17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen

Present

“ K illian!” a female voice echoes through the haze of my groggy mind as an incessant alarm blares in the background. My head is pounding like a drum in a marching band, and my body feels like it's made of lead. All I want is to burrow back under the covers and pretend this is just a bad dream. But deep down, I know that if I don’t open my eyes soon, I’m going to feel even worse. Plus, there's this nagging sense that something is seriously wrong, like a cosmic two-by-four trying to get my attention.

“Killian!” the voice calls again, this time with a bit more urgency. A white light shines directly into my eyes, like a searchlight at a crime scene. It’s like someone’s trying to perform an impromptu eye exam.

“Killian!” The voice shouts now, as if volume alone could pry me from my slumber.

I shoot up in bed, again. It’s like Groundhog Day, but with more headaches and less existential dread. My head throbs, and the room swirls like I’m on a carnival ride that’s gone rogue. I press my hand to my forehead, trying to steady the spinning, but it feels like my brain’s decided to do the cha-cha.

I can feel a cold sweat creeping over me like a wet blanket. My stomach starts a rebellious flutter, and before I can process what’s happening, I’m sprinting to the bathroom. I barely make it before my stomach decides it’s time to perform its own version of ‘The Exorcist,’ sending the remnants of last night’s dinner into the toilet.

When the retching subsides, I slump to the floor, my back resting against the cool tiles. I close my eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure. When I open them again, the room’s no longer spinning, but my head is still drumming a relentless beat.

I glance out the bathroom door, where a sliver of sunlight sneaks through the curtains, heralding the arrival of a new day. Too bad I feel like the universe has it out for me. I wonder if I’m catching the bug Laelia’s been moaning about for days.

With considerable effort, I push myself off the floor, flush the toilet, and wipe my mouth with a tissue. As I toss it into the bin, I decide it’s time to salvage what’s left of my dignity. I brush my teeth vigorously, desperate to rid myself of the vile taste of my own regurgitation. If I’m going to be near Laelia, I don’t want her to mistake me for a walking bio-hazard.

I open the cupboard and retrieve a packet of Paracetamol. After popping two tablets and swallowing them with a tiny cup of water, I feel a faint glimmer of hope that they might ease my pounding headache. I shut the cupboard door and head back into the bedroom, where I find an empty bed. Where could she be?

Dressing quickly in a somewhat haphazard manner, I stumble downstairs. In the living room, I find Laelia sprawled on the sofa with Meatball curled up at the other end. The sight warms my heart a little. Meatball’s loyalty is unwavering; ever since we brought him home, he’s been Laelia’s shadow. I’m convinced he loves her more than me—he even snubs me in favour of her.

20th January 2020

I knock on the pale green door, watching Laelia as she paces impatiently. Her excitement is palpable, like a kid on Christmas Eve. For the past week and a half, she’s been counting down the days, marking them off on her calendar with an alarm that goes off at random intervals. I swear I’ve heard that alarm more times than I’ve heard my own name.

After a month of Laelia’s relentless campaigning, I finally caved and agreed to get a cat. Normally, I’m more of a dog person. If it were up to me, we’d have a West Highland Terrier named Oggie. But, for Laelia, I’m sacrificing my dream of a fluffy dog for a feline fur-ball.

As soon as I said “yes,” Laelia went on a cat hunt, scouring every RSPCA shelter and animal adoption website she could find. After hours of online browsing, she found Elaine, a woman with a litter of six kittens, one of which was the elusive ginger tabby Laelia had her heart set on.

Laelia has been chatting non-stop with Elaine, asking about vaccinations, micro-chipping, and other cat-related minutiae. I let Laelia handle the details, which meant I’ve been subjected to endless lists of ridiculous names for the cat. Felix? Tom? Fish? Really? The cat isn’t even black and white, so Felix is out, and naming a cat after Tom and Jerry is just absurd. And Fish? No, just no.

Laelia is practically bouncing on her toes as she glances at me with a mixture of impatience and excitement. “How long is this going to take? I want him!” she whines, making a face that says she’s not above giving me the puppy eyes.

Before I can respond, the door swings open to reveal a woman in her early forties, who I assume is Elaine. “Hi, can I help you?” she asks with a friendly smile.

I manage a weak smile in return. “Hi, we’re here about the ginger tabby.”

Elaine’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, you must be here for him! Come on in!” She ushers us inside and directs us to the living room, where she invites us to sit.

Laelia’s smile is so wide it’s almost unnerving. If anyone else looked at me like that, I’d be convinced they were plotting my demise. “Don’t you dare say anything,” she hisses in a whisper just for me, reading my thoughts.

Elaine grabs a folder and flips through it while Laelia and I sit on the sofa. “Just the one?” Elaine asks, looking between us.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Just the one.” Laelia’s eyes dart to me, clearly disappointed by my answer. I’m not taking on more than one kitten; that’s not up for debate.

Elaine rises and gestures for us to follow her to the kitchen, where a small pen comes into view. Laelia practically leaps over me, rushing to peer into the pen.

Her eyes widen with delight. “Oh my God! Look at them!” she exclaims, practically glowing with joy. “Killian, look! That’s him! He looks like a meatball! Oh my God! That’s what we’re naming him! Meatball!”

I peer into the pen and see a bundle of kittens, all snuggled together in a pile of fluff. They’re adorable, but I can’t help but wonder if they’ll turn out to be little devils like Trevor, the cat from my childhood who terrorised my goldfish. My mum’s cat, Trevor, was a demon in disguise. He made quick work of all my goldfish—Frank, Bobby, Goldie, Flippers, Bubbles, and Chester—each of whom met a watery end at Trevor’s paws.

Laelia is already lost in her own world of kitten adoration, naming the ginger tabby “Meatball” without a hint of hesitation. “He’s perfect,” she beams, eyes locked on the little fur-ball as it stretches and yawns.

Elaine, noticing my reluctant acceptance of the name, smiles warmly. “I’ll get the paperwork ready,” she says and disappears to fetch it.

I watch as Laelia cuddles Meatball, who purrs contentedly in her arms. I reach out to pet him, but he hisses at me with the intensity of a grumpy old man. Great, just what I needed—a cat with a vendetta.

As Elaine returns with the paperwork, I can’t help but feel a twinge of resignation. This cat, with his snarly little hiss and adorably wicked eyes, is going to be the centre of our lives. I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be a reincarnation of my childhood nemesis.

Laelia looks at me with those “I told you so” eyes, and I know there’s no turning back now. “He’s perfect,” she repeats, and I reluctantly agree.

Elaine beams at us. “That’s wonderful! I’ll finalise everything, and you can take him home today.”

I glance at Laelia and the kitten, feeling a strange mix of dread and affection. Looks like we’re in for a new chapter, with Meatball at the heart of it. And who knows? Maybe this little fur-ball will turn out to be less of a menace and more of a beloved member of our odd little family.