Rule # 48
Your friend's house is your house, too.
I've spent, approximately, 45 minutes playing with Mishka in my room, he's starting to get upset and the tiny scratch marks in my hands are a quite convincing proof of it, but still, I refuse to let him go.
It has always escaped my comprehension how cats' minds work; one minute they barge into your room, meowing hysterically, demanding to be petted and the next one they're biting you with no mercy and violently trying to get as far away from you.
They're, like, hopeless bipolar bastards.
I am momentarily distracted by a sudden commotion coming from downstairs, allowing him to escape from my mortal grasp, it happens so fast that there's no point on going after him, he has already jumped out the window and is now giving me a sassy look, standing in the tree branch.
"Could you be any more childish, Mishka?" I tell him, turning around, deciding to see what's disturbing my home's peace.
I walk down the stairs, genuinely curious about what's going on, the sound of things falling to the ground, pots crashing against each other and intermittent yelps that keep on growing in their volume are coming, apparently, from the kitchen.
I would recognise those squeals anywhere.
Stepping into the kitchen I have to stop myself from bursting out laughing. With a final thump, a mat of curly wild hair falls to the ground with not a single trace of the grace that usually defines her.
Moving around her, I make my way to the kitchen counter; I open a cabinet that hovers just above my head and grab a big cup to serve myself with some coffee.
"Hi, Liss."
"You did this?" she exclaims, bewildered, from the floor, motioning to the mess that is currently surrounding her "All of this?!" she points to the mess that is herself.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb."
At my flat, clueless look she narrows her eyes and says firmly "Nicholas."
I snort "Melissa."
"I'm covered in oil and feathers!" her voice has become loud, her eyes are wide and her forehead red, a clear sign she's infuriated.
"Yeah, is it some weird girl thing or..."
"Oil and feathers!" she yells, attempting to stand up but failing due to the oily surface she's on.
I just stand there, sipping on my coffee and watching her struggling. A satisfied smile playing on my lips.
"Maybe, just maybe, that'll teach you no to get into my house like a freaking burglar, Liss." I say as I head to the door.
"We've been over this a thousand times, already. We're friends, I can do it, it's in the book."
"There's no book that allows you to jump over my fence; pretending to be some sort of lame ninja in a baby pink lace dress; ruin my mom's garden and leave those horrendous mud marks all over the house." I tell her softly and calmly, hoping she'll understand.
"But... you told me to make myself at home." I glance at her over my shoulder and the solemn expression on her face lets me know she's dead serious.
After a long, tortured sigh I say "Front door." I pause to let the words sink in "There's a front door. Next time, use it." And I leave the kitchen, determined to continue my battle with Mishka.
"Aren't you going to help me up?"
One moment of silence, then "No?! You owe me a dress, I hope you know that!"
