The Mountain Man's Kitten - Thickwood CO

And I worry about her too. Can you believe that? A big, gruff man like me worrying about the safety of a kitten? She’s mine now. I have to protect her, even if she ends up destroying my house and giving me scars. Because I protect what’s mine.

So, between the kitten and missing Kat, I’ve barely slept a wink. I’ve taken to getting up in the middle of the night, grabbing Miss Muffet—who seems to never sleep—climbing into my truck and going for a drive into town.

And that invariably leads me to the little house I bought over the road from Katarina’s place. Me and the kitten go inside, sit in the dark, and I watch the window across from mine.

It’s not the best place for Katarina. That’s what I noticed the first time I went there. Just a small apartment with a single room that serves as bedroom, living room and kitchen. It has a little bathroom with a shower, but that’s it. Crazy for her to be living there, when her father owns half the town, but from what I’ve seen he’d like to give her more, but she’s all for her independence.

I get that, and I admire it, but I’m still not happy about her surroundings.

When she’s not there, I have two choices. Sometimes, me and the kitten drive over to the hospital, or the shelter, or her favorite burger bar, anywhere she goes, and we keep out of sight while we watch her. Just watching her turns me on, and I could do it all night, but there are other times when I leave Miss Muffet in my new property while I go across the street.

If she’s left the window slightly open, as she often does, it’s not difficult to pry it up the rest of the way. These old locks aren’t much good at keeping people out, they’re really only there to hold the window in place, and since her room is on the ground floor it’s quick to gain entry. I’m not above snooping around her things, taking a sniff of her perfume or rooting through her clothes. Yeah, I’m a dirty fucker, and I’m ashamed every time, but I can’t help myself. And in my defense, when I leave, I make sure the window is properly closed so nobody else can get in.

I’ve taken a few things home with me, too. Just little things, reminders of her. Miss Muffet has claimed one of them as her own, which is the only thing that has calmed her down. Her cat basket is now lined with one of Katarina’s sports bras, and she’s fast asleep on top of it right now. The basket is tucked away underneath the stairs, so if one of my extremely rare visitors did decide to come round, they wouldn’t see, but it still makes me ashamed to think of it.

Playing with the phone in my hand isn’t doing me any good. I’ve got wood to chop, but with Katarina on my mind I’m worried I might end up cutting off something I shouldn’t.

I bring up her number for the eight-thousandth time today, stare at it for a moment, then take a deep breath. I shouldn’t. There’s no need to call her. Truth is, with Katarina’s bra to sleep on Miss Muffet has finally started to calm down. How do people normally deal with this?

I press the green button before I’ve even thought and put the phone to my ear. It rings for what feels like an hour, and I almost put it back down, but then I hear her voice on the other end.

“Thickwood Shelter, Katarina speaking. How can I help?”

I clear my throat, trying to think what to say, but no words will come out. What am I supposed to say to her? Oh, I don’t need anything, I was just fantasizing about your voice.

“Miller, is that you?”

What the fuck? How did she—

“I can’t hear you properly, I think this must be a bad line. Miller?”

“Uh, yeah, hi.”

“Hi! How’s Little Miss Muffet?”

I lick my top lip, looking over to see the kitten’s head lolling out of her basket, eyes closed in blissful sleep. “She’s not good…”

“Oh no, shall I call the vet?” Katarina sounds panicked, and I think fast.

“No, nothing like that.” Holding the phone against my ear with my shoulder, I grab both sides of the one remaining sofa cushion that’s still intact and pull hard. There’s an almighty rip as the cushion falls apart, and I lower my voice. “No, Miss Muffet, stop!” The kitten opens her eyes for a moment, looks over at me, yawns, and then curls back down into her bed, covering her eyes with a paw.

“Oh my god, has she grown? That sounded bad.”

“Can you come over?”

“Uh…” She hesitates for a moment, and I curse technology for not allowing me to see her expression. “Sure. I finish in about an hour?”