Page 30 of A Taste For Trouble
“My lasagna?” I demanded in outrage, and her glare only got brighter.
“Didn’t you learn to share in kindergarten?”
“I skipped kindergarten and went straight to first grade because I was so smart,” I informed her loftily.
“Yes, we’re all very proud. Now, can you grab some oven mitts and go rescue my cat? I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach him,” she snarled.
“Shorty,” I coughed, as I put on the oven mitts to rescue a cat who looked like he was plotting my doom.
Beelzy took one look at me when I poked my head out of the kitchen window, and his hackles went up.
“Down, boy. I’m all that stands between you and a certain death. If you fall off that ledge, you’re not going to land on your feet after falling ten storeys, trust me,” I drawled. “Now, pretend you’re a good kitty for five minutes and let me bring you in. And don’t even think about going for my lasagna.”
Rose pinched me in the behind when I said that, and I yelped in surprise, banging my head on the top of the window.
“Hey, watch it,” I yelled, and Beelzy reacted by swiping at my face.
“Darn you, Beelzy,” I yelled again, and Rose pinched me one more time.
“His name is Sweetpea, and you’re scaring him,” she snarled.
I ducked back inside and put my hands on my hips as I glared at her.
“Well, if you stop pinching me for five minutes, maybe I could find a way to grab that son of Satan,” I pointed out.
“Fine! But if you’re mean to him, you won’t get any lasagna,” she warned, as I poked my upper body out again.
The ledge was located right next to the kitchen window, but slightly higher. It was a bit of a stretch, but I managed to grab the cat by the scruff of his neck and dragged him off the ledge and into my arms, yowling and scratching for his life.
He scratched me despite the oven mitts, slashing at whatever part of me he could reach, and I was relieved when Rose reached out and grabbed him from me.
“Sweetpea, look what you did, you silly kitty. You left scratchies on Dom’s arms,” she cooed, and I couldn’t believe she was acting like he was a poor, misunderstood kitten. If ever there was a cat that represented true evil, it was this one. He lounged against her chest and glared up at me, his tail swishing in displeasure.
Just then, the oven dinged, and we all turned to look at it.
“Lasagna’s done,” said Rose, setting the cat down.
He marched towards the oven, tail up in the air proudly. Rose switched the oven off and turned to me.
“Let’s clean up those scratches,” she said.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, with a shrug. “It’s not the first time he’s attacked me.”
“Well, these are worse than the ones on your leg,” she argued. “Besides, I’m your fake girlfriend now. Tending to your injuriescomes under the purview of girlfriend duties, sub-section c, cuts, scrapes, and boo-boos, the care of. And that is a grade four boo-boo.”
“It isnota boo-boo,” I snarled. “It is a legitimate war wound.”
“Come on, grumpus. Let’s put a bandage on your owie,” she said, taking me by the arm and leading me to the couch. “Where’s your medical kit?”
“In my bathroom,” I replied, trying to stand up. “I can get it.”
“Sit down and don’t move,” she ordered, pushing me down again.
Two minutes later, she was back, with the box containing medical supplies.
“You do know we don’t live in a war zone,” she huffed as she set it on the coffee table and sat next to it. “It looks like you’re stocking up for a zombie apocalypse. What’s with all the different bandages?”
“I’m a bit of a collector,” I admitted sheepishly.
