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Since cat emotions were duller and not as long-lasting, I didn’t dwell for too long on my conversation with Winnie—not about her obvious secret or about Charlie. I contemplated it for two, maybe three seconds, before I went looking for something to entertain me.
I wandered into the kitchen and headed through the cat flap and into the garden. A deep breath of the fresh, English spring air, wet pavement, and budding flowers soothed my soul. After stepping onto the grass, I paused as I looked up at the fence and then made a leap. I balanced precariously as I walked along, the wood scratching at my paws, until I reached the kitchen rooftop.
Jumping from the fence to the roof in a practiced move, then from the roof into Charlie’s bedroom window, which he always kept open, no matter the weather, I gave myself a mental pat on the back. As I landed gracefully on his carpeted floors I announced my perfect score with a triumphant meow.
“Clawdicat, you’re here early. Winnie’s gone out for the day?” he asked.
His deep, indulgent voice made me immediately happier. I almost felt guilty for what he would find downstairs. Almost.
He was sitting on his bed in nothing but his boxer shorts, casually rubbing a towel over his brown hair.
I stopped for a moment to appreciate the sight. Charlie was a beautiful man. His hair perfectly tousled and wet, his brown eyes shrouded with thick but not unruly brows, and his body as chiseled as a stone monument although I’d never seen him exercise.
Yet another wonderful thing about having the soul of a human and the body of a cat: no one suspected a cat was staring at them appreciatively.
I snapped out of human-mode and meowed, letting him know he was right. Then I hopped onto the bed next to him.
“I just washed these sheets, Clawdia. Get down.”
I ignored him as I rolled around and then circled him, rubbing my face against his elbows. I loved the smell of his sheets. Although they smelled of fresh laundry powder today, they usually smelled of him. His aroma was like woods and spice from a deodorant he used, and it drove me to distraction.
A drop of water ran down his body from his hair, past his broad shoulders, and down his back. I licked it before I thought to stop myself.
He jumped. “Ouch. Your tongue fucking hurts, Clawdicat. Get off me.”
I meowed an apology and moved around him to sit by his side. He sighed and stroked me firmly, which made me purr.
I rolled to my side so he could stroke my belly, and he muttered, “Soppy cat.”
When he stopped and stood, I stared at him through narrowed, pleased eyes as he changed. I had seen him dress and undress the same number of times as I had seen Winnie. I just couldn’t tell Charlie what I thought about his choice of outfit. Black jeans, black t-shirt—boring but handsome.
When he turned back to me, he said, “Come on. Off.”
I stared at him a while longer, long enough that he got more frustrated.
“Clawdia, I swear—” He didn’t finish the thought, though. Instead, he strode out of his room, and I knew just where he was headed.
I huffed my annoyance, but my insides were happy as I dropped off his bed. Knowing what he would find, I raced ahead of him, down the stairs, and into his office so I could see his expression.
He walked in after me, muttering and looking at his phone. When I meowed, he looked up and then around. His mouth dropped open.
“What the fuck?”
I meowed again, letting him know I was the one responsible for the “fuck.”
“Clawdia, how in the shitting hell did you do this?”
I lay down on the ripped toilet paper and rolled around in it. As expected, he growled at me. “You shredded all my pissing bog roll, and now you’re going to play in it like you’ve done nothing wrong?”
I meowed. He looked at the ceiling and muttered, “I swear to God.”
He pointed at me. “You are a hellcat. I know I’ve done some fucked-up things, but I don’t expect immediate karma like this. I hoped I’d be a slug in my next life to make up for it.”
I giggled internally at the thought of him as a slug but stopped when I realized he’d need to die for that to happen. I turned slightly away, as if I was bored with his complaining, and swiped at more paper littering the floor.
He growled and left the room, stomping to the hallway cupboard where the hoover—dreaded contraption—lived.
Knowing what was coming, I jumped onto his desk and stepped on the keyboard of his computer since I liked to make music with the noises the keys made.
