The Life of KitCat

His Friends

Jc's P.O.V.

The girls have me sleep in a spare bedroom and we're all in bed by 11:30.  I text my friends, who were supposed to hang out the next morning, and give them the address of this house.  They are going to come over at nine and we are going to the mall.  I wake up the next morning, only because of the alarm that I set on my phone.  I pull my shirt back on because I really is clean considering that I only wore it last night.  I go downstairs and not only a minute later I hear a knock on the door.  I answer it and my friends Connor, Trevor, Ricky, Sam, and Kian.  I invite them in, considering what I'm going to make for breakfast when Cat comes sliding in to the room.  She has her eyes closed and her IPod in,  She's carrying a basket of laundry and she skitters through the room to the basement where I presume the washer and dryer is.  We start talking and laughing when she comes back up.  She glides through the center of the room, does a kick that causes her leg to go straight in the air, and a backbend that ends in her flicking both legs over so that she can stand up.  This is all while her eyes are closed.  I thought the show was over,but she started singing the song Candyman by Christina Aguilera.  She continues dancing, putting out both arms and kicking.  I figure out where she is in the dance just as she starts doing the dance done in the video.  I point to Connor and tell him what we are going to do.  She jumps on to a chair, holding out both arms, and she raises her leg like she's going to kick.  We run to either side of her and grab her arms, stepping forward, watching her kick both legs out to the side at the same time, shrieking once.  

"WHAT THE HELL?!" she says, clearly surprised that other people are around.

"We were helping," Connor says and everyone is laughing, everyone but her.  By now she's seen the other four boys in the room and she runs up the stairs without another word.  Then she starts shouting from the top of the stairs and none of us move,

"JC CAYLEN!!! YOU DID NOT TELL US THAT YOU WERE HAVING FRIENDS OVER!!! I WAS SINGING AND DANCING IN A TANKTOP AND SHORT SHORTS IN FRONT OF FOUR TEENAGE BOYS THAT I DO NOT KNOW!!! I'M GOING TO HATE YOU FOREVER!" she screams before slamming the door to her room.  I stare around until Andrea comes down the stairs from her bedroom.  She looks around and without another word she goes back upstairs muttering that she'll talk to Cat. 

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Connor's P.O.V.

I can totally understand why Cat freaked out.  She felt like she was over exposed or something, but I also don't understand why she reacted the way she did.  Her hair was neat, she looked fine, and she was completely fit so tank tops and short shorts look fine on her.  Andrea comes downstairs a few minutes later and says that Cat won't even let her I to her room, so she's going to make breakfast.  She mixes pancake batter that looks lumpy and discolored.  She pours it on the stove and starts talking with us.  Minutes later she turns around and the pancakes in the pan are smoking, shriveled, black nubs.  Smoke fills the air as the fire alarm goes off.  Cat comes running down the stairs and starts screaming at Andrea who's just running around with the pan in her hand, spreading the fumes.  Cat continues screaming at Andrea, taking away the pan and drenching it with water in the sink.  She then proceeds to a closet where she pulls out a broom.  She continually stabs at the fire alarm until it turns off, and from there she finishes opening the windows with the rest of us.  She must have figured out that Andrea was trying to make breakfast, so she decides to make it herself.  She goes through the cupboards, collecting ingredients, until she has flour, butter, olive oil, frozen sausage, something orangey in a glass, milk, salt, something in a jar and nutmeg.  We all watch, curious, as she puts the olive oil in the pan.  She cooks the sausages and once they're done she sprinkles in some flour.  Jc opens his mouth, probably to correct her, but she gives him a death stare before returning her attention to the pan.  Once the flour, oil, and sausage sort of combine, she puts in the stuff from the jar, she pours in milk and grinds in the nutmeg, sprinkling it with salt.  Before she puts as many slices of bread as she can in the toaster, she scraps the orangy jelloness from the cup in to the pan where it melts and I risk a question,

"What was that?"

"Chicken stock and a little fat," she says, sharply.  The chicken stock melts in and eventually the milk becomes like gravy.  She pops in more slices of toast until there is almost no more left.  She shreds the bread in to pieces, distributing it evenly in to 8 bowls.  She pours the gravy and everything in it over the bread in the bowls and passes it out.  She runs upstairs without another word. 

"What is it?" Trevor asks.

"Cream dried beef on toast..." Andrea says, taking a bite.  She sounded sad, but I don't know why and she just stares at her bowl.  Then she runs upstairs.