WHAT A LITTLE LOVE FROM A KITTEN CAN DO
When I wake the next morning, it's because there's a weight on my stomach that isn't normally there. I ignore it for a while, thinking I accidentally fell asleep with my laptop still on my stomach, but then I remember I put my laptop on my desk.
My eyes fly open, only to see a small black kitten curled up in a ball, sleeping soundly on my stomach. I nearly cry from the cuteness, my hand reaching over and petting it softly.
The kitten shifts around, moving where it can nuzzle its head against my hand.
"I see Bandit found you."
I jump, scaring both myself and the kitten. I look over and see Ash standing in my doorway, smiling softly, her arms crossed over her chest comfortably.
"I got him yesterday, but didn't have time until today to bring him up here," She tells me. "He likes you already."
"He liked me back at the shelter," I remind her, smirking playfully. She sticks her tongue out at me, and I do the same. A second later I ask, "What're you up here for?"
She shrugs, "T'bring you Bandit. And wash some clothes. I'm tired of people touchin' my stuff."
I laugh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Bandit curls back up and starts purring again with his eyes closed. Sweet thing.
"Well have fun," I chuckle. "We haven't done laundry all week."
"I can tell," She nods, glancing down at my full clothes hamper.
I look at it, too, realizing that I probably should've been doing laundry last night instead of write the article...and I probably should've done laundry instead of go to the game with Micah. Oh well.
"I'm gonna go get started on it," Ash says, referring to her laundry. I nod, reaching down to pet Bandit as he sleeps soundly. "Hey," She pauses, the door almost closed. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she stares at something by my desk.
"Hm?"
"Who's hoodie is that?"
Quickly, I glance up to see Micah's hoodie is stretched out over the back of my desk chair. The football logo is clearly on display, so I can't shrug it off and say it's her choir hoodie from two years ago. Because it's obviously not. Great.
"Oh," I chuckle, my eyes averting over to the clock. It's not even ten a.m. yet. Can't I get a break? And why in the hell is my heart pounding like I'm in trouble? It's just a damn hoodie. "It's Micah's."
I let my eyes wander over to Ash, gauging her reaction. She raises her eyebrows, smirking.
"Cute," Is all she says, and then she leaves my room, shutting the door behind her. The sound echoes off the walls, eventually leaving me in a stunned silence.
Did she just say cute? She did, didn't she?
I nearly groan aloud. Whenever my sister thinks two people are cute together, the cute doesn't mean cute. It practically means I can see you guys dating. And it's annoying.
"You won't judge me for being scared, will you?" I ask Bandit, petting him behind his ears, which he seems to enjoy. He scoots body over to get closer to my hand, purring a lot louder than I thought a kitten could. I chuckle, "I guess that means you won't."
I pick him up, making the most adorable squeaking noise come from his mouth. I guess his meow must be really high-pitched still. He's so young and tiny. I bet he's only a month or so old.
"You're such a tiny baby," I coo, bringing his head down so I can kiss the top of it. He squirms, so I eventually have to let him go.
He jumps down and runs over to the door, bringing his paws up to claw on it. He scratches it, not knowing that the door is locked into place, so it won't move unless I turn the doorknob. And I do, eventually, but he looks so cute scratching the door so relentlessly that his little butt waggles. It's adorable.
I've missed having a cat to take care of.
I walk into the kitchen, Bandit under my feet the whole time. I'm giggling and side-stepping the whole time, making sure that I don't step on top of him. He seems to think it's fun, like he's supposed to be chasing my feet.
I lean down and scoop him up in my arms, holding him like a baby and tickling his stomach, which only makes him latch onto my arm and try biting me. It doesn't hurt, though, because he's too young to do any damage.
"I think this is the first time I've seen you up before noon with a smile on your face," My mom teases, placing her empty coffee cup in the sink.
I glance up, seeing she looks relieved more than she does amused. That confuses me a tiny bit, but I leave it alone, bringing Bandit over to her so she can see him.
"This silly head has something to do with it," I admit, eventually having to let him out of my arms so he can go play. I can already tell he doesn't like being still. He struggles to get traction on the tile in the kitchen, making me laugh as he fails to run away. He looks like a cartoon.
"I can tell," She nods. "What're you gonna name him?"
I shrug, reaching into the cabinet to grab a mug. I need some hot tea. "I'm keepin' Bandit. I like it."
She nods again, finally getting to the question I knew she was wanting to ask. I can always tell when she's stalling and trying to beat around the bush from her actual question.
"Have you written for the article yet?"
There it is!
I grab the kettle, surprised that the water is already hot, and pour some into my cup. "Yeah," I say, putting a tea bag in the cup.
"How's it comin' along?"
I shrug, discarding the used tea bag in the trash before answering her. "It's comin'," I say truthfully, putting a spoonful of sugar in the tea. "I wrote some last night."
"Yeah?" She sounds hopeful. Oh no.
"Yeah," I nod, leaning back against the counter. I wrote it. And I feel like last night I slept so restlessly I might as well have just stayed up and did something else. But I slept, kind of. I was on the bridge of conscious and unconsciousness all night long, but no nightmares – that I can remember. I still think I had one because my stomach feels uneasy this morning, but I could've woken up in the middle of panic attack again. The latter isn't uncommon.
Mom takes my short answers as a sign to stop pushing. "Cool, well, we need it by January, because the issue will probably go out sometime mid-February."
I nod. "Okay," I tell her, and then go to find where Bandit scurried off to.
Don't get me wrong, I love my mom, but conversations like that where she tries – or when I can tell she obviously wants – to venture into emotional territory are just plain awkward. I don't know if it's we aren't exactly the closest of family, or if I've just never really opened up to her like that. Well, I've tried. But she didn't believe me.
That's a story for another day, though.
I find Bandit in the living room, his front paws up on the window sill by the front door. The window comes down close to the floor, and he seems to love that.
I settle into the chair by the window, reaching over and pulling the blinds up so I can stare out at the front yard. Bandit sees the string moving and takes that as an opportunity to play. I have to set my tea down on the small table so I can twirl the string around for him to chase.
He jumps up at one point, his paws stretched out as he tries to get the part of the string by my hand. He isn't big enough yet, though, so the most he does is jump and twist and then fall down. It doesn't faze him.
He soon gets bored with it, and runs off down the hallway toward my room. I decide to follow him, realizing that I should probably check my phone.
I sip my now warm tea as I walk, chuckling as Bandit runs in and out of my legs the whole time. He's going to be crazy to have around.
I push my bedroom door open, Bandit running inside and jumping on the bed. He's hyper, no doubt, but he'll probably take a nap in an hour.
I sit down at my desk, carefully placing my mug down before grabbing my phone. Sure enough, it lights up with texts from Taylor and...Micah?
Wasn't expecting that. Okay. I'm sure it's nothing bad.
I check Taylor's texts first, trying to ease my racing mind. She had sent me a meme last night that she said made her think of me. I click on the picture, then seeing a cartoon of a passive-aggressively-pissed-off-bunny.
I text her back, telling her that, yeah, that's definitely me.
Now on to Micah's.
Do I even have to read them? Or reply? I'm not obligated to, right?
I nervously sip on my tea, shakily sitting the cup back down. I turn around and glance at Bandit, seeing him taking a bath in the middle of my bed – or trying to, rather. He isn't sure how, but I think he's almost got it down.
I'm stalling again. Deep breaths. It's fine.
>Mic: I hope my hoodie is comfy
I furrow my eyebrows. Is that it?
I check my messages a second time, seeing that sure enough, that's the only text he sent. I don't know why he sent it, much less at midnight last night.
He's weird.
>Ha, it is :))
Too cheery? Doesn't matter because I've already hit send. I can't give my mind time to freak out about texts or I'll never reply to anyone. Just have to hit send and deal with damage control later.
I click my phone off when he doesn't answer after two minutes. I don't want to be that girl who sits around and waits for a boy to answer her. I've got other things to do.
I glance over my shoulder and see Bandit curled in a ball, asleep in the middle of my bed. I smile softly, knowing I'm going to spoil him a lot more than I should, but I don't exactly care.
I stand and walk over to my bed, laying down beside Bandit and propping my face on my hand. I reach over and gently pet him, smiling when I feel him starting to purr again, but he doesn't wake.
It isn't long before I close my eyes and join him in a nap.
+++
When I wake again, it's almost noon, so we slept for a good two hours. On accident, though. I swear.
"Well good morning star shine."
I jump, scaring Bandit out of his nap and me out of my wits. I turn my head to see Ash standing at my dresser, putting my clothes away.
"I'm gonna have to call you Castiel if you keep doin' that," I groan, grabbing Bandit and holding him against my chest.
She laughs at my weak attempt of a joke. "Well I won't be doing it that often."
I smile, petting Bandit softly until he falls back asleep. "Speakin' of which, why've you been home so much?"
She shrugs, and continues putting clothes away. A definite sign that she doesn't want to answer my question. I raise an eyebrow at her back, but move on, deciding to just let the question go for now.
"He sleeps a lot," I comment, gazing down at the black kitten who is now fully asleep beside my arm.
"He's still a baby," Ash reminds me. "He'll sleep a lot like this for a couple more months. Prob'ly until he's a year old."
"Yeah," I murmur, more to fill the silence.
Ash leaves my room then, something about needing to put her clothes in the dryer now. She still worries me, but I'm trying not to focus on it. I've got school and Bandit and writing the article (ugh) to focus on. I don't need any unnecessary stress. I'm just going to have to trust her, and hope that she's being truthful when she tells me everything is okay.