Page 6 of Pack Scratch Fever
I suddenly feel like an asshole. “I mean, I’m not sure if it’s a boy or a girl, so?—”
She gently flips the kitten onto its back, takes a quick glance, then trains her warm eyes on me. “A girl,” she says.
“Okay, well, I need you to takeher. And I don’t have a lot of time.”
She frowns at me, and I try not to get lost in those eyes, or her scent.
But the look she gives me, annoyed and not taking any shit, makes my lip quirk.
“You know this is a rescue, right? We don’t have a never-ending supply of food, or infinite places to keep the cats,” she says. Yet she cradles the kitten closer to her chest, and she sighs. “I can take her though,” she murmurs. “You’re lucky that we have some space.”
I nod, a weight lifted off my shoulders. “Okay, well?—”
“I need you to fill out some paperwork first, though,” she says, and tries to hand the kitten back to me. I reluctantly take her, and she squirms in my arms, nuzzling into my neck with a mighty purr.
I’m anticipating a plethora of white cat hairs on my navy blue shirt, and I’m not thrilled.
I huff. “Is that necessary?”
She huffs back. “Yes,” she snaps, a wrinkle appearing between her brows as she grabs a paper from her desk drawer. The wrinkle shouldn’t be endearing, but I find myself drawn to her expressions. “It won’t take long.” She places the sheet on the counter along with a pen. I wrangle the kitten so that she’s in one hand and take the pen with the other.
I fill out the form quickly, trying not to breathe in the Omega’s tempting scent.
I don’t even want to open up that train of thought.
A rotund grey and white cat suddenly perches on the counter in front of me, flopping onto its back and rolling around happily. Its massive paw tries to bat at my pen, and I scowl and move it away from him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep her?” the Omega asks, and I look back up to see her watching me, hope in her eyes. “She obviously adores you. So does Alvin.”
I glance at the cat, who stares at me with wide eyes, and grimace. “No.”
She sighs, and I try not to feel guilty about my answer. I don’t even know this woman. What she thinks shouldn’t bother me. She runs acat rescue. Her job is toliterallytake the cat from me.
So then why does it feel like I’m disappointing her? What does it matter?
“Did you feed her anything?”
“Why do you need my address?” I snap, looking up from the paper.
She gives me an irritated look. “So I can send you more kittens just to annoy you.”
I scowl, and she sighs and shakes her head. “It’s required by the county. We do it for all surrenders. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bother you; I won’t call you. You’ll never see me again.”
Her words shouldn’t bother me, but a strange feeling bubbles in my chest.
The kitten claws at my neck, and I wince.
“I’ll take her,” she says, and I remove the daggers in my chest and hand the kitten back to the Omega. Her long brown hair falls in the kitten’s face, and it swipes up a white paw to play with it.
She giggles, and my scowl deepens.
I never want to see her again.
I don’t even know her, and she shouldn’t smell so good or be so attractive.
I slide the paper back over to her, filled with a ridiculous amount of information about myself.
“You never answered my question,” she says, cradling the kitten to her chest. The feline finally relaxes in her arms.
