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I was tired. Even my tiredness was tired. I walked into the kitchen, which still looked exactly the way it did when my Granny was alive, turned on the stove, and decided that a late-night snack was exactly what I needed.
Mac and cheese, Granny style.
Opening the fridge, I took out some cheap cheese that probably should not even be called cheese. It was more plastic than cheese, but it made me think of better days.
Yawning and stretching, I watched the Mac and cheese cooking, slowly getting to that perfect gooey consistency I loved. My mouth watered. It smelled delicious. I did the same thing I always did—I took a bite, knowing the food was incredibly hot and would burn my tongue. The yelp of pain, followed by frantic inhaling through the mouth, made me forget how tired I felt.
Just as I started my macaroni dance in the kitchen, a loud sound filled the house. The wind moaned like a bitch in heat. A storm raged outside, shaking the windows of the old house and singing a sad song against the metal roof. It had started when I left the hospital at the end of my shift and was still going strong. Lightning bolts turned the pitch-black night into a show worthy of Vegas.
All my life, I found storms both scary and fascinating.
Soft steps sounded on the old linoleum floor of the kitchen, a floor I planned to replace soon.
“Are you hungry, you rascal?” I asked the fluff that rubbed itself against my bare legs.
I turned off the burner under the Mac and cheese and pulled the pot to one side, waiting for it to get to a temperature that would allow me to wolf it down. Before that, I had to feed Spike.
Spike was a stray cat that my Granny loved. I inherited him with the house.
The cat rubbed itself against my feet. He was a beautiful black cat with white spots and the gentlest green eyes with golden flecks.
“Are you hungry, Spike?” I asked as I rubbed his chest and the area under his left ear where he loved to be scratched.
Purr was the only reply. Petting the cat with one hand, I opened the cabinet where I kept wet cat food for his visits. He prowled around the neighborhood during the day and would return at night, enter through the bathroom window, and find his way to me no matter where I was.
“Would you like to stay with me forever?” I asked as I rubbed my head against his. Then I opened the can of wet cat food and placed it into a small bowl on the kitchen counter.
I received a soft purr in response.
“I hate knowing you’re alone out there. What if a dog catches you, or you get hit by a truck?”
The cat decided I was no longer of interest and started eating the food I put out.
Hunger got to me, too, and I wolfed down the Mac and cheese directly out of the pot while standing in front of the stove.
One thing was sure—I would not be making a Pinterest board about my house. One glance showed why. Most items dated back to the 70s. The old, checkered linoleum on the floor was clean but still looked bad, no matter how much I scrubbed it. The brown kitchen cabinets that still had the flowers on them that Granny told me my mom had painted and that she didn’t have the strength to paint over. Even the wooden covers on the walls. It all said 70s ugly, not seventies chic. Sadly, my budget didn’t allow for much. If I want to do something about my house, I’ll have to do it myself. With my small budget and my hours at work, it wasn’t easy to find the time and motivation for home improvement.
With a cup of warm plant tea in my hand, I made my way to the sofa in the living room. Soft blankets that still smelled like Granny covered it, allowing me to cocoon myself and forget about everything. I should make some changes around the place, but I can’t bring myself to throw out anything. The house, as old and ugly as it was, felt like a safe place that hugged me like Granny used to.
The only new thing in the house was the flat-screen TV I brought with me, and my only luxury was my Netflix subscription.
Clicking on the remote control, I prayed to the gods of the Internet. The storm was bad. I hoped the Internet connection was working.
“I need me some Sam and Dean tonight,” I whispered to the darkness of the living room. Darkness never bothered me. Quite the contrary, it was a part of me, allowing me to feel stronger than I was.
“You find your place, baby?” I asked Spike, who was already comfy on the couch and cuddled under his favorite blanket.
I still don’t know whether Spike is a boy or a girl.
I put my steaming tea cup on the table next to me and turned on the TV. The best show ever came to life, making me smile.
“What are you saying? I’m too old to simp over them?” I asked Spike, who nudged my head with his. He made himself comfortable on my chest and purred softly.
“Life is not how I imagined it, Spike.”
