Sugar Rush (Friend-Zoned 3)

Mrs. Crandle grins. “Then he’s yours.”

My face voids. “What?”

She must catch what I say, because she shrugs. “I can’t keep any more of them. He and his brothers and sisters will likely go to a pet store in a few days’ time. If you want him, he’s yours.”

Stunned, I look down at the sweet little kitten with green eyes.

Meow

Writing so fast, I’m sure it’s barely comprehensible, I scribble, ‘Yes, I want him! Thank you! Thank you so much!’

She nods, a shy smile appearing on her face. “You’re welcome. What are you going to name him?”

I cuddle my kitten close. ‘I like Ted. But I like Woody too.’

Mrs. Crandle lifts her face in thought. “How about Tedwood?”

I say it out loud. “Tedwood. Sort of like Edward, but not.” Nodding, I write, ‘I like it. That’s it!’

She sips her tea then nibbles at a cookie. “I have everything you need for him right here. You can take him home tonight if you like.”

I smile down at my kitty. He gently bats at my chin. Oh my gosh, I love him already. He’s so damn cute. Smiling up at Mrs. Crandle, I mouth, ‘Thank you.’

She returns my smile. “I hope you get as much joy out of him as I get from his mama.”

I know I will. I just know it.

Chapter Fourteen

Helena

“Where are you, you little psycho?” I hiss, crouching on top of the kitchen counter, feet safely off the ground. Why did no one tell me what little jerks cats can be? We never had a cat growing up. We never even had goldfish, dammit! “Teddy?” I call out hopefully. The little worm is somewhere around here, but he’s hiding well. I coax in a false calm, “Come out, honey. I’ll give you a nice little treat if you just come out.”

Slowly sitting on the countertop, I put one foot down on the ground in perfect silence. Thank God for socks. The other foot comes down to meet the floor. I quietly tiptoe from the counter to the doorway of my room. I peek in. There’s nothing there. Where is he?

I have so many scratches on my feet and ankles. Over the last day and a half, my toes have become chew toys for my new roommate. I am not enjoying this. I thought having a kitten would be ninety percent cuddles and ten percent making cat-shenanigans—equaling making videos to post on the Internet. This has not been the case.

What’s worse is Tedwood likes to hide, and then reappear when you least expect it. My heart begins to race. I swallow hard. “Teddy? Baby? Momma would really like for you to show yourself now.” I start to hyperventilate, grip the doorframe, and whisper in a singsong voice, “Momma’s freakin’ out, dude.”

Oh my God, it’s morning and I am too tired to deal with this shit. I need a shower, stat. I find courage from somewhere deep inside of me. I straighten and roll my shoulders as I storm into my bedroom. “You know what, Ted? I need a shower, and I’m having a freaking shower. Hide all damn day if you want to. I don’t care.” Opening drawers with a racket, gathering my work wear and closing the drawers with a bang, I stomp over to the bathroom, muttering, “I’m not scared of a little cat. That’s all a kitten is. A little cat. Not even scared.” I drag my feet into the bathroom and turn on the light.

“Motherfucker!” I jump in shock as I’m attacked from behind. Even though I’m wearing thick socks, I still feel his needle-sharp teeth in my ankle and his claws firmly wrapped around my foot. “Arrrrgggh! Get off me you psychotic feline freak!” I shriek.

With my kitten still attached to my foot, I lift it high and commence project shake it off. I shake gently at first, but he’s holding on tight, his beady eyes all-pupil right now. That can’t be good.

I shake harder and harder ‘til I wobble on the spot. I lose my balance. I’m falling backward. My back hits the bathroom sink and I feel the breath leave my body in a whoosh. Throbbing pain blooms from my middle as I land onto the tiled floor with a bounce.

Shit. That hurt! Lying on my bathroom floor with a kitten attached to my foot by its teeth and claws, I burst into tears. “Jesus C, I sure as shit was wrong about you.”

As if feeling my pain, Tedwood appears by my face. If a cat could look concerned, he would. Still crying, I sniffle, “You’re a bad kitty.” He licks my nose, as if taunting me. Slamming my balled fists on the hard tiles, I lift my face and wail, “Oh God, I fucking hate you.”

He climbs on top of me and sits on my chest.

Meow

My body shakes in silent sobs. “Why are you doing this to me? I just wanted to give you a nice home. And you looked cute, like a normal cat that does normal cat things. I didn’t know you were mental.” I look up at him and plead, “Please stop trying to kill me!”

Over the last twelve hours, Tedwood has quote accidentally unquote knocked over a candle and set part of my bed on fire, chewed open live wires, which I have almost touched with my bare hands, and has hidden in every spot possible, attacking me whenever I least expect it. I have a theory. Don’t quote me on it, but…