How the fuck do I keep this PG? “I love her, and I guess I’m willing to be with her any way she lets me.”
“But it’s not what you want, right?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”
“Then it’s not really love. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. You should tell her to be with that other boy, and then you can find someone who doesn’t hurt you. You should be happy when you love someone, not sad.”
Fuck, she’s smart. Really smart. Before I can respond, the bush off the porch moving catches my attention. Unsure if it’s rodent, reptile, or something else, I’m ready to jump into action and keep it away from Bernie.
“What’s that?” Bernie asks.
There’s fear in her voice, and just as I’m about to tell her she’s safe, out pops my cat. “Chonk, what the hell are you doing out here?”
I hop down and pick him up. Which earns me a growl and a struggle. The damn thing hates being held. Or touched. Really, any type of affection pisses him off.
He’s heavy as he fights me, and he’s the strongest feline I’ve ever encountered. Damn thing.
“You have a kitty?”
I laugh. “Sort of. He kind of hates… everyone. Including me. Which is why I like him. But he is not an outdoor cat.”
“He must’ve snuck out when the door was broken,” Bernie says. “Can I pet him?”
Walking toward her, I pray Chonk doesn’t act out of character and bite her. That would be just my luck. Instead, he does something extremely out of character, but not in a harmful way. He forces his way out of my grasp, crawls onto her lap, and purrs.
This damn cat has never purred except for the short stint he had on pain meds post-surgery. And now he purrs when Bernie pets him?Let’sBernie pet him? What the fuck?
“He’s nice!”
I can’t believe he’s begging for attention in her lap. This motherfucker glares at me after I feed him and bats my hand away if I attempt to give him any sort of affection, but he acts like a damned kitten nuzzling up to a new owner.
“He’s a butthead,” I say, staring in shock.
“No, he’s not!” she says.
Her eyes widen, and I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when I hear the heels on the sidewalk. Shit. We forgot to watch the time.
I turn my head to find Misty looking less than pleased to see her daughter on my front porch. And even less so when she sees the cat inher lap.
“Mommy, look! I’m holding a kitty named Chunky!” Bernie calls out.
Close enough. “Escaped when the door was damaged this morning,” I offer, hoping she doesn’t completely flip her lid.
Although, I suspect she’s hot as hell when she’s losing her shit. I wouldn’t mind trying to tame that attitude.
“Is that right?” Misty asks, walking over to pet the little traitor who purrs even louder at their attention.
“I think he’d rather live with you girls,” I mutter, thoroughly annoyed.
I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit trying to get this fucking cat to just tolerate me. Toys. Treats. Food. Cat towers. Blankets. You name it, I’ve tried it. And nothing. But all they have to do is touch him, and he’s putty in their hands. If I touch him, he growls and swipes at me.
“I wish he could live with us,” Bernie says, “but he’s your kitty.”
“Doesn’t look much like it,” I say. “I’ve tried to get him to purr, and you know how many times he’s purred with me? Without being medicated?”
When Misty looks up with an unexpected smile on her face, I nearly forget what I’m saying. “How many?”
“None.”
