle up to stare back at me. “Well, if I did have a dollar for every moment that came up, I wouldn't be working in a department store, that's for sure."

            “Huh?" I asked blankly. “W-Wait, y-you're not—"

            “Listen to me," he cleared his throat before sitting up straighter. “You don't think I'm unaware about your superstitions? I've seen you countless times step across cracks like mad whenever you're on the salesfloor. No, it more amuses me than offends me."

            “Y-You knew?"

            “Yeah, I'm blind." The cat giggled once more. “Plus, you've been staring at the salt and pepper shakers for the last several minutes…" Diverting my eyes back to him again, I endured another amused grin. “Don't worry, I'm not an unlucky kitty, Zack. In fact," A shiver went up my spine when I felt his tail sensually flick at my legs beneath the table, “I can definitely give you a lucky night when I'm treated right. After dinner, what do ya say we go back to my place and chill on the couch?"

            Blushing and shocked at ever, I nodded.

            “Good," he clapped his paws and sniffed the air. “Ah, I think that's our food!"

            As soon as the maître d' tiger solemnly handed us our greasy foods, we devoured our meals eagerly while discussing our favorite video games and shows. We were having such a detailed conversation that I didn't even feel bothered when Patrick spilled some salt onto the table.