𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 ペイント 𝚕𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

chapter eight: flashbacks, intruding men, and one fat cat.

     The orange tabby cat sashayed over to the open notebook, sprawling his long frame across the pages. He stretched with great theatrics as he placed his head against his paws with a satisfied purr. His long fluffy tail curled around your wrist, the exasperated sleep deprived artist, as you let out an annoyed sigh. You let your pencil drop from your fingers, clattering onto the wooden counter of the small open kitchen. The sudden sound made the lounging cat glare at you suddenly in annoyance, as you simply scrunched up your nose in response and huffed.

     So much for trying to end your artist's block, huh?

     Had you thought about it though, it may have been a gift in the form of your roommates annoying cat, since you had spent the last half hour sketching out eyes and lips— which made it seem that you were a serial killer with a very specific fetish. You weren't, you were just a very inspiration deprived artist with little to give to the world that thirsted for art. Was that a good excuse? No, it definitely wasn't, but your eyes ached with their red bloodshot veins, and you had ceased to care long ago.

     You slipped your wrist free of the tail that tickled the base of your hands, planting your cramping hands at the edge of the wooden counter. You pushed your bar stool back as you slid off the peeling leather upholstery, maintaining your glare at the feline. The cat paid you no mind as it began to groom at his pink bean toes, drenching your notebook page in saliva, smearing the pencil drawn sketches. Charming. He had no qualms towards your feelings and seemed to go out of his way to 'accidentally' drag his long tongue along the paper.

     You made a small noise of horror as you curled your fingers into your sweats, eyes growing wide as you stared down at your rival. You knew that if you tried to move the cat away or snatch your notebook back, you would get a few good nibbles and scratches for your crime. He might just throw himself at your face, going straight to bite off the end of your nose. You held up your hand instinctively to pinch the tip of your nose, just to make sure it was still there and that there was a hope of protecting it.

     Why couldn't Yaki have been a dog person, just like you? The day that Yaki had kicked open their apartment door, holding that bastard of an animal in her arms, a carefully crafted sob story spilling from her lips- you had known that this feline would be your enemy. He was a male presence invading your presence constantly, leaping into your open dressers whenever you put away the laundry, and running off with a pair of your panties as a prize. Last time, he had dragged your bra from the floor, to the living room, dropping it at the feet of the manager of this apartment complex. At least he had seen the humor in that situation— you certainly hadn't. The evil creature known only as Lady Garbage, who always seemed to push over your acrylic oils and cups of paint brushes right off your dresser. His mission in life was to snag food off of your plate whenever you weren't looking. The worst part was that he didn't have a curfew; showing up at unholy times during the morning, meowing at your living room window. You were always ready to leave the cat outside until the end of time, but Yaki somehow found the will to drag her corpse out of bed, and let the fat boy in with a coo.

     You and Lady Garbage had such a toxic rivalry that made Yaki desperately try to convince you that this feline was, in fact, the savior of her entire world (whatever that meant), and deserved to be treated as such. You wouldn't fall for that though. Your first interaction with a cat had been Lady Garbage, and he had undeniably left a bad taste in your mouth. That might've been the long orange and white hairs that you always found in your toothbrush. God knows how they got there, and you did not want to think about it.

       Your phone vibrated loudly against the counter, alarming the cat that easily leapt off onto the ground, and bounced away to attack a few shredded toilet paper rolls scattered across the kitchen tile. Where had he gotten them from you did not know, and certainly didn't want to know where he had gotten such a collection from. Such thoughts only gave you headaches, and Lord knows you had enough of them with the argument you had had with Yaki. You let out the uneasy breath that you had been holding ever since your device had buzzed, snatching up your notebook and tucked it underneath your arm. Just in case Lady Garbage decided he wanted to claw up paper to go with his toilet paper rolls. You slid your phone across the wooden counter before picking it up, eyeing the white message aglow against the lock screen. The wallpaper only served as a reminder, the picture being of Sukiyaki, standing in front of the Brooklyn bridge with a grin that went from ear to ear. Holding an extra large slushie in her left hand in thirty degree weather, and a thumbs up in the other. She looked goofy, wearing the frog winter hat with two long green tassels framing her face that you had knitted and sent to her through the mail when you had just been fourteen years old. She had worn that hat weeks after you had arrived and had taken you around the city, hence the picture. Now though, it served as a bitter reminder of how that glittering smile had kept secrets. Away from you, on purpose. Your hand squeezed the phone case as you swallowed harshly, reading the message.