Page 73 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Traitor,” I mutter to Thor, but my voice comes out warmer than I intend.
Sim-Sim’s thumb rubs just under the kitten’s chin, and Thor leans into it like a cat who’s suddenly forgotten he lives here.
“Here.” I offer the shirt, and he reaches out with one hand to take it, careful not to dislodge the feline royalty currently using him as a mattress.
“Thanks.” He glances down at the folded fabric. “Big match tomorrow. He’ll be gutted if we lose.”
“We can’t have that,” I say lightly, nodding at the shirt like it’s the most important object in the room.
Silence settles between us, soft and awkward. Thor purrs like a small engine, oblivious to the tension he’s nestled right in the middle of.
Sim-Sim looks down at the kitten for a long second, his fingers still gently stroking behind one tiny ear.
Then, without looking up, he says quietly, “I miss you.”
My breath catches—not dramatically, not even audibly. Just enough for me to notice. To feel the words land and slide under my skin.
There’s no push in his voice. No expectation. Just a simple truth dropped between us like it won’t change the air—even though it already has.
“Why are you saying that?” I ask, not sharp, just… tired. I already know the answer, but I need to hear it anyway.
Sim-Sim’s eyes lift to mine. “Because it’s true,” he says simply. “And because there have been a million times I’ve wished I could undo what I’ve done.”
My arms fold tighter around my ribs.
“It’s too late now,” I say, quietly. Not to hurt him. Just because it is… I think.
He nods. Once. No argument. Just the softest downturn of his mouth as he looks back at Thor, who’s purring somehow feels louder now, like he’s trying to fill the silence.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”
He gives Thor a last stroke, then carefully lowers him to the floor. The kitten lets out a small, offended chirp and pads off in search of someone more emotionally stable.
Simon moves towards the door. I scoop up Twinklesocks with one arm and nudge Thor back with my foot before he can attempt another dramatic exit.
Sim-Sim pauses with his hand on the handle. “Could we have a coffee next week? To talk about Christmas plans?”
I shift the kitten slightly in my arms. “We can do that over the phone.”
He glances back at me, the corner of his mouth lifting, but his eyes still serious. “Miranda… just a coffee.”
There’s a beat. I hate how uncertain I feel, how some part of me still wants to keep everything perfectly compartmentalised.
But I nod. “Fine. Come over during one of my lunch breaks.”
His smile softens. “Text me when you’re free.”
And then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
Twinklesocks lets out a little squeak, clearly unimpressed by the lack of drama. Thor sprawls exhausted at my feet.
I blow out hard.
It's just a coffee.
Right.
There’s a pair of tights dangling from the lampshade, one kitten stuck inside a laundry basket, and I’m wearing a face mask that smells faintly of regret.
