Smitten by the Kitten


Mom and Dad came home to find me watching TV. Sitting in a kitchen chair I’d moved to the exact center of the living room.

“What now?” Dad asked.

“Electra’s mad at me,” I said. They looked around. Mom moved to the kitchen doorway and looked around there.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I think I may have misspoken and given her the impression that I objectified her.”

“WHAT?” both parents exploded. “What did you say?” Dad asked.

“Or do?” Mom added.

“Her brain,” I said. They breathed again. “She may think that I only value her as a shortcut to school work so I don’t have to exert myself thinking about things.”

“Did she say that?” Dad asked.

I gestured towards my head. “I get… feelings. Some of her thoughts.”

“Where is she?” Mom asked.

“She’s hiding.”

“Did you look for her?” he asked.

“Dad, she can hide for the Olympics. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be found.”

“And does that explain you sitting here…?”

“You know how sylphs need to eat regularly. I put a snack on the kitchen table for her. I’m sitting here, in plain sight, so she won’t think it’s some sort of trap.”

“Why not put it on the floor where she can reach it?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dogs get fed on the floor. People eat on the table. And you KNOW she can reach the table.” I’m pretty sure she could reach the food if I put it on the ceiling fan.

“There’s nothing on the table,” Mom reported, walking back over to where I still sat.

“Then that worked,” I said. “If she’s not willing to listen to my apology by bedtime, I’ll put her blankets on the couch, she can camp out until she’s ready to speak to me again.”

“Good thing it’s not a school night,” Mom said. She turned towards about the center of the house. “Good night, Electra.”

“If you need anything,” Dad said to the same general direction, “we’ll be Switzerland.”

“You’ve got chocolate?” I asked. “Or cheese?”

“I’ll pretend you’re joking about that,” Dad said.

“As long as Electra understands what you mean,” Mom said, stepping towards the staircase. “It doesn’t matter if he does.”

I didn’t see her all weekend. Her bedclothes were gone before I turned all the lights off and went upstairs.

Chip and Chrissy came by on Sunday. They had scheduled a reading marathon and wanted an early start. I put the carrier in the middle of the floor and went upstairs. I watched them leave by the window, Chrissy waving up from the front gate.

I figured out how to make the camera lens hidden by a mesh that I made to look like drawn drapes.

I think they were drawn. Drawn means ‘closed,’ right? Well, closed. There were enough holes for the camera to see out, but light from inside the diorama made it so you only saw the fake drapes.

Chip came back about nine and silently handed me the carrier. He gave a small shake of his head. I opened the door and set it down on the floor, then walked back to the door to watch him get into his car.

He backed out. It was weird, watching him go, without holding Electra.

I think I was even cupping my hand.

Then a pickup came out of nowhere and smashed into his car.

I swore and ran outside. Chip was all bloody in his wreck. The other driver staggered out, drunk and unharmed.

Fucking universe.

I was trying to decide whether or not to pull Chip out when Dad ran up. “I called the cops and an ambulance,” he said. I was staring at the drunk, as mad as I’ve ever been.

“CONRAD!” I turned to see why Dad was yelling at me. “We need to call his folks. Do you know his number?”

“Chrissy will,” I said. “I need to tell her, anyway. And I need to borrow the car. Chrissy doesn’t have a car. She needs to get to the emergency room so that means I need to borrow-“

“Of course,” he said. I kept on explaining for a minute. Finally I heard sirens. I had to tell Chrissy.

I called and got Chip’s number, then told her there was an accident and Chip was hurt but still alive and I would be there in five minutes to take her to the emergency room.

I called his parents and updated them. His dad didn’t ask who I was or where the accident had happened, just thanked me. I heard him shouting for people to get into the car as he hung up.

Electra heard all that and was standing at the carrier when I went to grab my car keys.

“Can I come?” she asked.

I dropped to my knees and held out my hands. “That’s the worst part about fighting,” I said. “You think you need to ask.”



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Index

42. Wuthering Smites

44. Room for Waiting