Mr. Caterpillar

.6.

"Okay," Niti said sitting in the chair, "I'm here. Make it quick, because I have seven assignments to complete."

Shruti gazed at her. "You look horribly pale. What happened?"

"Nothing," Niti said apprehensively.

"Sure?"

"Yes," Niti said at once.

They were sitting at the table next to the glass-wall that looked out at the busy street. The heartwarming smell of coffee filled the evening air. The cafe was crowded like a good cafe on a pleasant Sunday evening should be.

Niti looked at the glass-wall at her own superimposed reflection. She looked pale, all right. Two friends, on the next table, were laughing and were giving each other high fives. Niti envied them. 

"Are you interested in a part-time job?" Shruti abruptly asked, "I know you are. And you'll be when I'll tell you what our job is and how much we'll be paid."

"How much we'll be paid?" Niti asked although she was not interested in doing any part time job.

"Thirty thousand rupees for just one night," Shruti said, her eyes twinkling.

"Thirty thousand..." Niti muttered, "One night... what kind of job are you talking about?" She flushed.

"What? Oh, no. No. No. You got me completely wrong!" She laughed. "Our job is to take care of a millionaire and his pets."

"Pets?" Niti asked, frowning.

"Yes, pets."

"You know I hate cats and dogs."

"No dogs. No cats." A group of boys went past them. Shruti gazed briefly at the longer one in the group and then back at Niti. "His pets are... caterpillars."

Niti gave her a perfect incredulous look. "Caterpillars? Caterpillars? You are joking." She started getting up. But Shruti reached out, seized her hand, and pulled her back.

"Why do you always think that I'm joking?" Shruti asked.

"Because you have a pet dog whose name is Cat," Niti said, and that was true.

"Keep Cat out of this, and I'm not joking," Shruti said with a stern expression on her face, "He is a millionaire, the one who is lying on his deathbed. He likes caterpillars and also teenagers. Hence he is paying so much money. Please don't say no. We won't be alone in his mansion. A boy I recently got acquainted with will also be working with us. And he is cute!"

Niti thought over it. Shruti was right. Rich people are actually weird. They have queer hobbies. They go to weird parties, wear weird clothes and do weird things. So, a man with lots of money, lying in his deathbed and schooling a morbid fascination for caterpillars and teenagers did make sense. And besides thirty thousand was a big amount; she could easily fix her dad's scooter with that money. So, after considering aforementioned things, Niti said three magical words (they were not: got to hell). She said: "Count me in."

She later regretted her decision.

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