The Cat Sitter

22.4K 572 146
                                                  


UPDATE March 2020. Whoop, whoop... thanks everyone. My book now tops 68k reads. I know this is NOTHING in the Wattpad world, but it's a biggie for me. If you've chosen to read the book here, thank you. And if you're starting it, I hope you enjoy it.

"I didn't mean to smash his heart into smithereens—and they were his words not mine—but if you want to make an omelette you have to crack a few eggs, don't you?"

"Stop right there!" My best friend excels at bossiness. She gets up from the sofa and holds a hand out, traffic cop style.

"Do NOT mix metaphors like that," she begs. "Please. You're hurting my ears."

She's a copywriter and very fussy about what people say in front of her. If you ever dare utter, do you know what I mean? at the end of a sentence, she jumps down your throat. No, I don't know. That's why you're telling me. I cut that habit out after about the hundredth time she said it.

"Katya!" I too am on the sofa in my about to be vacated home. I love this sofa too. It took me five visits to the SofasRUs (and all on the days when there were sofa sales so I wasted a lot of bank holidays) to find my perfect one. This is it. Dark red velvet, super squishy and big enough to fit four people, five if you know each other really well.

And tomorrow I say goodbye to this sofa. Just like I wave farewell to the coffee table I rescued from a junk yard, sanded down and varnished myself, the book shelves I built from flat packs accompanied by a lot of cursing, the laminated floorboards I laid one hot and sweaty weekend, the curtains...

Gabrielle Amelia Richardson! My mother's voice. This moping will not do. Katya backs her up. Not in real life, but in my head; the two of them competing to see who can order me around the most.

Katya rummages through her handbag and her hand emerges with a large bar of chocolate that she waves triumphantly in front of me.

"Okay," she says, "if you promise not to mix any more metaphors and refrain from terrible clichés, I will break this bar in two and give you half." She inspects the bar, checking the label. It's the Oreo cookie one, tiny bits of biscuit crumb encased in thick slabs of chocolate.

"The much smaller half."

I am not having that. I lurch forward and grab the bar from her hands, dancing away from her as she shrieks and tries to get it back. My fingers move fast, ripping through purple foil while Katya howls, "No, no, no!" I jam it into my mouth, bite off a quarter and hand it back to her, tooth marks and all.

All's fair in love and war, or love and chocolate, right?

"You pig," she says, but bites off her own bit anyway, and sinks back into the sofa. I do too, seeing as me and this comfy hunk of red velvet are on the brink of a split. Best I make the most of it.

We finish the bar between us. Katya holds chocolate-y fingers in the air and wiggles them. I raise my eyebrows and she lifts the cushion underneath her and wipes them on it.

Not my cleaning problem any more.

"It's so selfish of you to move to the ends of the earth," she pipes up.

"Hardly," I say. "They do have public transport in Scotland, you kno- I mean, yes you can get there by train and bus. Plane if you want to."

"Not the same," she says, and she is right. We have lived not more than fifteen minutes from each other ever since we were kids. Even when we went to university we chose the same one.

"You're the one who cheered at the engagement party," I add, sticking my ring-less hand out so I can place it on her knee. "Or rather, the not engagement."

Highland Fling - A FREE to READ Funny Chick Lit Romance (COMPLETE)Where stories live. Discover now