Catnip

03 | In Which Caleb Makes a Deal With the Devil

"Oh, come on! You know I was just messing around –"

"That's not what I'd call messing around, you piece of–"

"Wait, wow, back up a second," Daniel says. "Who's Zoey Harmon?"

"Are you kidding me? You were sitting right here when it happened."

"I was?"

"Yes! And you'd remember exactly what happened if you pulled your head out the clouds and tuned into reality every once in a while." Britt sighs and slams her textbook shut, and Caleb takes a bite out his burger to avoid making eye contact with anyone. God, how nice it would be to sit around straight people without them inevitably making things weird.

His cell phone vibrates in his pocket, and his attention drifts from the group. Dead battery or not, it's got to be Marnie. Given Daniel's track record, it wouldn't be a surprise if the guy had gotten confused somewhere between gym class and the cafeteria and relayed the wrong message to him about her phone situation. Caleb slides it out his pocket and unlocks the screen, but no such luck. It isn't Marnie at all; it's his mother, and boy, does she have important news.

Came home 4 my lunch break & fed angie, she's having tuna today!! She's just done her daily dump!! G2g bk to the hospital so will see u l8r honey. Tell daniel he can stay 4 dinner tonite! xoxo

(Her use of outdated text talk makes him shudder.)

(And since when did the-cat-who-isn't-Margo become Angie?)

"Everything okay?" He glances up and meets Daniel's concerned gaze.

"Oh yeah, sure," he mutters, pocketing the phone again. "My mom's just checking in with the flea ball's current status."

"Flea ball?" Daniel frowns as if he's the one who's just been insulted. Figures. "I don't really think that's necessary, man."

"Well, she is. All animals are. That's why smart people know better than to turn them into pets."

"What's this about flea balls?" Brittney asks, having finished up her conversation (read: argument) with Isaac.

"Caleb's kitten," Daniel explains. "Remember I said I was gonna help him out?"

"Dude, you've got a kitten?" Isaac's excitement is almost tangible, although it fails to permeate Caleb's bubble of indifference. "I fucking love cats! Show us some pics!"

"I don't have any," he says.

"Not even one?"

"Not even one."

"Well, that's just bizarre," Brittney says. "Not a single photo?"

Time for the moment of truth. Caleb's certain that, if there's anyone who can understand where he's coming from and share his resentment of all things furry, it's the blonde high-flier sitting before him. She's about as sweet and light as he is, definitely not the type to get all googly-eyed at the mention of a cat.

Right?

(Caleb is absolutely not second guessing himself. Honest. Like, really, he knows he's right because he's always right, and the universe would implode if he wasn't.)

He puts his theory to the test. "How would you really feel if it was your cat, Brittney? If you woke up on your eighteenth and Daniel was standing on your doorstep throwing the damn thing at you before you even had time to say hi?"

"Is this a trick question?" She pins him with a look of derision. "'Cause, the way I see it, only coldblooded scumbags hate animals, especially baby animals. Why do you think so many serial killers start out with killing puppies?"