“That settles it, then,” she says.
15
HUXLEY
Idon’t know what I’m doing here. There are too many choices, and I feel like an idiot browsing the aisles. I’ve managed to avoid eye contact with the sales clerk, but I need to pick something soon, or else they’ll surely come find me and ask if I need help. And why the hell is cat food so damn expensive?
Finally, I choose two blue bowls with paw prints on them, a litter box that looks more like a spaceship than an actual box, and a large bag of cat food. At the last minute, I snatch some treats from a display stand while on my way to the cash register. I fumble with my card, anxiety spiking as if I’m wanted by the law or something, and pay.
Finally done with my bullshit errand, I head home.
Sophia’s watchingGrey’s Anatomywhen I get home. I’ve lost track of how many times she’s watched the earlier seasons. She always tells me I remind her of Karev … whatever the fuck that means.
“Hey,” she mutters from her spot on the couch as she munches on chips from the bag next to her.
In reality, our apartment is nothing to write home about; most of the furniture is second-hand, including the sagging couch. The white walls have seen years of bad paint jobs, the wood floors creak no matter where you step, and the windows let in the cold air.
But it feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.
I might be a pessimist, but I can still find the joy in the small things from time to time.
“Where’s DK?” I ask while disappearing into our narrow kitchen, dropping the bag of food and everything else on the counter.
“You’ve got to stop calling him that!” Sophia explains loudly from the living room. “Poor guy is starting to have a complex.”
I swore I wasn’t going to get attached to the cat.
Only for the night, and that’s it.
But then a day turned into two and then three. By day four, I cracked and brought him to the vet just before Christmas. They told me the kitten was male, roughly four months old, and healthy.
I was surprised by how relieved I was by his clean bill of health. The visit solidified my decision to keep him, and I finally gave him a name.
Dumpster Kitty.
Sophia hates it, but I find it suits him.
“Oh yeah?” I ask sarcastically, coming out of the kitchen. “Did the cat confide that to you when I was gone or something?”
Sophia shoots me an amused but annoyed look. “Ha. Ha,” she replies flatly. “Anyway,the catis in your room, I think.”
I walk down the dark hallway and flick the light on when I get to my room. My bedroom isn’t much to look at either. Just the bare minimum with a double bed to the left of the window,a small desk with my father’s old record player on top of it, and a few records leaning against it. I don’t even own a dresser, all my clothes are stuffed into the small closet facing the bed.
The record player was the only thing I wanted from our childhood home. Ozzy kept it for me when Dad died while I was in prison. I missed that old record player more than I ever did my own father.
I find DK curled up next to my pillow. His head pops up when he senses my hand near his head, the white spot around his left eye stark against the rest of the black fur. He lets out a small squeaked meow and jumps to his feet, stretching his legs and paws.
It’s hard not to find DK to be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Something about the feeling makes me slightly uncomfortable, but I don’t pay it much attention as I pick the kitten up and carry him into the kitchen.
Setting him down, I fill one of his new bowls with fresh water and the other with food. DK meows loudly at my feet, winding himself around my ankles and rubbing his little body against me.
“Here you go, little dude,” I say under my breath as DK dive-bombs into his bowl of food.
Chuckling, I give his head a little scratch and lean against the counter, watching him eat. I smirk distractedly as I pull my phone out from my pocket. The smile fades quickly, the device nearly slipping out of my hand when I see the new Instagram notification on my cracked screen.
@hiimconnieb started following you.
I can’t stop the irrational impulse to crouch as if she’s watching me from the kitchen window.
