Page 15 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

His laugh is a harsh, bitter sound that doesn’t contain a shred of genuine amusement. “You’re fired!”

The words hit me like a physical blow, even though I braced for them since seeing his face. My stomach plummets, and for a moment, I feel like I might be sick right here in the parking lot.

“No, wait, please, Tom,” I beg, my voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry! I promise it will never happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again, Emily. It won’t happen again because you won’t be working here.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink, desperate not to add the humiliation of crying to my already impressive list of indignities. “Please, Tom, I really need this job.”

“You should have thought of that before, missy.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Can I at least get my last paycheck?” I hate the pleading note in my voice, but I’m too desperate to care about my pride.

Tom laughs again, louder this time. “You’re kidding, right? That won’t even cover the cost of the repairs on the scooter. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and make you pay for the whole thing!”

My head droops as I turn to leave, the scooter abandoned like a shipwreck on the shore of Tom’s fury. Mortification courses through me in hot waves, my cheeks burning with a combination of shame and anger.

“Wait!”

Thank God! He’s changed his mind.

“Yes?” I turn around and show him one of my most effective smiles. The kind that makes all your face hurt. But fuck if I care.

“The jacket. You have to give it back.”

And this is when I finally realize that, yes, things can always be worse.

“Well, that went spectacularly terrible,”I mutter to myself, trudging up the four flights of stairs to my apartment.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped breakfast, again. The twenty dollars in my wallet has to last until Friday, and rent is already two weeks overdue. If I add up every cent I have to my name, it still won’t cover next month.

My now-former boss’s face still burns in my memory with that particular shade of purple he turned. He could probably be patented as a new Crayola color, Unemployment Red or You’re So Fired Fuchsia.

I fumble with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock my door.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call out sarcastically to the empty space. “Oh wait, not for long!”

A black blur shoots out from under the couch and wraps itself around my ankle, tiny claws digging in with surgical precision.

“Ow! Demon! What the hell?” I hop around, trying to dislodge the furry terrorist from my leg. “I’ve had a bad enough day without you turning my ankle into a scratching post!”

The cat releases me, then sits back on her haunches, yellow eyes narrowed in what I can only describe as smug satisfaction.

My gaze catches those abandoned papers on the coffee table as if they’re fucking taunting me. Asshole-Superman’s number sits there, mocking my situation. No way in hell am I calling that smug bastard. The cat’s fine. Totally fine. Better than me, that’s for sure. And I don’t need to see Mr. Perfect Veterinarian with his stupidly charming smile again.

Famous last words, since I notice the blood as soon as the thought crosses my mind.

“Oh my God, are you hurt?” I drop to my knees, all irritation forgotten. There’s a thin red line across Demon’s front paw, not deep but bleeding. “What did you do? Break into the knife drawer?”

Demon licks her paw.

“Great. Just great.” I run my fingers through my hair. My gaze falls again to the papers sitting on my coffee table. “No. Absolutely not.” I pace the small living room. “I am not going back there. He probably thinks I’m a complete disaster. Which, fair point, I am, but he doesn’t need that confirmed.”

Demon meows, holding up her injured paw with dramatic flair.

“Oh, don’t you play the wounded victim with me!” I point an accusing finger at her.

Another pitiful meow, accompanied by the saddest cat eyes I’ve ever seen.

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