Page 13 of The Summer List

The hunger pangs in my stomach are getting too intense for me to put much thought into that. I spot a half-finished wheel of brie way down at the back of the bottom shelf and can’t resist the call of my favourite cheese.

I drop to my knees so I can shuffle a few packages around to get at the brie. I’ve just stretched my arm out towards it when a noise from the other side of the kitchen makes me freeze.

That noise could only be described as a pitter-patter. It continues coming closer as I stay glued to the floor, too shocked to even pull my arm out of the fridge.

A yowling meow fills the kitchen as Sandy’s felines from hell slink underneath the fridge door and barrel right into me, head-butting my legs and pawing at my thighs to demand immediate petting.

I can’t move. My brain is whirring like I’m working my way through a math equation that doesn’t make sense.

Sandy would never leave her precious hairless monstrosities alone. She’d either try to sneak them into Italy or send them to some elite cat boarding institute for the summer. They keep brushing their saggy bodies against my legs and mewling for attention as I struggle to process what’s going on.

I’ve just come to the conclusion that someone has to be in the house when I hear a gasp from the other side of the room.

Everything clicks into place: the food, the cats, the disarmed alarm system. I don’t know how I was stupid enough not to consider them hiring a live-in cat sitter.

A cat sitter who probably thinks I’m a murderer making a pit stop for a midnight snack.

I clear my throat and brace for an extremely awkward conversation. I pull my arm out from where it’s gotten covered in goose bumps in the fridge and push myself up to my feet. I’m about to swing the doors shut when a high-pitched yelp interrupts me.

“DON’T MOVE!” a woman’s voice orders.

At least, I assume she’s a fully-grown woman. Her voice is thin and shrill enough to be a child’s, but maybe that’s just the terror.

“I’m—”

“I SAID DON’T MOVE!” the voice interrupts, insistent enough despite its squeakiness that I actually stop moving. “I’M ARMED AND I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”

Armed?

A hard lump forms in my stomach as my pulse picks up speed. I need to get an explanation out before we involve the emergency services.

“I’m Peter’s daughter,” I blurt, the fridge door still keeping me concealed.

I wonder if the door is thick enough to stop a bullet.

“YOU—wait, what?”

The shift in the woman’s tone is so abrupt I almost burst out laughing. I can practically see her doing a double-take in my head, even though I still have no idea what she looks like.

“I’m his daughter,” I repeat, my voice shaking with what I realize is shock. “That’s how I got in the house. I’m…visiting. I didn’t know they had a cat sitter. You’re the cat sitter, right?”

I glance down at where one of the cats has now lain itself across my feet to start purring. The other one slips back under the fridge door and takes off towards the woman.

“Oh. Oh. They didn’t tell me you were coming.”

I can’t help smirking. “Yeah, it was, um, a last minute thing.”

“Oh. I see.”

Her voice has turned so quiet and reedy I start to worry she might be about to faint.

“Oh my god, I almost attacked you,” she says in a horrified whisper.

“Yeah, uh, about that. You think I could close the fridge without provoking your wrath?”

She lets out a squeak I interpret as a yes. I take a slow step back from the fridge and then swing the doors shut.

My eyes are still stunned from the glare of the fridge light, and I have to blink a few times before I can see her in the near-darkness. Once I get my first good look, I can’t help it.

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