Page 82 of Life To My Flight

He was still just as pissed now as he was three days ago.

And now the poor cat was about to take the brunt of Tunnel’s mood.

“It’s not that far up. Cleo, give me a boost,” I said as I walked up to the tree.

Then I realized just what I’d said and rethought it. “Never mind, I’ll-eep!”

Cleo lifted me as if I was the lightest of feathers.

Straight the fuck up and over his head.

“You’d be really good at cheerleading,” I gasped breathlessly.

“Right, cause I’d fit my shoulders in one of those uniforms for sure,” he said dryly.

I snorted. “That’s a good visual. I was really just saying that you’d be able to pick girls up easily,” I said. “Two more inches up.”

I moved two more inches, and was able to get the cat off the lowest branch.

She was a cutie. Mostly black with white patches on her feet, nose, and the end of her tail; she reminded me of a cat I used to have when I was younger.

Although, Flower, my old cat, was the devil.

She was not very nice, and as it turned out, neither was this one.

As soon as my hand made it around her belly, she flipped a switch.

One moment she was sweet and thankful for me getting to her, and the next she was attacking my hand and drawing blood.

“Motherhumper- you stupid bitch!” I hissed, drawing my hand away quickly.

Too late, though. I could feel the blood running down my arm as I reached forward and grabbed the little heifer by the scruff of the neck, hauling her down regardless of her spitting and hissing.

“Here,” I said hanging the cat over open air. “Take this little whore before I drop her.”

Tunnel came up and grabbed the cat from my hand, being extra cautious now that he’d seen what his cat could do.

“Fucker,” Tunnel grumbled as he took the cat much the same as I had done before handing him over, and walked inside with him.

Cleo lowered me to the ground just as his cell phone rang, but he didn’t answer it.

Instead, he lowered me down and then walked me over to the steps at the front of the house.

Pushing me down gently until I sat on my bottom, he pulled my injured hand into both of his and inspected it. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he rumbled.

I shook my head. “Nah, it’s just burning. It won’t be that bad by tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said as he leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Fucker deserves to die for hurting you.”

“It was just a cat, Cleo,” I said teasingly.

“I don’t care if it’s a kitten or a motherfuckin’ Yetti, it hurts you, it deserves to die,” he growled.

I giggled. “A Yetti? When was the last time you saw one of those just hanging around?”

The bad thing was, was that he looked completely serious.

He’d kill a little cat because it scratched me…for real?

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