Page 4 of Mark
I gather Mellow into my arms, huffing, and ignore how good he smells. He smells like his captor. Woodsy with a hint of spice.
“How the fuck did he get in here?”
“Oh, don’t try and act innocent with me,” I snap, glowering at him. “You stole my cat.”
He lifts his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide and lips parted. “I swear on my parents’ lives, I didn’t steal your cat. I don’t know how the fuck he got in here.”
“You’re a monster,” I hiss.
“I fucking swear I didn’t take your cat,” he growls. “Maybe you put him in here so you could get inside my home.”
I walk towards the door and notice my paw doormat on the floor by his feet. I huff out a breath and pick it up. “And let me guess, this happened to walk over here too.”
“Okay, I admit I took that. I was getting the carpet muddy when I walked in and you two didn’t seem to use it. But I didn’t take your cat.”
“I’m going to the landlord about this,” I warn as I let myself out. “You won’t get away with this.”
“I didn’t take your bloody cat.”
Mellow begins to meow in protest, wanting to be put down, but I hold him tighter. “He can’t open doors. He’s a cat.”
“He must have. He must be copying his owner,” he accuses.
I spin around to face him, letting out a heavy sigh. “He’s a cat.”
“Then explain to me how he got into my home. Has he got fleas? Because I swear to God I will send you the bill.”
I gasp, rearing back. “How dare you!”
“Woah, you found Mellow,” Summer states, coming into the corridor to join us.
I jab my finger towards our neighbour. “He stole him. I fucking told you he had something to do with his disappearance.”
“Woah, that’s cold,” Summer mutters, narrowing her gaze on him.
He throws his hands up in the air. “I didn’t steal the damn cat. I don’t even like cats. I’m a dog person.”
“How can you not like cats?” Summer asks, her lips twitching.
“Because they’re psychotic, selfish little fuckers.”
I hand Mellow over to Summer, who groans when his mane gets into her mouth. “My cat isn’t psychotic or selfish.”
“Then explain to me why the little con artist broke into my place and pinned the blame on me?”
“Because you stole him. Like you steal everything.”
“Oh, where did you find the mat?” Summer questions and I meet her gaze.
“Mr Sticky Fingers over there had it.”
“I was borrowing it.”
I step closer, jabbing my finger into his hard chest. “Don’t come near my pussy again.”
He leans down. “Pussy or pussycat? Because they are two different things, and I can assure you, I won’t be going near either,” he barks.
I growl low in my throat, and I swear to God I stomp my foot in frustration. “You…”