It had started out as a nice Wednesday, but quickly became the story of my life all over again. I was laying on the couch in the rec room of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngster’s, when someone shouted: “Seth, get in here and get this cat!”
It was coming from down the hall, near the kitchen, and when I went to investigate, Jubilation Lee, was glaring into a closet.
As soon as she saw me, she started in on a tirade. “Your cat took my hair tie. Could you get it back for me?”
So I leaned into the closet, and half-heartedly tried to get the scrunchie back. I say half-heartedly because I knew that even if I had really tried, the cat would have just sat back and laughed, like she was doing now.
Sometimes, I really hate that cat.
It’s not like she likes me in return. Animals know when you don’t like them--It’s one of their otherworldly senses. And boy does Angel not like me. Here’s another kicker: I’m allergic to fur. Isn’t that a laugh? Me, an animal empath, is allergic to fur. Any fur, even the fake kind. It’s like the mutant god said “Hey, let’s give that kid animal empathy...Now let’s give him a severe allergy to fur! Hahaha!”
Whenever I meet that god, I’m gonna tell him a thing or two.
Animals also have this sixth or seventh sense that let’s them know when someone is allergic to them. And Angel *knows.* Usually animals either avoid you, because they know they’ll be rejected, or they’re all over you, because they dislike you for not being able to pet them.
Angel does this. She gets herself stuck in a tree or something, and because she’s a devil to get down, nobody comes near her, but within five minutes seven people will have told me that my cat is stuck in a tree, and meowing loudly, and will I please go get her?
Turning back to Jubilee, I was about to tell her that her hair-tie was lost as a sacrifice to the cat-goddess, when Angel, sweet as can be jumped into my arms(I caught her automatically, being the oldest of six will do that to you) and handed Jubilee the scrunchie with a smug expression. Jubilee cooed for several seconds, while I fought back the urge to sneeze, my eyes watering like crazy, before she finally left.
Dropping the cat, I ran to the bathroom, sneezing and coughing like mad. Angel followed sweetly, sitting down on the toilet lid, waiting for me to take a swat at her with a towel. I ignored her, splashing my face with water and drying myself quickly.
As I exited the bathroom, Angel twined around my ankles, making me trip forward, right into Rogue, one of the new students.
“Sorry,” I apologized, felling my face get red. I’m not very good with talking to girls. But she smiled, and picked up Angel, her dark gloves instantly getting grey hairs all over them.
“Oh, I just love cats,” she smiled at me, holding the cat up to her chest.
“I like cats, too,” I muttered. “Wanna trade recipes?”
The shocked look on her face fades when I offer a faint grin; she is assuming it was a joke, but it’s not. One of these days, I’m going to cook