"Time to cut back on the tuna," I tell him. All he hears is the word tuna and he’s on high alert. I just shake my head and he, somehow, seems to get that it’s not time for his favourite treat.
My phone vibrates.
Ben
Are you hiding from me again? ;-)
Yes, okay, I'm avoiding him again. After our little make out session at the wedding I snuck out of the hotel as soon as it was socially acceptable and without a goodbye to Ben. I was confused, that’s the only excuse I have. I had no clue how to deal with this situation and as the chicken shit that I am, I only saw one solution: to hide. He must be getting tired of my hot and cold treatment soon.
Whenever he leads me down the PD road I willingly follow him and, oh my word, what he delivers in orgasms and pleasure is mind-blowing. But then we come back to reality and I wonder if I’ve gone insane. That's the man who broke my heart years ago. But the more time I spend with him, the less I dwell on the past and the more I see the good in him. The little optimist in me screams that maybe he really has changed before past Amelia pipes up reminding me of the pain he caused.
Argh, I'm a bloody mess and I hate myself for it.
I ignore the message and instead shuffle to the kitchen. It is bloody freezing in here. I'm already wearing pyjamas, socks, a hoody, and a bathrobe. The minute I get off the sofa Smutty sneaks under my blanket. Poor little kitty is also cold.
Tap, tap; the controls on the central heating are on twenty-two degrees so it should be roasty toasty in here. One touch of my radiator tells a different story though. It’s ice cold. Fuck. That's the last thing I need. I grab my phone from my sofa ignoring another message from Ben and instead turn on my torch app. The light of it is just enough to illuminate the small room in the kitchen that houses my boiler. It is unusually cold inside it, given that the heating was supposed to have been on all evening.
Shit! One look at the boiler dials shows me that it has zero pressure and is clearly not working.
"Fuck!!" I shout, making Smutty jump. He’s left the warmth of the blanket out of nosiness and followed me. My little black shadow.
"Sorry!" I call out after him as I scroll through my contacts and find the number of my landlady, Harriet. I walk into the kitchen and close the door. All I need is for Smutty to meow at the wrong time and I'm in deep shit because my rental agreement does not allow a cat. I did ask Harriet once (when Smutty was already living with me), but she was adamant: no cats. I couldn't really kick Smutty out so I’ve been hiding him ever since. Luckily he’s a housecat and doesn’t venture outside, so it's not like my neighbours see him walk in and out.
"Hello?" Harriet’s croaky voice sounds through the phone.
"Hi, it's Amelia from Taylor's Close."
"Amelia, everything okay?" I never call her. I'm an easy tenant, which is why I was doubly annoyed when she wouldn't allow me a cat.
"Yes, no... I think the boiler is playing up. All the radiators are cold and it looks like it doesn’t have any pressure," I explain whilst turning on my hot water tap to see if there’s been a miracle and it’s only the heating that’s impacted
"Oh, I'm sorry, Amelia." I mean, aside from the cat thing, she is actually a very nice person. "I’ll call the plumber now and will make sure we come over tomorrow," she assures me.
"Oh, don't worry, I can work from home, no need for you to head over, I can let him in." Please don’t hear the panic in my voice, please!
"Nonsense. I haven't done a property check in a while in any case. And this way I can deal with him directly, which should hopefully speed up the repairs."
Fuuuuuucccckkkk.
"Oh, okay. Sure. What time do you think you'll be here?"
"I'll let you know once I’ve spoken to the plumber but I'll aim for some time before noon."
I thank her and hang up in a state of hysteria. Smutty! What the fuck am I going to do with him? I scroll through my phone. Miranda is on honeymoon and Samira is allergic to cats. I press the call button next to Bea's number. The phone rings and rings whilst I walk back to the living room. Smutty has returned to the warmth of the blanket and gives me a dismayed look when I lift him so I can sit down and pull it over us.
The phone rings out and goes to Bea's voicemail. I leave her a short message telling her about the boiler and ask her if she can take Smutty for a few days before hanging up and trying again. She may just have been on the toilet or something. The phone rings a few times before she finally answers.
"Amelia, is everything okay? You never call." She’s right, we are more a text message group than a call group.
"Bea, can you take Smutty for a few days, please?" I plead.
"What? Why?"
"My boiler is broken and the landlady is coming over with the plumber in the morning. Please, Bea, you know I can't have him here. She’ll go ballistic if she finds any trace of him." Lucky for me, he doesn't scratch the furniture or carpet so aside from his litter box, food, toys, and scratch post, there isn't really anything around to give away that he lives here.
"Sorry, hun," she sighs dramatically, "but I'm very busy at the moment. I can't take on looking after a cat."
"He is very easy." I mean, he is. Feed him, cuddle him and he’s happy.
"Sorry, Amelia. Maybe it's time to give him to a shelter." Fuck you, is what I want to shout at her.
"I can't do that.” There is silence on the line, and Bea is clearly not offering help or any other solutions. “Anyhow, I have to go," I end the call. Thanks for nothing. Why am I friends with her again?
The first tears trickle over my cheeks. I can't give him away. I love him. He’s curled up in a small black ball in my lap, purring away as I gently stroke his soft fur.
I sniffle and open the search engine on my phone. I google catteries in the area. Okay, let's throw money at the problem.
"Don't you worry. I'll get you somewhere safe." Smutty ignores me, the ungrateful little twerp.
Half an hour later I want to throw my phone on the wall. As it is already after seven in the evening most places are closed. I eventually found one that had an out of office hours number and a lovely person called Bridget answered. She totally understood my problem and told me all about the Purr Inn which sounded a bit crazy. A bloody tablet in each cat's room so you can talk to your feline companion at any time. Luxury furniture, a TV and gourmet food. Smutty would have never wanted to come back if I put him there. But it’s just outside Little Hadlow so I could visit him if he has to stay longer. Then she told me the price and I almost choked. One hundred pounds a night. I can't afford that. Maybe for a night but I've been here before. It’s unlikely the plumber can fix the boiler tomorrow, especially if has to order parts, and then it's the weekend. We could be talking four if not five nights. That's half of what I pay rent for my house for a whole month.
I thank Bridget and end the call. What the fuck am I going to do? More tears and a little sob escape me before I pull Smutty closer. He graciously lets me cuddle him for a bit before gently biting my hand.
My gaze falls on my phone again. Another message from Bea apologising and Ben's message that I haven't read yet.
Ben
Please at least let me know you are okay.
