Page 30 of Hate You Later
“C’mere, Furball.” I scoop Oliver up and carry him down to the kitchen to feed him his breakfast. He purrs loudly as I get out the bag and tucks in while I’m still pouring the kibble.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and add some almond milk. The color is almost exactly the same as Oliver’s fur. This gives me an idea, and I play around with perspective a little, snapping photos from different angles. Finally, I get the one I’m trying for. It looks like Oliver is sitting inside the coffee cup. Even funnier than a too-small shoebox. I think the technical term for photos like these is “getting mugged.”
Morning, Cookie.
I send the message and coffee photo off before settling into the chaise lounge by the window. I’ve got a clear view of the river and mountains in the distance. Even though it’s only been a little over a week, I’m enjoying watching the season shift. The leaves are starting to change colors. Sitting here and sipping my coffee while instant messaging with Cookie is becoming my new morning ritual.
Hey Oliver. What mischief are you up to today? Closet org?
You know me so well. I’ve got a full workday ahead, but I thought I’d check in with you first. How’s it going?
Big day tomorrow. I’m trying on outfits. What do you think? Dressed for success?
Cookie shoots back a photo of herself in a “Boss Bitch” tee and a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses.
Such language!I add a shocked-looking cat emoji.
Hey, where’s your “dressed for success” pic, Furball?she asks.
I realize that I’ve been calling Oliver “Furball” a lot lately, and it’s probably because of her.
Still working on it,I type.But I promise it’s going to be great.
Better be,she says. Our next prompt is … interesting. A little weird. Maybe we should talk it out. Are you ready to explore your dark side with me?
Please, I’m perfectly well adjusted,I type back.
Am I? Am I really? I consider the fact that I’m having a conversation with a dog right now. But it’s for work. I’m exploring the world of pet influencers. This is what I keep telling myself, anyway.
Ha! I’m not buying it. You didn’t get this uptight by accident. Spill, Ol. Tell me your deepest, darkest fears,she says, referencing this week’s prompt.
In order to make our characters more believable, we’re supposed to create some posts dedicated to their flaws, their deepest fears, and their guilty pleasures. We are essentially creating our pets’ backstory. This is where we learn why they are the way they are.
I’m drawing a blank on this one. Since Oliver appeared in my life at the ripe old cat age of eleven and came from a shelter, I don’t have many details to work with. I could make up a story for him, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Plus, I’ve already established him as a persnickety eater, a clean freak, and a stickler for following the rules. What kind of kittenhood trauma might be responsible for all that? My fingers pause over the keyboard while I try to compose something witty or funny, worthy of this cat.
Does my coffee addiction count as a deep, dark secret for this assignment?
No, Oliver. Your coffee confession is lame. Everyone is addicted to coffee.
The cat jumps up to nestle beside me, tucking his head under my arm and rubbing his whole face enthusiastically on my elbow.
Ok then … if you must know, I’m afraid of being forgotten.
I improvise, imagining a past life for Oliver where his owners moved on without him.
Who could forget a cat like you?she replies.
You’d be surprised. Out of sight, out of mind. Does anyone wonder how their butler is doing while they’re on vacation?
That’s a weird analogy.
Not really. I’m here to serve and amuse my humans. Until they get bored with me, and … I don’t know, replace me with a kitten?
That’s really shitty of your owners, Oliver. They should have more respect for you and value you much more.
Thanks, Cookie,I say, feeling strangely gratified.
Cookie is good people. Or rather, good dog. She’s a good dog.
