I don't think I can type enough sorry's on here to encompass how incredibly sorry I am for this being so late...>.< please don't hate me! Actually go ahead and hate me, but just keep reading!!
Dedicated because your comment just made me beam like you wouldn't believe!!! Thank you so much, and thank all of you for reading!! My story wouldn't be this far without my spectacular readers! :'D
Chapter 31.
I'm so scared shitless right now, I couldn't poop even if I ate ten laxatives.
As I creep down the stairs toward what is most likely my death, my subconscious is screaming at me. No no no! Bad idea! BAD IDEA! This means death!! DEATH!!! DEATH!!!
But for whatever reason, I just keep on trucking down the stairs, heading towards the back door. Honestly, I know why. Its because she already knows that I'm here. She saw my face in the doorway, probably like ten minutes ago. Simon figured she didn't know it was my face (my, as in Clarisse Hornitt, the teeny little nerd who accidentally beat her in a hallway fight). But now, I'm sure that she knows its me.
Because why else would she be at the back door?
I've reached the bottom of the steps, and now pause beside the entryway into the kitchen. I hear nothing, but just know that she's there, waiting for me to open the door. Heart in my throat, I peer around the corner into the kitchen.
The kitchen looks perfectly normal right now. The refrigerator is littered with sticky notes, and the family picture we took when I was in third grade when we went to the zoo for a field trip is stuck on it with a few magnets. There's just a few bowls in the sink; the sponge is lying kitty-corner from the faucet like mom always sets it. The counters are clean, the drawers and cupboards all closed and looking warm with their light tan hue. The table is faintly gleaming from the soft afternoon sunlight that's coming in through the green plaid curtain over the little window at the top of the back door.
I take in all of this now, so I can remember it one last time before PugFace mauls me.
While I'm taking what I'm sure is my last semi-calm look at my ridiculously ordinary kitchen, I see something move and my eyes zoom to the window in the back door. Through the small, green plaid curtain I can see a large shadow moving. Impatiently.
My heart punches against my ribs. SHIT!
Oh god, there she is! Oh no no no no no... As I stare, terrified to the point of being frozen, another round of hard knocks on the door rattle through the room. Rap rap rap rap. I flinch with each one, imagining them as her punching me. Oh Sweet Little Baby Jesus, I'm gonna be sick...
I hear a muffled voice come through the door. "Hello?"
Oh God, Oh GOD. While my mind is rambling in absolute terror, for some reason my feet start to take me toward my imminent doom. While I shuffle forward, shaking, cursing mentally, I try to stay out of sight of the window, though there's little chance she could see me anyway. The curtain is inside, and with the sun shining on the glass outside, she'd more than likely just see herself.
Wonder why the glass hasn't broken yet... The snarky thought pops into my brain and I suppress a chuckle. Because I really don't want to start on a fit of hysterical, panicked laughter just yet. I stop right at the door and then immediately hop under the window, more behind the door than anything. My hand hovers over the handle.
Before I take the plunge I listen intently, trying to ignore the hammering of my panicked heart and the rush of my terrified blood through my veins. I can hear her muffled, impatient feet, moving irritably on the back cement step. And she's muttering. To herself more like, because I can't discern any words at all.
I force myself to take a deep breath and then make my shaking hand touch the door handle. Its ok, if you squirm the right way maybe she'll kill you faster. My subconscious says to me, and I about flip shit completely.
Then I turn the handle and open the door about half an inch.
There's a pause. I've shoved my right fist into my mouth to keep from screaming, and my eyes are screwed shut. I'm tense and waiting for her to barrel the door down and bodyslam me into the fridge. Then:
"Hello? Is someone there?"
I about choke on my own hand at the voice.
Its her disturbingly pleasant, almost girly voice that I first heard when I'd first ever met her. Not high or nasally, but still feminine and civilized. But there's something about the congenial quality of her voice, paired with her scary-as-fuck She-Gorilla appearance, that makes her all the more terrifying.
I haven't heard it since the day she'd began this mess at my locker. The only other times I've heard her speak she was pissed and wanted to kill me, yelling in rage. Her voice sounds again at the door:
"Hello?"
My brain goes into survival instincts, but instead of slamming the door in her face (like I would love to do) it had me answering her. "Y-Yes?" My voice came out hoarse because of how tight my throat was.
"Excuse me? I'm not sure if I heard you..."
Her terrifying, polite tone made me want to scream, but I answer again. But I keep the hoarse, high pitch to my voice, because now I'm pretty damn sure that she doesn't know its me! She would have probably grabbed me in her massive monkey hands if she actually knew who was behind this door.
"Y-Yes? I'm here." I force a cough to keep the rasping tone in my voice.
"This may sound ridiculous, but my Grandma has something that she wanted me to bring to her neighbors, but she didn't exactly tell me which neighbors. She just said to 'Bring it to the house next door'. And..." There was a shuffling noise and then she continued. "She has some cans of 'Fetter's Finest Feline Food' in this box. So I'm guessing you have a cat?"
Through my terror it takes me minute to process this. Mrs.O'Heimer sent Flora over here? To kill me? But does she know? But Flora doesn't seem to know this is me anyways. But Mrs.O'Heimer's sent me cat food? Why the hell...
"Oh God." The words leave my mouth without thought and I immediately clamp my jaw shut afterword. Oh shit shit shit shit shit... I'd just spoken in my actual voice very loudly. But it was because I couldn't believe why Mrs.O'Heimer had sent me cat food; because she still thinks I have cats! From last time when I'd been making up excuses for Mrs.O'Heimer!!
"Excuse me?" Flora answers a second or two late. Oh no. Did her voice sound suspicious? Oh fuck fuck fuck...
I cough some more and then scrape out the next sentence. "Y-Yes you are at the right hoouse. She sent that cat food over...for my cats. My cats...um..." Shit what are their names again?! Fuck my life! "Frisky, and...um Cuddles. And...oh yes, Nibbles. Frisky and Cuddles and Nibbles." Survival instincts are the only thing that had me remembering those names.
"Of course. And what...wonderful names ma'am." Flora's voice had the tiniest tinge of sarcasm in it, but I was glad of that, because that meant she hadn't figured out who I was yet. She speaks again. "My Grandma said she'd love to see your cats sometime. She loves animals but doesn't want to keep one because she says they're too energetic and she's getting to old for that kind of thing."
Too energetic? For HER?! That woman was as fierce as any twenty-something-year-old woman, the hell's she talking about not being energetic? And oh FUCK NO she cannot see my damned cats because I don't have any! My internal rant was ignored by my survival instincts. It had me answering in my creepy, scratchy high voice.
"Oh yes yes....whenever she would like."
"Good. I'll tell her that."
There's a long awkward silence where I'm wondering how to tell Flora to set the box on the ground outside and leave when she speaks again.
"Would you like some help? I could just carry it in-"
"Nooo!" Though loud and uncontrolled, my yelp of terror had at least been gravelly because I was so terrified. Flora seems shocked into silence and then I take advantage of that, turning around quickly and grabbing a pair of oven mits from the drawer behind me. My hand shaking, I open the door enough to slip my mitted hand partway out the door.
"I'll take it this way," I say, my rough voice too high from anxiety.
There's a few seconds pause before I see the black end of what looked like a shoebox appear through the crack in the door, and another second or two before she seemed to deem it safe to set the box on my oven mit. The weight of the box was more than one hand could take and my arm sagged.
I felt a hand catch underneath my over mit and I squeaked in absolute terror.
I whipped my other mitted hand to the top of the box and lifted it away and then tucked it under one arm. As I was doing this, she asked, "Are...are you alright?"
My heart pounds as I try to think of an excuse. "Y-Yes..." I scratch around in my panic-stricken brain for an excuse. "I...I'm..." I cough again to make my voice more scratchy. "Well...it's just uh..." She hasn't said a word yet, but I can almost feel her skepticism. "I'm...uh, we'll I'm...I...I'm allergic to...leaves."
"Leaves?" Her pleasant voice is hovering on the edge between disbelieving and surprised.
Oh fuck, that was stupid. I think angrily to myself, but know I have to go with it. I scramble to follow up my claim. "Oh, yes...yes. Just...just terribly, deathly allergic to...to leaves. Can't come out of the house...without...um...my...my spray...my leaf spray."
"Oh my, that sounds awfully serious."
I want to scream. Why the hell does she sound so concerned?! She's EVIL why the fuck does she care about her grandma's creepy neighbor's allergy?! "Yes...yes. It is." I try to speak quickly but keep the rasping sound to it. "If you'll...um, excuse me. I...can't be...can't take the...the...the leaves...they..."
"Oh! OhmyGod, of course. So sorry. Goodbye."
"Bye." I slam the door shut.
I don't allow myself to breathe while I wait, listening for the scrape of a shoe on the cement or a footfall. I hear nothing, then a scraping sound. A few seconds after that, I lock the door and then put the box on the table and then book it to the downstairs bathroom.
In the bathroom I creep up to the window and then crouch down beside it. I poke my nose over the sill and adjust my glasses to try and find her. I watch her walk to the gate in the side of Mrs.O'Heimer's fence and go through it, closing it behind her.
I slump down in between the toilet and the washing machine, too utterly packed with emotion to care how gross the floor might be. I sit there for probably about a minute.
Then I start screaming in complete and utter joy.
After I was done with my completely pointless, but awesome-feeling shriek of whatever-the-hell-it-was, I went back into the kitchen to treat my survival instincts with some ice cream. I threw open the fridge with a jovial swing, and jerked out the pale of chocolate ice cream. I set it on the counter, and then grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer. Once I'd scooped out a ton of it (my bowl is overflowing haha) I put the pale back in the fridge. I spun around, practically humming with happiness, and was about to sit down when I froze. (no pun intended about the ice cream)
I stared at the shoebox of 'Fetter's Finest Feline Food' that was resting on the table.
As I scooped up a spoonful of the icecream into my now dry mouth, I knew what I had to do.
***
I stop my van in the parking lot, feeling my stomach tying itself in knots. Which doesn't make sense, considering that most people in my position would probably be jumping for joy. But I'm stupidly nervous, probably because I've never done this before, and because I've never really wanted to do this before.
Any guesses where I am?
No?
I'm at Furry Friends Animal Shelter.
Yea yea yea, why the heck am I nervous if I'm at an Animal Shelter?! I don't know. I guess I'm just...I don't even know. I would say 'uncertain' but I am very certain of why the hell I'm here. Its because I need to get cats. Or a cat. I'm not sure whether I'm going with the plural or the singular so far, but I figured I'd go with my gut once I'd entered the building.
I grabbed my bag and then stepped from the van, locking it just in case one of these animal-lovers turns out to be a car-jacker too.
Now, how this even worked is beyond me. Once I'd realized that I was going to have to get myself some cats, the first thing I knew I'd have to tackle was convincing my parents. That night, once they'd gotten home and I'd assured mom that I was perfectly fine now (no longer, "puking my guts out"), we sat down at the table for supper (though my supper didn't include pork chops and mashed potatoes. I was eating some crackers). And once they'd settled in to talk I kind of just popped in my request. It kind of went like this...
(Mom) "...and then the little stink had the nerve to tell me that he wasn't texting! And I'd just seen his phone! And trust me, I know the difference between a phone and a calculator. I had half a mind to snatch it from him and throw it down on the floor." (She'd been telling us about her day, teaching middle-schoolers Pre-Algebra. As you can see, a lot of my mother's traits have passed down to me...)
(Dad) "Lola, you need to take it from him next time-" (Mom)"I was GOING to! The bell rang and then POOF out the door and gone! They're getting a Pop Quiz for that one tomorrow."
Then they'd started arguing (Well, Mom was arguing, Dad was calmly trying to voice his opinion, but that rarely happens when Mom is all riled up), and mid-way through their conversation I said,
"I want cats."
Mom and Dad had both shut up and then stared at me. Then Dad said, "What?"
I swallowed a mouthful of crackers and said, "I want cats. Like, pet cats. Three of them."
And from there, a new argument began.
It wasn't an argument at first. In the beginning they were both so baffled by my statement that they just numbly listened to what I'd had to say, which was a vague explanation of having the sudden urge to adopt (After having been so moved by one of those heart-breaking commercials on TV) three cats, and my list of reasons why I could being, because I am a) Responsible b) Old Enough aaaaaaaannnd c) I have always wanted cats (which was pretty much a lie but they didn't catch that).
After they'd gotten over the initial shock, though, it was slightly different.
Dad was relatively vehement of the idea. (Cats? Really?) He questioned my sudden wish skeptically, and narrowed his eyes at me. I did my best at looking utterly innocent, but I'm sure he's going to keep on questioning me about it.
But Mom was all gung-ho, surprisingly. She stood by my reasoning and said that she too, has always wanted a pet since Buster (a black Labrador that they'd had in their early marriage, pre-me. I've only ever seen his picture) passed on.
After maybe fifteen minutes of debate, Dad gave his grumbling assent.
Annnnnnnnnnnnd so, here I am, walking up to the front door.
My stomach stupidly does another twist, and I can't fathom why. I'm just here to pick up three (or one, or two, I could always just tell Mrs.O'Heimer at least one ran away or something) dang cats. Just bing bang boom, grab a litter box, adopt them and leave.
I nodded to myself as I walked into the store, agreeing with this idea.
But walking in, I was immediately assaulted with sights and sounds and smells.
The waiting room apparently wasn't just a waiting room. It was living quarters. For animals. Holy shit. Of course, it wasn't completely manic of unhealthy or bad, but there were cages about the room, with animals all inside. The woman at the front desk looked up from her paperwork and smiled at me.
"Hello! Come on in!"
I stepped up to the desk, feeling my stomach go into a couple more knots. She's a middle-aged, pear-shaped woman with big blue eyes and short blonde hair. She has a bright smile that tells me she's genuinely happy to see me. "How can I help you?"
"Um...I want to adopt some...cats."
Her face frightens up some more. "Oh that's wonderful! Well you can go ahead and take a look wherever you'd like. We have several that are up for adoption out here in the waiting room," She gestured to the setup of at least four cages in the center of the room (the chairs are all against the walls), some cages in the corner, and some under the window, "And, also," She gestured to a door to my left, "You may go ahead and head down that hallway and peek in any of the rooms. We have plenty of cats, and also many dogs looking for a good home. We even have a few rabbits and ferrets." She winks at me.
I smile at her nervously. "Thank you." Then I turn around and begin my search.
Alright, I think, just pick three. This shouldn't be too hard. There are at least six cats in this room right here. Just bing bang boom and done. I walk up to the four cages in the center of the room. The first cat I look at is black, and asleep on its little bed. A little sign taped to the bars says, 'Wendy'.
I slowly poke my finger through the bars and touch Wendy's furry shoulder. Golden eyes pop wide open and stare at me intently, and I immediately withdraw my finger. Oh shit. That's fucking creepy. Her eyes are like, half of her head! Nope. Sorry Wendy. But nope.
The cage beneath Wendy's contains a fat, orange, striped cat named Tiger. He's already awake. I poke my finger in at him, urging him to come close enough for me to pet him, but he just stares me with sloth-like eyes. And a nooo for Tiger.
The next cage holds a large, fluffy, gray-white cat with a squashed face. His eyes are pale blue and already appraising me with either interest or loathing. I can't exactly tell. I give him an exaggerated scowl and his own squashed face seems to mimic it back at me, his feather-duster of a tail beginning to twitch. Hm. I check his name, and the sign says 'Barnabas', and for once the name seems to fit the feline. Holding his haughty glare, I poke my finger between the bars and watch his blue eyes narrow as if I'd just insulted him. I chuckled.
I decided to keep him in mind as I stood up and looked around.
I spend the next forty five minutes wandering around the shelter. I'm shocked to discover that most of the rooms down the hall of just that - rooms. The animals inside are free to roam around inside, all over their furniture. Old dressers are fixed against the walls and opened, with beds in each drawer and the litter box hidden at the bottom. Shelves have been installed all along the ceiling of every room so any cat is capable of hiding up above.
Most of the cats are friendly, some aloof, some terrified. I find myself beginning to have fun with them. I sit down on the floor of a room, beckoning a robust, healthy, calico cat towards me. On the door there's a sign that has a name printed beside a certain color, and each cat is wearing a colored collar. This cat is wearing a purple collar, and her name is apparently Misty.
I snort out loud at that name. This cat is not a 'Misty'. She's more like a... I study her sturdy frame and sharp golden eyes. This cat is more like a 'Gwenivere', or 'Duchess' or 'Terminator'. She seemed very sure of herself and had apparently just barely deigned to let me touch her. She also didn't seem incredibly fond of the other cats, because when one tried to come up to me her ears flattened on her head and she growled like a boss.
Gonna keep 'Misty' in mind too.
I circle over to the next room and as I do, I mull over how incredibly weird today was.
When I'd gotten up to go to school today, I hadn't even needed an alarm clock. Just popped right out of my bed in a flash and jumped in the shower. I lay blame to the fact that I was downright terrified of what the rest of my day would be like.
I'd gotten ready with shaking hands, dreading PugFace. I'd even debated another day of 'sickness'...
But then I'd spied something that had helped me in the past: My striped pink polo.
Strange as it may seem, wearing a bright, pink, and striped shirt had saved my life earlier along. Apparently my foes (i.e. Sebastian - still is, PugFace - STILL IS, Nyssa - ehhh, Abel - we are on good terms...?) were so used to seeing me in my usual dull blues and greens and reds, they'd never expected me to wear anything bright and striped and...well pink.
So I'd thrown that shirt on and went to school, fearing for my life.
And...it worked. Again.
I saw PugFace Flora Harkin multiple times in the hallway, and she didn't even scowl in my direction. Nyssa Randy (who is Sebastian's bed-buddy, and we haven't had any recent arguments lately but I hate her) walked right by me without so much as a cold look. Abel might have seen me...he seemed to be staring in my direction at lunch, and though we may be on better terms, I still didn't want him trotting over to me so his Behemoth Cousin could see. And I know Sebastian saw me, because we have two freaking classes together.
In Trig he did a little double-take when I sat down, probably stunned to see me in pink (though he's seen it before, the day he cornered me in the parking lot and nearly allowed Flora to kill me). But I flat out avoided his gaze because I was in full Avoidance Mode today.
And then in Economics, after class, he was waiting outside of the classroom, like he'd wanted to speak to me (eerily familiar, again, to how he'd done so before when he'd actually apologized to me after Scarlett chewed his ass out. Which I still wish I'd recorded). His golden gaze had caught mine when I'd stepped from the room and I nearly went over to talk to him, but then thought better of it (more like my subconscious screaming: NOO! You have done so well at hiding today so no FRATERNIZING!) and let myself get swept away in the torrent of people.
Hmph. Wonder what the idiot wanted. Maybe make fun of me for wearing pink -
"Yoww!" I exclaim and jerk my knees up to my chest, to take my feet away from sudden pain. A skinny black and white kitten had just bitten my toes and was now attacking the flip flop that had fallen off my foot. Jeezus. Demon kitten.
I watch the little thing continue to play and see his yellow collar. I look over at the door and it says his name is 'Ernest'. Ernest? Good Christ, where the hell do these people get these names? This cat is freaking crazy, no way in hell is he an Ernest! Ernest looks up at me with his big green eyes and stops biting my flip flop, now looking more adorable rather then manic.
Aww...
Then he jumps at me.
"Ahhhh!" I scream again as the little shit lands in my lap, and then freeze, covering my face with my arms. He playfully bites my shirt and starts purring. I wait a few more seconds before I dare to put a hand on him...he might attack me again. After a couple more seconds I start petting him and he stops mauling my Camouflage (my pink striped polo) and sits still, closing his eyes and purring louder.
Hmph. Well I guess I can sorta see why they'd name him Ernest. We looks like he's wearing a little suit. He's almost entirely black with just a bit of white on his face, a large splash of white down his chest, and white feet.
I start scratching Ernest under the chin and think, Well...
**
I'm signing my adoption papers now, trying to be fast since mom said I had to be home by six thirty. But the lady at the front desk - who had introduced herself to me as Mrs.Diane Moe, and for some reason that name sounds familiar - was happily chattering away.
"...you might need to borrow this second Carrying Case, because we're not sure how well they'll react to each other. And I suggest getting at least three litterboxes..."
"Three litterboxes?" Jeezus, do they poop that much? I figured one box in the bathroom would be fine and dandy... Crap how am I going to put three litterboxes in the bathroom?
Mrs.Diana Moe doesn't seem to notice my aghast expression. "Oh yes, dear. You have three cats, and you'll want to spread them out around your house."
"Around the house?! Where?"
As she starts rummaging around behind her desk for a second Carrying Case she lists off, "Well the bathroom for starters. And upstairs is always a good one. Maybe in an upstairs bathroom, or in your room. And perhaps a basement?"
Thinking of my basement reminds me of the ridiculous escapade that Sebastian and I had had in my basement. Oh ugh! Again, this is all Mrs.O'Heimer's fault! If she hadn't been nosing around that day Sebastian and I hadn't have had to dive into my ridiculous basement. And then get out and then have him realize how his gorgeous appearance actually affects me...
Ughh. I think, thinking of that awful time Mrs.O'Heimer had been at my house. She's such an annoying, conniving old woman. Terrible. I should have guessed that Flora and her were related.
"Alright." I say, hoping to quiet the lady. She's nice and everything, but I'd like to just get my darn cats and then get my darn stuff and get home. As Mrs.Moe begins to tell me about what litter I should use - Good GOD lady, does is MATTER? - I hear the tinkle of the door and peek over my shoulder. And do a double-take.
Beagle!
And so it is! Beagle had just opened the front door, and was giving me a startled look with his big puppy-dog eyes. It made me want to just go over and pet him. His blue eyes looked startled but then he gives me a smile. "Hey Clarisse."
"Hey..." Beagle? No no no that's not his name...Fuck what is it? WHAT IS IT? Samuel? Sidney? Silas? Simon? SIMON! "...Hey Simon."
Simon's smile widens a little bit and I can't help but smile back at the little booger. He's like an adorable puppy... Simon walks toward the counter and leans on it next to me and then looks at Mrs.Moe.
"Hey Mom."
Whoa. MOM?! I blink a couple times at Mrs.Diana Moe. Well DUH. I suppose, her last name is Moe...his last name is Moe (though it should be Beagle hahaha). But...they look nothing alike. She's curvy with blonde hair, and Simon is built more like a brunette blade of grass. I guess their eyes are the same...
But still.
Mrs.Moe smiles at Simon and then at me, brightly. "Simon, you know Clarisse?"
Whoa whoa whoa whooaaa. Since when have we been on first name basis?
Simon looks at me. "Yea. I kind of know her from school. And I dropped off a package for Dad at her house."
I nod, because this is pretty accurate. Granted, at school he'd looked flat out terrified of me, but oh well...
Mrs.Moe smiles between me and her son for a couple of extra seconds (awkward...) and then says to Simon. "You could probably check the litterboxes in here first, then work your way down the hall, honey."
I see Simon's face turn pink at being called honey, but a confused wrinkle defaces is brow (which is so freaking cute I want to pinch his cheeks like an annoying great aunt or something). "But I usually just start from the back rooms and work my way out here..."
Mrs.Moe cuts in. "It makes more sense to start out here sweetums," His face burns a bright shade of pink and I have to really focus on my papers to keep from laughing, "because then you don't have to lug that bucket of dirty litter all the way down to the back room. Now go on,"
Simon gives her a quizzical frown and then heads down the hall. I continue signing and after another few minutes its all done. Mrs.Moe helps be usher my cats into their carriers, and then I'm lugging the two crates out the door.
"Thank you so much Clarisse!"
"You're welcome."
"What day do you think you'll bring the carriers back? Not that it matters but I'd like to...um...expect you..."
Ok? "Well...um...I can stop in tomorrow?"
She beams at me. "That would be wonderful."
Alllllriiighhhtyyy...I'm gonna get out of here... "Ok...um...bye..."
"Wait!" I turn back to see her eyes flickering from the hall that Simon had just went down and back to me. Her smile was a little strong. "Did you have any other questions for me? About your cats? Or their care?"
"Uh..." This seems...kind of weird. Seems like she's...stalling? Why? "I don't think..."
She talks over me suddenly, like she was desperate to talk to me. "They have all of their shots, and they have all been fixed, so no surprise babies! And...and...oh! A brush. You should get a brush for them. Especially for the long-haired one. Yes. You'll want to brush them regularly to keep them from shedding on everything..."
My arms begin to ache from holding the carriers, and I can hear the cats fidgeting, hear an uncomfortable meow from inside. Jeezus lady, let me gooooooooo...
The hallway door opens and then Simon walks in, carrying a large bucket in one hand and what I guess must be the pooper-scooper. He looks slightly sullen, but at the sight of him his mom brightens up instantly.
She looks at me immediately, face brimming with some unexplainable joy. "Goodbye Clarisse!"
"Uh..Bye..."
Simon stops at the middle cages and then looks up at me, giving me a smile and a wave. "See ya Clarisse,"
"Bye Simon."
And then I about ran from the building.
***
"Ouch! YOW!"
My dad pulls the rambunctious black and white kitten from his chest and holds it away from him, looking slightly repulsed. He'd assumed that the little cat would be easier to handle, but had been wrong.
"What was this demon's name again?" He asked me.
I let the box of cat litter hit the floor with a thud. God this thing is heavy! I'd barely lugged it off the shelf at Walmart. "Nibbles."
"Aha...fitting." He grumbles as Nibbles chomped onto the corner of my dad's glasses.
Yes, I was spot on about naming the little shit Nibbles. It fits him perfectly, because he's always taking a bite out of anything, be it clothing or furniture or humans... The naming of the other cats has been slightly less fulfilling.
I also adopted the gorgeous and regal 'Misty', because I couldn't resist her royal air. But naming her has been irritating. The names that I'd told Flora - I shudder every time I remember that she had been at my home - had been Nibbles, Cuddles and Frisky. Now, Nibbles was perfect, but Cuddles and Frisky? God what was I thinking...
I'd decided that 'Misty' would become Cuddles. She isn't actually that far from being cuddly...she just needs to deign you good enough for her to allow you to touch her. She seems to think I'm worthy...I think. And then Barnabas...well, that left me to have to name Barnabas 'Frisky'. But it seemed to unlike him...(he just embodies the name Barnabas) that I had to name him Barnabas Frisky.
As I tug the cat litter toward the closet, I watch my mom trying to convince Barnabas out from beneath the bookshelf.
When I'd gotten home and we (meaning my mom and I, dad just glowered at us from the kitchen) opened their carriers, Nibbles shot out like a freak. He appears to be the only one who appreciates his new home. Cuddles, on the other hand, had stalked out with an arched back, like she thought I'd kidnapped her to take her to some Cat Fight or something. She is currently patrolling around the house in a disdainful manner (I imagine her with a British accent, insulting the house. 'Look at this ugly carpet. Not fit for my paws. I'll piss on it later. And what duff is this? Am I expected to sit on this rubbish of a couch? No bloody likely!'). And Barnabas...well...he didn't want to get out of his carrier. We just barely got him out, and he's hiding.
As I watch my mom continue to baby-talk to Barnabas, trying to hide my laughter, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I take it out, wondering if its Scarlett, asking how my cats are doing (she'd wanted to come with me and help me pick them out, but ended up babysitting).
What the...
Sebastian: Avoiding me today. That's cool.
I could just feel his sarcasm.
Me: Yes. I know. I am the definition of cool.
Sebastian: That's a good one. Anyways, any particular reason why you ran from me today?
Oh hell no!
Me: I was not running from you! I just didn't want to talk to you!
Sebastian: ...because...?
Can't exactly tell him its because I hate him and his ridiculously annoying good looks? No, that wouldn't be one of my brightest ideas...
Me: Because I didn't want to.
Sebastian: I think you're scared of me :p
Me: AM NOT!
Sebastian: You are a terrible liar. Even through texting.
Mid-way through my very angry response - there was a lot of swearing and caps-lock goin' on - my mom said to me. "Clarisse?"
I froze and then looked up. My mom was holding a very pissed-off looking Barnabas in her arms and staring me down intently. My dad peeled Nibbles off his head and looked at me also, adjusting his glasses.
"...Yes?" I said, feeling suspicion begin to creep up my spine. I narrowed my eyes at both of my parents and then clicked the send button, though the message was only partially finished.
My mom shifted Barnabas in her arms, moving all of his fluff from her face. "Why are you texting...so...angrily?"
She was attempting to be casual but it didn't work. If I couldn't see how anxious she was I'd be an idiot. Dad, on the other hand, was looking ridiculously cool and calm. He almost looked like he was trying to hide a smile. I carefully shut my phone and folded my arms.
"I wasn't texting angrily."
My mom looked like she was about to argue, and I noticed how Dad suddenly had to turn and watch Nibbles, like he didn't want me to see his face. I thought I heard a snigger. Then mom seemed to catch herself, said 'oh' and then stiffly turned and walked over toward the catbed that I'd just bought from Walmart. As she attempted to place Barnabas in it - he's growling at her, like a boss - she asked me, "Then who are you texting?"
I openly bristled at this question, but she had her back turned to me. None of your business! I want to say, but bite my tongue. Dad is peeking at me over his shoulder, still chuckling.
"Scarlett." I say, giving my mom the hairy eye-ball as I walk passed her to try and pet Cuddles.
"Oh." She says frostily back to me.
And of course, during this awkward silence, my phone would go off.
I open it as quickly as I can so it will shut up. I plop down in the corner of the room, near Cuddles, and look over at Dad, who is watching me. He gives me this conspiratorial smile and then begins to try and pet Nibbles again. I glance over at Mom, and she's still struggling to keep Barnabas in her grasp. Hope he scratches her. Then I open the message.
Sebastian: Do you talk to your parents with that mouth?! Good Christ.
Me: No, I save it all for you.
Sebastian: Aww thanks Psycho ;)
Me: It isn't exactly a compliment, but take it however you like moron
Sebastian: Don't make me lock you in a Janitor's closet
My face burns up immediately just thinking about how I'd been trapped in the closet with Sebastian. Oh God...that was so horrible...so embarrassing...smelled awesome though. That stupid part of my brain speaks up and I want to bash my head into a wall. No! Don't think about how good his sweatshirt had smelled!
Me: Don't even go there.
Sebastian: You sure? I bet we could find another closet tomorrow...unless you're scared ;p
I snap my phone shut so loud that it makes Cuddles jump, and then she glares daggers at me and marches away. Ohh, I'm so mad... But I know I shouldn't answer. Be the mature one, be the mature one...
I hear something behind me and then feel something on my shoulder. My dad is squatting beside me, his hand patting me consolingly. I blink at him, terrified and angry and embarrassed all at once. Does he know? He can't know! Was he reading it over my shoulder? No I would have noticed... Right?!
My dad's brown eyes - just like mine, including our terrible vision - have this twinkle of mischief in them and all I can do is gape at him as he stands up and walks away.