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None of that stuff matters.
They’re hooked on my sister.
They’re a no-go area.
I nod to myself before I pick up her purse and leave the house.
Nothing is going to happen today.
Nothing but cleaning.
Chapter forty-one
Rueben
I have to admit, I’ve been up since six a.m., wearing down the floorboards in my bedroom. First, I had to figure out what to wear. Then, I had to get showered and dressed. And, lastly, I had to check my room carefully for anything that might be gross to find when it’s being cleaned by my future mate.
There were no suspect items by the time I was done, save for a lone cheese-puff that must have rolled under the bed a long time ago before it became the dustiest looking thing I’ve ever seen.
The vacuum probably would have eaten it, but I put it in the trash, so I don’t need to worry about it.
“It’ll be better for you to be in here when this room is cleaner, too,” I tell Tiny Tempest.
He miaows at me like he knows what I’m talking about.
I wait until it’s a little closer to nine to empty his litter.
He’s been going in his box, so I don’t need to change the pee-pads in the pen I made for him.
“I really hope your owner doesn’t want you back.”
I called Cressidan City hospital already, and I know which ward his owner is in.
They said someone would let him know his kitten was being taken care of while he’s recovering.
I almost didn’t want to leave my number, but I knew I had to.
“Who am I kidding? Look at you,” I tell him, getting onto my knees in front of his pen. “Who wouldn’t want this bundle of cuteness in their life?”
He attacks my hand when I bring it near him, and I let him scratch me up a little while he plays.
I’m getting too attached, and I don’t care. I’ll deal with feeling sad when he has to leave.
That’s later.
Right now, he’s here and he’s the smallest Tempests' fan in Silver Valley.
“Okay, little buddy. You stay here. I’ll be back to show you off to Scarlett when she gets here. If we can’t convince her that we’re awesome on our own, you’re up.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a cat.” The grumpy voice of his sitter comes from the doorway.
I get to my feet. “Well, he’s a special kitty.”
“He’s a pest,” Gus mumbles.
“You look like crap,” I tell him, wondering if he slept last night.
“Thanks,” he says, pushing his dark hair back. “That’s the look I was going for.”
