Ten Things My Cat Hates About You. Lottie Lucas

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      I bring my attention back to the present, just in time to see Freddie toss a chocolate high up in the air and catch it in his mouth.

      “Freddie!” I admonish. “Those were the chocolates which James brought over.”

      He looks up at me, all innocence. “I know; that’s why I’m eating them. Wouldn’t want to leave any unpleasant reminders about the place, would we?” He raises his eyebrows. “Unless you were planning to keep them as a sordid memento of your failed romance.”

      Sometimes, I wish I didn’t get these insights into how my little brother sees me. Images of myself as some sort of latter day—if decidedly more youthful and less cobwebby—Miss Havisham, with a specimen cupboard full of old chocolate boxes and used tissues stolen from past dates is not something I particularly want to entertain.

      “It’s touching that you think so highly of me.” I flop down beside him on the sofa, reaching for the box. “Here, let me have one. It’s been a hard day.” I pick a chocolate at random, not even bothering to look at the descriptions. I’m too tired to care. When I’m in this state, chocolate is just chocolate. Any will do.

      Freddie stares at me. “Wow, chocolate roulette. It must have been bad.”

      “I finally made a start on those grant applications I’ve been putting off for weeks. They’re an absolute nightmare. No wonder Jeremy landed me with them.” I bite into the chocolate, delighted to discover that it has a caramel centre. I was beginning to worry that it might turn out to be the weird fruit one that always gets left in the box. “What’s for dinner?”

      For a moment he looks totally perplexed, then he holds up the chocolate box sheepishly. “Er … these?”

      “Freddie!” My legs are curled up beneath me and I give him a sharp kick. “You were supposed to pick something up!”

      “Sorry, I forgot.” He whips out his phone and opens up an app. “How do you feel about pizza?”

      Another side-effect of living with a twenty-one-year-old. I’m officially returning to a student diet.

      “Fine,” I say begrudgingly. “But get a side salad, won’t you? I’m not eighteen any more. I need to eat some vegetables.”

      “I’ll get a four seasons pizza. It has olives on it.”

      “I don’t think olives count.”

      “Mushrooms do, though. There must be two portions on that pizza, surely.”

      I shake my head despairingly. “I can’t believe that Jess hasn’t managed to teach you about this.”

      There’s a beat of silence. Immediately, I know I’ve said something wrong, although I’m not sure what. Maybe they’ve had a fight.

      Freddie stares fixedly at his phone, scrolling so fast that I’m certain he’s not really looking at it. Eventually, he clears his throat. “I’ll order a mixed salad as well, then.”

      “I’d, er … better feed Casper,” I say abruptly, rising to my feet.

      Mostly, I say it just to break the strange tension which has settled on the room, although, to be fair, it is actually Casper’s dinner time. In fact, come to think of it, I’m surprised he hasn’t already been hassling me. Usually if I’m so much as a minute behind, he lets me know all about it. But it’s already twenty past six and I haven’t heard a peep out of him.

      It’s only when I look over at his chair that I discover why. He’s not there. He must have crept out while Freddie and I were talking. I frown, wondering what he’s up to. It’s very unlike him to disappear when food’s on offer.

      I don’t think I heard the cat flap go, so I make my way upstairs. Sometimes he likes to burrow under the duvet on my bed. He’s not there though, so I go into the spare room, where Freddie has set up camp. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that his overnight bag has exploded. There’s stuff everywhere, and he’s only been here a few days.

      I’m just pondering over how, exactly, a sock has ended up on the window ledge, when something outside makes my breath stop.

      There, under the glow of a streetlamp, is Casper. And he’s slinking across the road.

      Damn that cat. No wonder he’s looking furtive. He knows I don’t like him going out there. Granted, I live on a quiet residential street, far too hemmed in by cars parked on either side for anyone to drive too fast down, but still. That’s not the point. I fling open the window.

      “Casper!”

      At the sound of his name he stops, turning his head to look up. Just as a cyclist suddenly appears from behind the cars, whizzing towards him.

      “Stop!” I yell, but it’s already too late. The cyclist swerves violently, tyres screeching against the tarmac. I can only look on in horror as they overbalance, finishing upside down in a nearby bush, the wheels of the bike spinning uselessly.

      For a split second I’m stunned into immobility. Then I’m running, bursting down the stairs and out into the street.

      “Are you all right?” I gasp, snatching Casper into my arms. Mercifully, he seems more put out than anything, glaring at the bicycle as though it did him a personal injury. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a flash of white tail disappearing into the bushes and immediately the object of his evening wanderings becomes clear. I should have known there’d be a lady involved. There’s not a lot else which he would prioritise over dinner.

      It’s a sad fact when your cat has a better love life than you do, I think glumly. Maybe Heather was right, after all. Maybe I really do need to take some time to just be by myself for a bit. Stop chasing rainbows which don’t exist. After all, it’s not as if suitable men just pop up out of …

      I look at the bike, skewered into the bush, and out of nowhere something begins to fizz beneath my skin, a prickle of excitement.

      Surely not … I mean, it can’t be. That would just be crazy.

      “Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” a voice supplies from the depths of the foliage. “It’s the cat we should be concerned about.”

      Despite its somewhat muffled tone, the sarcasm is unmistakable and I feel myself flushing, startled out of my reverie.

      “Of course, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

      The cyclist struggles out of the bush, helmet askew across his face, and, despite myself, my breath catches in anticipation. Now he’s standing upright, I see that he’s tall, towering over me by almost half a foot. I’ve always liked tall men.

      I’m doing exactly what I promised I wouldn’t; I’m getting carried away again. I know it. But that doesn’t mean that I can help it. I mean, come on. I’m only human. And it doesn’t get much more romantic than this, does it? It’s like a meet cute in a movie. Any moment now, he’ll push up his helmet and our eyes will meet. Electricity will spark between us. And he’ll say something like … Oh, I don’t know, maybe something like …

      “Just about, no thanks to that bloody СКАЧАТЬ