Igor and the Others

Chapter 2

It's wet, squishy, smells like a sock, and has the consistency of my cat, Bruno's, vomit. Tuna fish casserole. I swear that if the world ended today and all that was left was this casserole and me, I would rather gnaw off my own flesh first.

"Igor, what in the hell are you doing? I slave over the stove all damn day to provide you with a nutritious meal and… and….WILL YOU STOP THAT?!"

Dean slaps my hand away from my mouth, and I lick the bite mark. Ouch… it kind of stings now. Four red indents, perfectly U-shaped mar the palm of my hand.

"Dean this came from a Stouffer's box." I say, my eyes wide, accusing.

Dean 'Hmphs' and folds his thin arms over the flower-coated apron he's sporting. It's a weird mix of greens and earthy tones that seem to match his eye color. He stabs a forkful of cat-puke, chews, and swallows. I pale and feel like vomiting.

I push my plate away, Dean glares, and I head towards the front door.

"I'm taking Bruno for a walk!" I yell, and wait for Dean to answer.

"Brff-uno ch-usn't gfo on w-bfalks!" he shouts around the tuna puke. My eyes wander to Bruno, my midnight-black feline friend. He's laying atop the worn sofa, basking in the moonlight. His eyes meet mine and I swear it's like he's smiling. Cats are cool like that. It's like they know what you're thinking.

"Yeah, yeah I know, I wouldn't dare take you for a walk. That nonsense is for dogs." I whisper to him whilst rubbing the patch of silky graying fur between his ears. He purrs and stretches back for a nap.

Oh I get it…cat nap.

I head upstairs and pull a brown hoodie over my head. I have a simple style, or you could just say no style at all. I'm wearing a pair of old running shorts, my favorite brown hoodie, and an old white t-shirt. My shoes are just a worn pair of navy canvas sneakers Dean gave me for my 15th birthday. My feet haven't grown a centimeter since then. I would know, I measured them last week. My hair is an almond mop upon my head, slightly wavy and falling a little below my ears. I forget to cut it until Dean pesters me about looking like a bum. My teeth are another story. I have two teeth that hang down and catch over the side of my lip when my mouth is closed, and one crooked tooth the just out on the bottom. A lot of people tend to make fun of me for it, but there are worse things. Like eating tuna, or melted ice cubes, or hot lemonade, or the scary scary Kool-Aid man. I just try not to think about the others. Dean is good to me, and he's family so I'm happy.

It's cold outside, but not too cold. And the breeze is nice. The stars can be seen, and the moon is out. I inhale. I exhale.

The porch is bright tonight. Our small front yard is lit up and patches of dead grass are visible through the light. I sigh and lean against the railing. It's quiet, very quiet. When it's too quiet I get frightened. I envision all the things that could pop out and kill me. All of the evil bunnies that want to suck out my bra---

"Yeah well fuck you too!" a door slams next door, and I duck. Too afraid to be seen. My breathing becomes harsh, and I blush like mad. This is a scary situation. I think he saw me. No, he didn't see me…did he? Oh my, this is positively frightening…

CCreeaaaakkK! The swing in the neighbor's yard sways in the slight breeze. I shiver and wheeze. Good God, my breathing is like a fucking fat man after a mile long run. I close my eyes and wait.

Raindrops on Roses and whiskers on kittens…la la l aaaa laaaaa! LAAAAA!

It isn't working, and it's like I can feel him looking over here. Christ , I don't even know what he looks like yet and I'm already freaking out! It normally takes me three minutes , and then I tune them out for good.

Blueberry Muffins.

Chocolate Muffins.

Banana Muffins.

Eggs

I love Eggs

You hate Eggs

Oh yeah, I forgot…

"Hi there."

"FUCKING CHOCOLATE LLAMAS!" I scream.

He blinks, he shuffles from the darkness.

I gasp.

He starts to laugh.

Oh god. Snaps for Igor.