Page 24 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
No.Ginger.
Fluffy. Round. With white paws like it’s wearing the latest feline shoe line. And currently staring up at me likeI’mthe surprise.
We lock eyes.
It meows.
High-pitched. Piercing. The sound of entitlement in fur form.
I take a slow step back, as if disengaging from a wild animal on a nature programme. It follows. Purring.
“You... don’t live with me,” I inform it, very reasonably.
It blinks up at me with the blank confidence of something that’s never paid rent in its life… then leans forward and licks my shin.
I recoil instinctively. “Oh God. No. That’s—don’tdo that.”
It does it again. Enthusiastically.
Apparently, post-run leg sweat is the breakfast of champions.
“Brilliant,” I mutter, swiping gently at it with a tea towel as if I’m warding off a particularly persistent foot fetishist. “Absolutely not how I imagined starting my morning.”
The kitten attacks the tea towel with alarming enthusiasm, latching onto it like it’s just declared a blood feud.
“Oh, for—” I lift the towel, kitten still attached, a dangling, soft orange bauble of wrath.
It growls. Actually growls. A noise that might be threatening if it weren’t coming from something that weighs less than a decent sandwich.
“Right. That’s enough,” I mutter, peeling tiny claws off cotton. It flails mid-air and, against my better judgement and every principle I hold about not hugging wild animals, I draw it in and hold it against my chest.
It goes limp instantly. Snuggles in.
Purrs.
Loudly. Deeply. I stare down at it, baffled.
“You manipulative little furball,” I whisper.
The purring intensifies.
Of course it does.
Then, from somewhere beyond the open door, a whisper-shout cuts through the silence:
“Twinklesocks! Pss-pss-pss—Twinklesocks!”
It comes again, louder, still in that frantic stage whisper people use when trying not to wake small children or enrage large neighbours.
“Twinklesocks!”
There’s a rustle. Movement. A crouched figure emerging from the hedgerow like a burglar with a moral conscience.
I walk to the door, kitten still anchored to my chest and lean out.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” I chuckle.
The figure startles upright with a small gasp. Straightens too fast and wobbles slightly, caught in the act.
